CHAPTER 38

Buffy's announcement effectively ended the research party. Wesley and Kendra followed Buffy and the rest of the Summers Clan out of the Library. Janna and Willow packed up her laptop and cuddled.

Tara didn't care about any of it. She had to find a way to get Faith away from the Mayor. At best, he was a regular human scheming to become a demon. As Janna had pointed out, that came with a lot of power. Probably a series of rituals and special steps, ways to slowly collect the energy needed for the final transformation. At worst… the Mayor was a nearly hundred year-old being about to become a demon. Best and worst cases were very closely related, and they each spelled almost certain disaster.

"You went to City Hall today?" Giles' question was quiet enough to keep Janna and Willow from overhearing.

It was a pointless question. Tara had already admitted as much when she'd mentioned seeing the photo of Richard Wilkins I. Remaining silent, she waited for him to get to the point.

His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Had I met this version of you at the Social, I might not have felt so concerned about being called away."

Without conscious thought, Tara raised an eyebrow. They had work to do. Giles should know that.

Work or not, her eyebrow caused Giles to smile – and back off. "My apologies. All the time with the children has eroded my sense of decorum." Gesturing at the photo of the Mayor, he asked, "When you left, you said you needed to be somewhere. What did you need at City Hall?"

"I tried to talk to Faith. I thought…" Tara broke off, frustration flooding her. "I th-thought if I c-could get her away from him…" Him. The Mayor. "B-but she didn't w-want to go. She's m-moving on."

Giles placed a gentle hand on Tara's shoulder. "I'm so very sorry, Tara."

He spoke as if Tara had given up. She hadn't. Not quite. Only almost. Until the bond was completely gone, when the faint buzz at the back of her mind totally disappeared, then Tara would exchange her black cuff for one in red. "So am I." Stiffening her spine, she announced in ringing tones, "But the Mayor is not going to win." Not by becoming a demon. Certainly not by stealing Tara's bondmate.

Finding a solution for the Mayor wasn't as simple as studying for a final exam. Tara stared at the thick tomes taking up every inch of floor space in Maxie and Trish's living room and rubbed her burning eyes. Why had she thought she could find an answer when the entire House staff had failed?

The burn grew worse, and the living room blurred.

Tara slammed the book in her lap closed. No. This wasn't going to happen. They couldn't lose. She couldn't lose.

"Hey!" Maxie breezed into the house, followed by a bag-laden Trish. "We haven't seen you in forever. I thought maybe you'd moved out and didn't tell us."

Despite carrying a dozen plastic grocery bags, Trish managed to get a hand free. She popped Maxie on the ass. "Really? Really, Maxie? I'm going to have to buy a bigger paddle." The scolding would probably have had more effect if Trish hadn't been laughing. She stopped when she noticed the books all over the living room – and Tara's expression.

Trish dumped the bags on the floor. "Put the cold stuff away, Max." Picking her way through the piles of books, she knelt in next to Tara. "You don't look so hot. And these books didn't come from campus." With gentle hands, she pulled the book off Tara's lap. "You went to the House last night. You weren't here when Maxie and I left for class. Have you slept at all?"

"Do you always ask questions when you already know the answer?" Tara tried to take the book back. She had to keep looking for answers.

Putting the book safely on the floor behind her, Trish grabbed Tara's hands tightly. "Which do you prefer? Questions or me dragging you to the bedroom and cuffing you to the bed?"

"Take the questions," Maxie called from the kitchen. "Trish pulled that Dominant crap the first year we were together and I got pneumonia. Cuffs are hot when the toys are out and the mood is right. They suck beyond belief when there's no mood and an alarm clock is the only accessory involved."

"I don't have time to sleep," Tara snapped. Normally, the Trish and Maxie Show made her laugh. Helped her forget whatever had been bothering her. Right now, though, Tara longed for her single dorm room and the privacy it offered.

Trish didn't respond. She continued to hold Tara's hands and stare at her.

The stare was right out of the Dominance for Dummies handbook. Give the submissive time – and the right setting – for admitting their error. But Tara wasn't a submissive. And hadn't made a mistake. "Give me the book, Trish." Tara would pack up and go back to the House.

"Not going to happen, Tar." Trish refused to budge. "You look like Hell. You weren't in class this morning. You need to stop…" she waved a hand at the living room, "whatever it is you're doing here and get some rest."

"Trish! Give me the damned book!" Tara shouted – and then stared in horror at her friend.

Instead of growing angry, Trish simply asked, "When was the last time you slept, Tar?"

"I…I d-don't rem-member." At least a full day ago. Probably more. It was Thursday afternoon now. She vaguely recalled staggering into the kitchen yesterday morning.

"And from the state of the living room, you've been working for a while." Trish was relentless. Quiet, polite, and not going away.

Tara examined the living room, too. Giles would have a heart attack. The big book on ancient demonology was priceless. It was buried – still open – under stack of other works. If the pages were so much as wrinkled…

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Trish's voice blended smoothly with the mini-Giles voice in Tara's imagination. "I bet you didn't. I bet you've sat here since right after we left this morning, scouring all these books, and you haven't found anything."

