9.26.15

Hello everyone! I'm back with an extra long chapter this time. Please don't be mad that I took a month to update.

Pretty please?

Enjoy chapter 10!

-Rex

10. Disorientation

September 10 - Pasadena, CA

Bright, morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen windows, thrown open to welcome the light autumn breeze and the peaceful neighborhood sounds. Dawn stood at the stove over a crackling pan of eggs, headphones on, nodding along with something that sounded suspiciously like Kanye West. She always whined about Buffy's taste in music, how she wasn't sophisticated enough for her age, how she should branch out more and appreciate art. What art and Kanye West had to do with each other, however, was a still mystery to Buffy, much to Dawn's extravagantly dramatic dismay. Buffy watched her sister out of the corner of her eye, sipping coffee from her Disney Princesses mug as she turned the page in her fashion magazine. A half-empty bowl of cheerios sat forgotten and forlorn to her right. She set her coffee aside, turned back to her magazine, and poured over a fresh spread of maxi dresses and sandals.

Presently, the sound of footsteps on the stairs piqued her interest, pulling her out of a silent debate between two purses she couldn't afford. Her eyes rose to the center of their provenҫal, farmhouse-style kitchen table, where a oriental celadon vase gleamed in the morning light. In it rested a bouquet of pristine white lilies, arranged perfectly by her mother, who, since acquiring an art gallery downtown, had developed a keen sense for interior decorating. No matter how Buffy felt about Dawn's taste in music, her sister had clearly taken after their mother. Buffy wished that she had inherited a few more of her mother's genes. During school she had immersed herself in hobbies like cheerleading, and fashion, nothing, in hindsight, that was particularly useful or exciting. She had been little more than a vain social climber, much like her successful, philandering father, with whose money Joyce had opened the gallery and sent Dawn to extracurricular painting classes.

Buffy chewed her lip. Her fingers lingered absently over an image of a red Prada bag.

"Good morning, girls!" Joyce swept into the kitchen wearing a long, silk robe. It was embroidered with elegant orchids, and seemed to shimmer as she walked.

"Good morning," Buffy said.

She turned to look at her oblivious little sister. Dawn hummed under her breath as she took the pan off the heat. She shook the eggs out onto a plate, returned the pan to the burner, and added bacon. The smoky scent of hot grease filled the room. Mrs. Summers puttered around the kitchen, fixing a cup of coffee as she hummed to herself.

A tiny, bemused smile played on Buffy's lips. "You're in a good mood this morning."

"Well!" Joyce tucked a lock of blonde behind her ear. "I had a good night, and the art gallery is doing well, and I have two beautiful daughters of whom I am very proud."

"Aw, Mom."

Dawn shut off the stove with a distinct click and carried her plate to the table, pulling out a chair with a screech before plopping down into her seat. Joyce exchanged an exasperated glance with her eldest daughter before gliding off toward the refrigerator. She returned with two peach yogurts, one of which she offered to Buffy before settling down in a vacant chair.

"Darling," she said melodically, "I cannot tell you how much I love you. I don't say it enough."

"I know, I know." Buffy rolled her eyes. "I love you too."

"I mean it, honey. If anything ever happens, I just want you to know that I love you no matter what."

"Okay." Buffy blushed. "Love you too."

She looked down at her yogurt and fumbled with the top for a moment. The foil was stubbornly clinging to the sides and she couldn't seem to get her finger under it. She turned the container around and tried again from the other side. Again, no luck. Frustrated, she reached for her spoon, planning to puncture the top, but as she lifted her gaze she saw that her mother and her sister were gone. The kitchen was empty, and unnaturally quiet. Even the air seemed still. Buffy slipped out of her chair and stood, pacing around the table, fingers gathering dust as they slid across the wood. She felt dazed all of a sudden. She turned in every direction, but found no clues. They had disappeared completely.

"I did not mean to interrupt."

Buffy whipped around, and her hand flew to her mouth. The light in the kitchen was suddenly much darker, much redder, as though the sun outside had begun to set. A lean, ashen figure towered over the kitchen table. His limbs were long, as were his hands and fingers, and were it not for his charred, papery skin, he may have even been elegant. Skeletal wings, folded behind his back, twitched and fluttered quietly as he settled his weight, and though the details of his face were difficult to make out, a familiar pair of luminous blue eyes peered back at her.

"Did I frighten you?" he asked.

