NINE: TOO TOUGH

Crumpling the empty hotdog wrapper in her hand, Faith tossed it into a nearby trash can and walked over to the car. She sat on top of the hood, careful not to pick a soft spot where it might dent, and lit a cigarette, her eyes scanning the crowd milling around the twenty or so stalls set up in the middle of the field. She'd lost track of Willow ... she wasn't exactly sure when time-wise ... but reckoned on maybe another ten or fifteen minutes before their agreed meet-up time.

They'd dropped the new girl off at the airport, on her way back to Cleveland now to kick some Hellmouth ass; and while normally Faith would have taken her by herself, Willow had a couple of things to pick up at some magic store in town and so tagged along. Which meant that Faith hadn't been able to simply drive past the sign for a flea market just off the highway on the way home.

("Oh, come on. It'll be fun."

"You got a whacked-out idea of fun.")

After however-long trekking around after the other woman while she wow-ed and hey-ed over what looked to Faith like mostly junk, Willow herself had suggested they split up for a while then meet back at the car. Which had suited a bored and hungry Faith just fine.

She took a drag from her cigarette and continued to search the crowd, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she spotted the girl in question talking to some old guy across one of the tables while he handed her something wrapped in blue tissue paper. Faith hopped off the hood as Willow made her way through the rows of parked vehicles, her purse over her shoulder, a plastic shopping bag in one hand, the tissue-wrapped package in the other.

"You haven't been waiting long, have you?"

"Nope." Faith dropped her cigarette on the ground and waited for Willow to open the car doors. "Anything interesting?" She motioned to the bag.

"Just a few jars." Willow moved round to the back of the car and popped the trunk open. She put the bag inside and slammed it shut again. "But, here, I got you this." She held out the loosely-wrapped package.

Faith took it – heavier than she'd expected. "What is it?"

"Um ... at the risk of giving too much away, taking the paper off might help solve the mystery?"

The Slayer frowned and peeled back the thin, blue tissue, unwrapping it a couple of times before her question was answered. She lifted an eyebrow and looked at the other woman.

"You like?" Willow asked.

Faith pulled the Bowie knife from its sheath and turned it over a couple of times, letting the sun glint off the six or seven-inch steel blade. She held the hilt firmly in her hand for a moment, testing its grip, then, holding it carefully by its weapon-end, she studied the handle. About five inches long and, like the sheath, made from hand-carved maple, inlaid with a couple of nickel-silver diamond shapes. Lifting the knife closer, Faith studied the inscription on the silver ferrule below the guard. "Sine qua non?" She looked at Willow.

"Um ... Without which not."

"Huh?"

The redhead smiled. "It means ... uh ... essential – totally essential."

Faith nodded and looked back down at the knife. "It's super-nice."

"So, you like it?"

"Yeah." The Slayer raised her head again, an uncertain smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "But, isn't it kinda inappropriate? I mean, in a you-giving-me-a-knife-all-things-considered sorta way?"

Willow chewed on her lip for a second. "Maybe. But, well, I just saw it and thought you might wanna add it to your collection."

"No, it's great. It's ... I just didn't expect it. I mean, the last person gave me a knife ..."

Willow's thoughtful expression took a more anxious turn. "Oh."

Grinning, the Slayer shook her head. "Crazy bastard." She cocked her head to the side, looked at Willow. "Always meant to ask B what she did with it ..." Her grin vanished as Willow's expression turned even more uneasy.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think …"

"Hey, I'm jokin'." Faith chuckled. "I mean, c'mon, Will, there's enough history between us all, half the time I'm surprised opening a bag of chips doesn't make for someone havin' a 'Nam-type flashback." She nodded past the last row of cars. "C'mon, let's try this baby out."

They stood a few yards away from the front of a beat-up Honda. Faith motioned to the short fence at the end of the field.

"Pick a post," she said.

"Okay, um ... that one." Willow pointed. "The one with the bumpy bit at the top."

"That I can do. Now for the tricky part – tricky if you're not me, I mean." Faith looked at Willow and grinned. "Top, middle or bottom?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Middle."

"No problem." Faith turned the knife over in her hand, feeling the weight again, the surface cool against her skin, running her thumb over the engravings. Man, it was nice.

"Why d'you like knives?" Willow asked.

"'Cause I'm good with 'em." Turning her gaze back in the direction of the post, Faith lifted the knife shoulder-high and —

"But, isn't that sorta backward logic?" Willow pressed. "I mean, you must've liked them before you learned how to use them ... the way you use them."

Faith looked at her. "You gonna let me throw the damn thing?"

"Sorry."

Lowering the knife again, the Slayer sighed. "Okay, you use a knife on some ... thing, you gotta look it in the eye. 'Less, of course, you knife it in the back." She gave Willow a small smile. "But, most of the time, you gotta use it face-to-face." She glanced down at the weapon in her hand for a second, before raising her eyes again. "That's what I'd like to say I like about 'em, but, it doesn't take a whole lot of honor to gut an old college professor called Lester."

Willow blinked, but didn't say anything.

"So, I guess I like knives 'cause ... I dunno ... they bring out the color in my eyes." Faith turned away again and squinted at the fence post. A split-second later, she smiled as the blade sank into the wood with a soft thud – dead center.

"I'm impressed," said Willow. "And maybe slightly disturbed."

The Slayer crossed the field and collected the weapon, running the blade lightly between her fingers while she made her way back to the redhead. Before she could slide the knife back inside the sheath, Willow said:

"Would you — I mean, if you didn't need the box, would you have killed me that time?"

Faith looked down at the knife for a second, then raised her eyes again. "Reckon so, yeah."

"And the 'deep pain'?"

The Slayer shrugged. "Probably."

The uneasy little frown returned. Not anger or resentment or fear even. But, anxiety maybe that Faith hadn't lied to make her feel better?

Faith nudged her and gave her a small grin. "I mean, I was so evil back then. Bad to the bone, baby."

Still no smile.

Faith studied her. How to turn that frown upside down? Slipping the knife back into the sheath, something occurred to her.

"C'mon," she said. "I'll buy you an icy."

And, hey, gosh – it worked.