His voice seemed to fill her chest, musical and effervescent, otherworldly. Buffy's hand slid from her mouth and landed on her chest, covering her racing heart.

"You startled me."

"I apologize. It was not my intent."

She tilted her head curiously. "Haven't we met?"

"Once before." His eyes flickered. "You weren't well."

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, I thought I dreamed you."

"It will all seem a dream again when you wake. You must try to remember."

She stepped closer, tentatively. "Is it true that you're my guardian?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"It is better that you call me φύλακας."

"Phylax?"

"Please. I would prefer it."

"Okay, Phylax…" A shadow of doubt crossed her face. "Am I in danger? Is that why you're here? Are you going to warn me?"

"Not this time, μικρό ήρωας. I am here with words of comfort." He moved closer, until his haunted face was illuminated in the red light. "I hope that they will help."

He leaned down and laid his hand upon her head. Immediately, a cool, soothing calm rushed through her, like water cascading over her skin. She sighed with relief. Her muscles uncoiled. Her mind cleared.

He spoke again to her in a sweet, melodic voice. "The woman you met today saved you from an evil fate. She will protect you. You can trust her."

"Faith?"

"Yes. She is the one called φονιάς."

Buffy breathed in deeply. "What is she protecting me from?"

"She will explain everything. Listen to what she says."

He moved his hand and gently brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Buffy..."

Her lashes fluttered. Her breath caught in her throat. She leaned into the hand forehead and a soft smile graced her lips. It was like she was a little girl again, when she would stay home from school sick, and her mom would wipe her forehead with a cool washcloth while she sang songs from the radio.

"Buffy…"

She tried to open her mouth and speak, but her words were uttered as a weak moan. Fingers slipped through her hair, caressing her scalp. It drew a contented sigh from her lips.

"Sing 'Ironic'," she muttered. "S'my favorite."

"I don't know the words. Sorry."

Buffy frowned and squinted, but the light was too bright, and she wasn't quite awake. Her head and her mouth were full of cotton. She couldn't make out her surroundings. Something was wrong. The voice was unfamiliar. The mattress was too hard to be hers. She blinked until a blurry face swam into a view.

Her shoulders tensed.

"Hey, there blondie. You remember me?"

It was a woman, a woman with dark hair and dark eyes and lightly browned skin. She had full lips and dimples and her face was bare. The purple remnants of a faded bruise stained her cheek, but she was no less beautiful for it.

Buffy did remember. She remembered an assassin, a lithe brunette shouting directions to someone in a car, blood spilling from a bullet wound in her shoulder. She remembered, the flash of Willow's red hair and angry, white teeth, a black motorcycle and a heavy helmet and duct tape. She remembered the feel of a hard body tensing and shifting in her arms as she struggled to hang on.

"F- ...Faith?"

"Hey."

Buffy rolled her head to the side and let her eyes roam about. "Where...are we?" She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. "Ouch."

Suddenly, as though her senses were finally catching up with her, Buffy realized that she felt awful. Every muscle seemed to ache, and her skin felt dry and tight, like it had been pulled taught and left in the sun to dry. The starched hotel sheets chaffed her bare skin like sandpaper. Buffy moaned and tried to swallow, cringing at the old, acrid taste of bile on tongue. Her stomach felt empty, but something unctuous and heavy had coiled in her gut and even still she was vaguely nauseous.

Faith reached for something out of sight and Buffy heard the distinct rattle of a pill bottle. A small tablet was pressed into her palm. Her fingers closed around it.

"Here, you need to take that." Perched on the edge of the bed, Faith leaned over and snatched a water bottle off the nightstand. "You have a concussion, and you'll have a migraine for a bit. Don't worry, it's the good stuff. Do you need water?"

Buffy pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around.

They were in a hotel room. It was fairly cramped, but it wasn't a motel. The reek of stale smoke was absent, the bed didn't squeak when Buffy readjusted herself. Even the decor was only 10 years out of date. She glanced at the woman beside her, dressed in a plain, oversized t-shirt, white, and tattered, like something stolen from an old boyfriend. Beneath it, her curvy frame seemed small, her shoulders too sharp, too bony. Buffy studied the toned legs that stretched out of a loose pair of black shorts, how the scars were dimmer and less pronounced in the soft lamplight, how there were fewer on her legs than on her wrists and her arms.

Faith waved the bottle in front of her face. "Water?"

"Oh." Buffy blinked slowly. "Okay."

Faith uncapped it easily and handed it to her. Buffy took her pill and drank half the bottle in three gulps.

"You're probably dehydrated," Faith said, gazing off at the images flickering on the tv. "Still nauseous?"

"Um," Buffy rubbed her temples slowly. "I don't think so."

"That's good."

The footage playing on the screen caught her attention. She rubbed her eyes and squinted.

"Is that...my office?"

"Yeah. You made the national news." The brunette rolled her shoulders, rubbing absently at the bandages under her shirt. "Apparently some people heard a little gunfire." She glanced back at her wearing a mischievous smirk, but her expression fell when she caught sight of the frightened look on Buffy's face. "You okay?"

She gazed, wide-eyed, at the aerial footage of downtown New Orleans, fire trucks and blinking lights clustered around the entrance of McAllister Plaza, a crowd of confused office workers milling around, being ushered by police officers away from the smoke. And then the shots came. She couldn't hear them, but the reaction of the crowd was too dramatic to miss, a mass of people suddenly ducking and crouching, officers and firefighters springing into action. The reporter's grim face returned to the bottom of the screen as blurry footage of a suspect sprinting across an adjacent rooftop played on repeat.

"What's going on?" Buffy swallowed, fingers curling nervously into the bedspread. "Where are we?"

"Uh," Faith rubbed the back of her neck wearily, "I was sort of hoping we could have that conversation later."

"Can you tell me where we are?"

"Houston."

"Houston, Texas?"

Faith gave her a look. "Is there another Houston?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "I don't know. Maybe." She cocked her head to the side. "How did you get me here?"

"We drove in a Uhaul van, but you slept the whole way. Why? You don't remember?"

"I remember the motorcycle ride." She frowned. "I won't ever forget that."

"That makes two of us."

Buffy pushed the covers aside and sat up, catching sight of the baggy grey shirt and cut off sweats she was wearing. They had to be the brunette's, the same mysterious brunette who had taken a sniper bullet to the shoulder just hours earlier, and who now seemed remarkably unaffected by it.

"I must be crazy," Buffy mumbled, closing her eyes. "I don't even know who you are."

"Faith Lehane."

She glanced up to find a hand extended her way. She accepted warily and gave it a light shake. Faith smiled, her first true smile of the day, a dimpled quirk of pink lips and a blinding flash of teeth. Buffy stared for a beat, forgetting herself.

"Nice to finally meet you, Buffy" she teased. "I've heard so much about you."

It took Buffy several seconds to remember that she was supposed to be suspicious. "Wait, you're an assassin, right?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"So, is that even your real name?"

"Real as my tits." Faith grinned, and then paused. "But I mean, you'd have no way of knowing either way, so…"

"Ugh," Buffy groaned and hugged herself, "this is freaking me out!"

"Is it the Boston accent?" Faith wrinkled her nose playfully. "I've been trying to lose it for years."

"No," Buffy said, a bit breathlessly. "It's the men with guns everywhere trying to kill me."

"Oh, yeah, that."

"And the fact that you already know who I am... Why the hell do you know who I am?" She paused, and scrunched her face up in confusion. "Why would you even want to know who I am?"

"Aw, don't get down on yourself like that." Faith sighed dramatically. "You're actually pretty cute when you're not throwing up."

She fixed the brunette with a weak glare. "I seriously need some answers or I think I'm gonna start hyperventilating."

"Yeah, well, the answers are gonna make you hyperventilate even more."

Buffy clutched at her baggy sleeves. "Oh my god," she moaned, "so not helping."

"Well…"

Faith chewed her lip and stared through the wall, through to some other place far away. Her eyes seemed suddenly very empty, distant. The vibrant energy that had animated her features moments earlier was gone, and all that Buffy could see now were the mysterious scars, perfect skin marred and torn, shredded by unknown acts of violence. A lump knotted high in her throat. The urge to touch rose up in her like a leviathan from the black, oceanic depths, momentarily overtaking her with a swift and alarming power. Her hand crept along the bedspread, inching inexorably closer to the brunette's pink, blemished elbow. The steady pulse of blood thumped in her ears, in her chest, in her fingertips, deafening, disorienting. What was this feeling? Fear? Of course. Of course she was afraid. Seeking comfort was a natural reaction in this situation. Buffy licked her lips and hesitated as she neared striking distance. Close enough to reach out and...feel.

Feel what?

"So…" Faith said quietly, startling Buffy out of her stupor. "Normally this is Giles' territory. He loves giving the slayer speech and all that. I just suck at it. You sure you don't just wanna wait til he gets here tomorrow?"

Buffy jerked her hand away. "Um…" she swallowed thickly. "Please, just tell me."

Faith sighed. "You're not gonna like it."

"Well, it seems like this is gonna be the new normal," Buffy replied waspishly, "so I might as well get used to it."

Faith looked at her, let her eyes wander up and down Buffy's figure freely, apparently performing some kind of internal assessment. Buffy blushed and turned away, heart thumping again erratically against her ribcage. She couldn't quite catch her breath tonight. Something always seemed to take it away right as she was recovering. She jerked as Faith's fingers suddenly brushed across her chin. Her finger snagged against something crusty and she reached out with her other hand, holding Buffy's head still as she scraped it away with her thumbnail.

"You need a shower first."

Buffy reached instinctively for her face, eyeing the brunette dubiously.

"Don't worry, you just had a little schmutz around your mouth." Faith smiled. "I got it."

"And by schmutz you mean…"

"Yep, vomit."

"Augh, gross!" Buffy shuddered. "Gross, gross, gross."

"Yeah," Faith snickered, "and I'm pretty sure you got some in your hair, too."

"Seriously?" Buffy's expression went from disgusted to horrified. "Oh my god. this is worse than rush."

"You were in a sorority?" The brunette snorted. "What am I saying. Of course you were in a sorority."

"Only for a year," Buffy replied icily, drawing away. "It wasn't my thing."

Faith gave her a dubious look, ready to comment on the list of predictable hobbies that probably were her 'thing', but decided against it. She stood from the bed and offered the blonde a hand.

"Shower now. Talk later."

"I can get up fine by myself," Buffy growled.

Faith stifled a laugh when the blonde tripped and bashed her knee on the dresser.

/ / /

September 10 - Houston, TX

"So, there are actually a bunch of different kinds of vampires. It's not like it is in movies." Faith's low, raspy tone was instructional, matter-of-fact. "I've only dealt with three species myself, but there are more that live in other dimensions, and it's my job to make sure that they don't come to ours."

Buffy sat cross-legged on the bed, huddled up in a borrowed Boston College pullover that dwarfed her body, wet hair knotted on top of her head. Faith had given it to her in the truck, and she refused to be parted with it. Her hazel eyes were wide and glazed, teeth sunk firmly into her bottom lip. She was as white as a sheet, and seemed not to notice the sticky heat that had bothered Faith so much since her arrival in Texas. The girl shivered and tapped her fingers restlessly.

"This is bullshit," she muttered.

"Bullshit?" Faith rolled her eyes. "Yes. Also true."

Buffy gave her a nervous, exasperated look. "Right, and tin foil hats protect you from mind readers, and jet fuel doesn't melt steel beams."

"Fuck you, my cousin died in the World Trade Center."

Buffy twitched and turned away. "This is some kind of stupid conspiracy crap. I'm not buying into your crazy theories. Vampires aren't real. They can't be real. It's like, biologically impossible."

Faith groaned and rubbed her temples. She was far too sore and exhausted to do the this-can't-be-happening runaround with a girl who was, ostensibly, a civilian. It would have been so much easier to just take her out on patrol, but neither them were any condition to go on a field trip to the nearest cemetery.

"It's not a theory, okay? It's real. I fight these guys on nightly basis, and I have the scars to prove it." She waved her arm in Buffy's face, making sure to point out some of the nastier, and more irregular wounds. "All those things that go bump in the night? They're really out there, and right now a good percentage of them want you dead."

Buffy eyed her suspiciously. "Because of the prophecy..."

"You got it, blondie. A+."

"Are you sure you work for the government?"

Faith sighed. "Seriously? I already told you I told I don't."

"But you told Willow-"

"I lied to Willow, okay?" Faith threw up her hands in mock surrender. "You caught me. I was trying to get you outta there before the bad guys showed up, and she was making things really difficult."

"Who do you actually work for?"

"No-" Faith bit her tongue and turned away. "I work for the Council, technically."

"Is that some kind of one-world government?" Buffy asked drily. "Are wars are just an illusion? Is the economy engineered? Oh, do they control the weather, too?"

"Will you shut the fuck up for a second?" Faith growled. "I could break your neck with one hand, you know!"

"So, what's stopping you," Buffy sneered. "Do it already."

Faith glared at her incredulously, not at all surprised to realize that she was a little tempted.

"Jesus," she snapped, "I've met demons less obnoxious than you!"

"Demons don't exist."

"Buffy-"

"No." The blonde shook her head, chin quivering, and changed the subject. "What's the Council?"

Faith stared at her hard, answering through clenched teeth. "A bunch of old guys in London that get off on telling me what to do." she shifted her wounded shoulder and scratched her stitches. "Kinda like school."

"And...I'm supposed to become some kind of super assassin-"

"-Slayer."

"-Whatever- who kills a vampire king and...what?"

"Tips the balance."

Buffy scrunched up her nose. "What balance?"

Faith sighed and turned her head toward the window, gazing across the street at a glowing Taco Bell sign. It was late, after midnight, but there was a possibility that she still had time to go get food. Her stomach was so empty it ached. If the Taco Bell was closed then the McDonald's was probably open, and there had to be a Walmart nearby. Every suburb was the same. She was pretty sure she could strike out blind and still find what she was looking for. Faith had seen so many forgettable towns in her life.

"You done being a smartass," she asked, arching a brow. "Gonna let me finish explaining before you call me a nutjob this time?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed.

"You're lucky, you know. Getting a speech." Faith glared at her and dug a fist into her aching belly. "I didn't get shit. I just suddenly had powers one day. Like, outta fucking nowhere. I went from my stepdad beating me up every time the Red Sox lost -and believe me, they were terrible, they lost all the fucking time- to just one day I hit him back and put him in the hospital with three broken ribs. I could lift cars, and I could hear everything. I could see in the dark. A whole week passed before my watcher found me. I spent a whole week freaking out, wondering if I was Peter fucking Parker or something, like, turning into Spider Man."

"Okay, okay," Buffy put up her hand. "I get it. I'll listen."

"Yeah? You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Faith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay… So, there's a lotta things they tell you when you become the slayer. I was always told, for instance, that the nature of humanity is cyclical." Faith twirled her finger to illustrate. "Everything is lived out in cycles. including good and evil. The scale might tip in favor of one or the other for a while, but the balance is always restored, because the two powers sort of...cancel each other out."

Buffy crossed her arms, fingers digging into baggy, maroon sleeves. "Okay… That sounds totally depressing, though."

Faith shrugged. "I agree."

"You agree? So, then what's the point of wasting your life killing 'vampires'," Buffy used air quotes, "if you never get ahead? If you're never gonna win?"

"Because, blondie, the balance isn't passive. The balance only remains in place when both sides are actively struggling to gain the upper hand, and that's where I come in."

"But there's only one of you, and there's, what, thousands of them?"

"Yup."

Buffy squinted. "How is that even fair?"

Faith sighed. "I dunno. Slayers were created at the discretion of the powers-that-be. They decided that having more than one of us would tip the scale, I guess."

"The powers-that-be?"

"Yeah, like, the gods, or whatever."

"Gods? Gods plural?"

The slayer smirked. "Yeah. Turns out JC isn't the only boss up there."

"Holy shit..."

"You can say that again."

"Oh my God, I can't do this. This is retarded." Buffy pressed her fingers against her temples, breathing fast. "You're just fucking with me. This is like, some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, cult stuff."

The brunette laughed. "Christ, I wish, B. I really wish you were right." She got up and stood in front of Buffy, who was was rocking back and forth on the bed, looking like she might be sick. "I can prove it."

"How?"

Faith lifted up her shirt to reveal a lacy black bra, and the puckered red skin around her gunshot wound. Buffy's eyes widened imperceptibly. She peered closer, searching for some trick of the light.

"Behold." Faith said. "Super healing."

Buffy clenched her teeth until the muscles in her jaw were literally twitching. She looked spooked, not for the first time that night.

"Is that all?" she asked faintly. "It's probably just a trick, right?"

Faith smirked. "Well, we could go find a vampire right now... though I doubt there are many out here in the burbs. Vampires are drawn to high density areas, you know. Better hunting. Easier to hide." Faith paused to think. "I could show off my super strength."

In the blink of an eye, she grabbed the leather chair behind her and lifted it over her head with one arm. She held it aloft, motionless, and perfectly balanced on the tip of her index finger, waiting for Buffy to speak. The blonde just shook her head.

"It's not that heavy."

"How about you come over here and try, blondie?"

"You p-probably just lift weights."

"Like hell I do. How many girls do you know that can do this?"

"You're a trained assassin!"

"Oh, so now I'm a trained assassin? Not just some foil-hat nutjob?"

"Shut up!"

"You're in denial. I get it. But this is all real, whether you like it or not."

Buffy started screaming. "I SAID SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Faith dropped the chair. "B-"

"I DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE THIS! I DON'T!" Tears streamed down her face. Her chest heaved. "I DON'T, I DON'T, I DON'T!"

"Okay!" Faith had to shout to be heard over Buffy's hysterical cries. "Okay fine! It's all a lie. I'm just messing with you. Just be quiet, okay?"

Buffy jumped off the bed. "NO! YOU'RE LYING!"

The slayer rolled her eyes and took a step toward the blonde. "I don't fucking believe this."

"STOP!" Buffy brandished an accusatory finger. "STAY BACK!"

"Sh sh shhhh." Faith reached out and pulled her into a strong hug, tucking the girl's face into the crook of her neck. "Let's not talk about it anymore tonight, 'kay? Let's just go to sleep."

"If vampires are real," Buffy cried, "how come I never knew about them? Why don't people know they exist? It just-" she sniffed, " it just doesn't make any sense."

"A lot of people know about them, actually," Faith ran her fingertips up Buffy's spine, and circled the taught muscles in her shoulder blades, "but they work really hard to make sure civilians don't."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

"Does the government know?"

"I think some agencies do. Maybe some high level officials at the CIA or the NSA."

"That doesn't seem fair," she murmured, nuzzling further into the slayer's shirt. "I think people should know."

Faith nodded but said nothing more about it. She whispered into Buffy's hair, urging her to let it rest and go to bed. Her own body was throbbing and sore, and if she wasn't going to eat, then she needed to sleep. She had ridden straight through the night just to reach New Orleans, all before taking a sniper round to the shoulder, rescuing Buffy, and fleeing back to Houston in a Uhaul van. She pulled Buffy tighter against her chest as the fatigue set in, a leaden weight in her muscles and her bones. Her eyelids began to droop, temple leaning against Buffy's damp hair, absorbing the shock and shudders from the frail blonde with a body that was rapidly shutting down. Faith knew when to admit defeat.

The hotel room held two beds, but she climbed in behind Buffy, who murmured something about stockholm syndrome. Faith didn't mind if it meant she could keep herself between Buffy and the phone (which she had already disconnected), but it because it wasn't actually so bad to have a companion every now and then. There was nothing threatening about the little blonde. Faith curled up around her like she used to do when she was a kid, staying at her cousin's, when the only demons were her parents, their dealers, and the liquor store.

"I think I'm supposed to trust you," Buffy whispered, and Faith felt the words buzzing in the blonde's diaphragm, pressed against her arm.

"Yeah?" Faith brushed away some tangled locks of golden hair. "Why's that?"

"I don't know." She sniffled quietly. "Everything you say sounds completely psychotic, but..."

"But?"

"I just have this feeling."

Faith smiled. She noticed the distinct scent of sweet citrus that lingered around Buffy's scalp, and unconsciously swiped her tongue across her lips.

"Trust your instincts, B."

"I am," Buffy sighed. "You feel good."

Faith stiffened, and her stomach fluttered. The little blonde was still out of it. Faith knew it. She was traumatized and possibly still in shock. Faith knew that, too, but it hurt, like a knife, stabbing, cutting, slicing through the stitches on her heart. She counted the months in her head like sheep, stacked them, tallied them. Some time had passed, enough time, enough time to forget and move on, but she hadn't done either. That was the cruelest part of it, that the deaths weren't getting easier as she got older, that she wasn't getting more detached, that her exterior grew colder every year, but inside she was just as warm, just as soft. It wasn't fair, being shredded like that. It wasn't fair that Buffy's gentle touch, a stranger's touch, could burn like that. Her body ached and she shuddered, tried to shake away the crawling sensation under her skin. The boy in Idaho, the cute one in the motorcycle bar, why hadn't he hurt like this? Faith took a deep breath. She couldn't really remember feeling him at all. She closed her eyes.

Memories surfaced, like monsters from the deep, visions of brown eyes and dark skin, strong, warm hands that swallowed hers and grounded her when everything else was up in the air. She clenched her teeth and willed away the sudden rush of tears. She wouldn't think about him. She wouldn't. She had already replayed everything in her head a thousand times. She wouldn't think about him. The minutes passed in silence, Buffy's breathing evened out, and Faith's anguish eventually burned itself out, leaving an empty, blackened place behind it. Her chest felt hollow, and she wondered how the vampires felt in their borrowed bodies, if it felt even a little similar.

She peeled her arm away from Buffy's body and raked her fingers through her hair. A cigarette would have been nice, and a beer. Her usual coping mechanisms. She craved the comfort of earthly vices, but moving would wake the girl curled up against her, the girl who had literally cried herself to sleep. The slayer wanted to slay, was itching to do some harm to the undead. The human wanted to find a bar and get boozy with some local country boys, forget about the soul-crushing responsibilities that bound her to a life of vagrancy and death. Her fingers twitched and tapped restlessly on the mattress. She chewed on her lip until it was raw, but when she had finally decided to get up and rummage through her pack for a drink, Buffy whimpered, and wound her fingers tighter into Faith's shirt.

She resolved to stay and wait it out.

/ / /

They left the hotel early and drove north to Dallas. It was a hot September day in Texas, the barometer already pushing 80 degrees at eight in the morning. The AC unit in the van was suspect, incapable, apparently, of keeping the cabin any cooler than a sticky lukewarm. It was too hot even for Buffy, who removed Faith's Boston College sweatshirt 20 minutes into their trip and laid it across her lap, hands curled tightly into the maroon fabric as she gazed out the window at the passing suburbs. She was finally hungry enough to eat, but Faith was too nervous to stop anywhere lest they be recognized, so she let Buffy rummage through her pack for a bag of trail mix while she fiddled with the radio. She settled on a classic rock station and zoned out. Neither of them spoke much. Buffy's eyes seemed to avoid her, never quite landing on her face. Faith muttered quiet complaints about the heat every so often, peeling her shirt after from her damp collarbone, and each time Buffy turned her head just slightly, watching from the corner of her eye. Otherwise the time passed in relative silence. Buffy picked the M&Ms out of the trail mix, and Faith ate the raisins. Within a couple hours they had left the bright, steamy forests of Southeast Texas behind them and passed into sprawling farm land.

They reached Dallas just before noon. It was one of the few major cities in North America that Faith had never visited, and she had Buffy read the directions to their hotel from her phone. Dallas, unlike Houston, had a single, collected skyline that could be seen from up to 20 miles away, and she watched it approach, bobbing in and out of view as they passed from fields of golden prairie grass into a dense forest of scrubby trees and bushes. The land rolled gently like a scrunched sheet of fabric, the van dipping and rising like the bow of a boat breaking low waves. Faith kept Buffy close to her when they arrived at the hotel and warned her not to speak or make eye contact with the receptionist.

"Put these on" she instructed, pulling a Red Sox cap and a pair of large sunglasses from her pack, "and wear your hair down. Try to hide your face as much as possible. There are cameras in the hotel."

Buffy accepted the items dolefully. "So, the police are looking for me?"

Everyone is looking for you, demons included." Faith examined her face in the mirror on the back of the sun visor. "If I were you, I would want to make sure that the assholes trying to kill me don't know where I am."

The blonde stiffened and turned away, face pale. She bunched her fists in the sweatshirt on her lap. She looked much younger in the morning light, face bare and free of makeup, stripped out of her business clothes. She could have been a scared teenager, and Faith wouldn't have known the difference.

"Don't worry," Faith pulled her wild, dark hair back into a messy bun, "if you follow my directions you'll be fine. No one'll ever know you were here."

"Why don't we get the police involved?" Buffy asked quietly, fingering the silver crucifix around her neck. "Can't they help us?"

"Nope." Faith popped the 'p'. "Definitely not."

"Because they'll arrest you for kidnapping?"

"Because they can't protect you," she corrected, flipping up the visor. "Come on, grab my bag. Let's go."

Once inside they reached the room without a hitch. Buffy hovered just over Faith's shoulder while she checked in, and followed her glumly into the elevator. Faith picked up the phone and ordered room service as soon as they walked in the door, and then flopped back on the bed with a groan. There were dark circles under her eyes, and bruises peeking out beneath her black tank top. Buffy sat gingerly beside her on the mattress, staring vacantly at her hands. She was still in shock.

"Wanna watch tv?" Faith asked.

Buffy just nodded faintly, and she switched on the Food Network.

They were eating french fries in silence when Giles arrived at the hotel 45 minutes later. He was wildly overdressed, holding a suitcase and a rolling carry-on. His face was red, his brow damp with sweat. He had neglected to bring sunglasses, of course, and had vastly overestimated the effect that a change in seasons would have on the sweltering weather in Texas. Faith let him into the room where it was quiet, save the droning of the tv mounted on the wall. Buffy sat huddled on the bed next to a plate of food, and she didn't look up when he came in.

"So, this is her," Rupert breathed, shrugging off his tweed jacket.

Faith glanced back over her shoulder at the motionless figure on the bed. "Yeah."

"She's quite petite. Not exactly what I was expecting."

"Are they ever?"

The watcher offered her a grim smile.

"It's really good to see you again," Faith said seriously.

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "I missed you. I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," she grumbled."

He smiled. "I can see that."

Faith huffed, and her eyes slid toward the bathroom door. "Now that you're here, I'm going to go take a shower, because I haven't had one in two days and I'm disgusting. Will you stay with her?"

"Of course."

Faith grabbed a razor and some fresh clothes out of her bag, and sailed into the bathroom, but she paused with her hand on the door handle. Giles recognized the mark of uncertainty on her.

"She didn't get much sleep, G. She tossed and turned all night." The slayer paused. "She said she's been having nightmares."

"She's having the dreams?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me anything."

Faith disappeared inside, shutting the door softly behind her, and the started the water. Rupert turned his attention to the figure huddled on the bed who had yet to acknowledge his presence. She looked to be in shock, which surprised him a little, but then, the girls were usually easier when they were younger.

"Buffy Summers?" He inclined his head just slightly, a calm and stately signal of respect. "It is nice to finally meet you. I am Rupert Giles, Faith's watcher."

Slowly, with some trepidation, Buffy lifted her head, mirroring his gaze with hollow eyes.

"I work for the slayer's Council in London. Has she- well, has she mentioned anything about that to you?"

"Are you gonna try and convince me that vampires are real, too?" The girl's voice was thin and hoarse. "She already tried that. I don't want to be part of your cult."

He gave her a wan smile. "My dear, there are many sinister cults in this world, most of them devoted to things more terrifying than vampires, but I can assure you that Faith and I belong to none of them." Approaching the bed, he held out a hand and smiled. "May I sit?"

She wanted to refuse him, but the prim Englishman seemed, in that moment, much more like her beloved grandfather than he did a deranged kidnapper. A curt nod was all the permission he needed to settle down next to her. He folded his hands in his lap and adjusted his spectacles. She studied the lines in his face out of the corner of her eye, noting, with some relief, that his features were kind, his gaze both soft and solemn.

"I don't see any reason to lie to you, Ms. Summers. You're in a spot of trouble."

"Just call me Buffy," she croaked.

"Alright, Buffy. Has Faith told you about the prophecy?"

"Yeah."

Giles nodded, pausing a moment with pursed lips before continuing. "There's no need for us to be too concerned just yet. Prophecies are more common than you would think. It's not the stuff of science fiction, though at times I wish it were. Men, demons, angels-"

"Angels?" Buffy ripped her gaze from the television.

"That's the colloquial term for them, yes."

"Oh my God..."

"None of us, no matter our race, were meant to handle knowledge of the future, hypothetical or otherwise. It drives people mad. I've witnessed it many times, and so the first thing I want to assure you of, Buffy," he laid a gentle hand on her arm, "is that you are in no way bound to this prophecy. It may or may not come to pass, and, as always, there are many variables outside of our control that will determine the outcome."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't want you to panic."

Buffy sniffed and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "It is way, way too late for that."

He smiled grimly. "It will be alright, Ms. Summers."

She covered her eyes. "I'm not sure it will."

A/N: So, I know there's some untranslated Greek in here. I'm not trying to annoy you, it's intended to be that way. The idea behind it is that the language is so foreign to her that Buffy can't understand what he's saying. Have you ever tried learning a language that's really different than your native tongue? Sometimes, at first, you can't even distinctly hear the sounds because your brain hasn't learned to pick them out. I've had this struggle while learning Korean.

Thanks for your patience!