Nothing. Not one single thing, which was why Tara had to get back to work. "Trish, I have to…"

"Go to bed for a few hours." Trish got up, pulling Tara with her. "When you wake up, you can tell us what you're looking for and Maxie and I will help you find it."

Trish was wrong. Tara couldn't go to bed. Unfortunately, Tara's mind gave in to the ever-present buzz from the link and the fog of exhaustion. She couldn't fight any more. Numbly following Trish down the hallway, Tara vowed to get back to work. Soon.

Faith rolled out of bed and groaned. She hurt everywhere.

Whoever was knocking on the door didn't care.

"What the fuck do you want?" Faith snarled as she yanked open the door.

The bartender from last night glared back. "I let you sleep in, kid. You paid for the time, but you've got to clear out. This isn't a hotel." Then his eyes dropped and widened. "What happened? Shit! I knew that Dom was bad news. Let me call…"

"Give me five and I'll be out." Faith slammed the door in his face and limped around the room, hunting for her clothes. Her shirt was under the bed. Her pants near the entrance to the tiny bathroom. Dragging them on was a lesson in pain. Not that it mattered. She'd be feeling exactly nothing soon. Faith spotted one of her boots in the tub. Its mate and her weapons were still missing in action. Muttering under her breath, Faith grabbed the boot.

That's when she caught her reflection in the mirror.

No wonder the bartender had flipped out. Bruises marred her face, and clear finger marks shone around her throat. Lifting her T-shirt showed welts marred with dried blood.

"Get cleaned up." Shoving Faith toward the bathroom, her mother glanced around the room. "What the fuck did you do? Fight? I told you – you do what the customers tell you. Stupid bitch. If I didn't need you ready for the next one, I'd beat you myself."

If only her mother had made that threat a couple of years later, after Faith had been Chosen. Things might have gone a whole lot differently. The bruises on Faith's throat mocked her. She was still letting people fuck her up. Faith dropped the shirt and fled the bathroom. Tossing furniture and discarded sex toys out of the way, she finally located her missing boot, the bow, and her arrows. As she strode stiffly from the room, she saw the cops enter the bar. Fucking great. So much for thinking the bartender was scared of her.

Turning the other direction in the hall, she jogged toward the emergency exit. There were no cops in the street out back. Faith used that to her advantage. She had work to do.

A human had to die tonight. The question was: would it be the courier – or Faith, herself?

The clock at the Sun Cinema ticket booth said it was only six fifteen. Too early to meet the courier. Faith stuffed her hands in her pockets and plodded slowly down the sidewalk.

People gave her a wide berth. A few of them paused, staring. On any other day, Faith might have stared back. Tonight…Tonight Faith ducked her head to hide the bruising and kept walking. Button pushing took energy. She had none to spare. The good people of Sunnydale got a free pass because Faith was too tired and hurt too badly to scowl and mock.

She slunk away instead. Which gave her time to think. Was she really going through with this? Faith fingered the bowstring running diagonally across her chest. The Mayor expected her to kill some guy with a box. It was a win-win situation for him. The Mayor needed to do whatever evil shit he had planned, and it made Faith a full participant. She'd be part of his team; there would be no evidence, real or fake, showing the courier had died by accident.

It all added up to one thing: Faith's options hadn't changed since last night. It was kill the guy or die. If the bartender had actually called Giles. If the Scoobies didn't write it off as a crank call. Buffy could swoop in to save the day. The Golden Girl would get the box and would put Faith out of her misery.

Fair enough. Faith watched her feet hit the concrete in a slow, steady rhythm. It was inevitable that one foot would follow the other. Her life was the same way. No matter what she did, she made the wrong choices. And no matter what happened tonight, her life was over.

A little of her tension eased. Why get all twisted up when Faith knew she was doomed?

By the time Faith reached the airport, the terminal was dark. Faith skirted it and climbed a chain-link fence to get to the private hangers. A few lights shone inside the large barn-like structures. Faith stayed in the shadows until she located Hanger Three. It was deserted, but she heard footsteps approaching. Time to find a place to hide and wait for the plane to land. There was a service ladder leading to the roof. No one would look for her up there, and it would provide a perfect line of sight when Faith…made her decision.

"…so what was I supposed to do? I mean, come on. I'm bonded. Not dead," a man complained as Faith scurried up the ladder. "All the whips and chains in the world aren't going to keep me from looking at other women, right?"

His companion laughed. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Well…." The first speaker lowered his voice, and Faith wondered who he thought was out here to eavesdrop on his lame conversation. "Worked out pretty good. The Domme's hot when she's pissed. And maybe I wasn't unhappy to be all strung up and worked over."

"You really think Patty didn't know that?" The other man shook his head. "Even you aren't that stupid. How many years you been together now? Ten? Fifteen? That shit you pull's like foreplay for both of you by now."

Faith rolled her eyes and pulled the bow over her head. The string was still tight. The gears moved smoothly. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze. Unless Buffy got here soon, the courier was dead. Faith was good enough to make this shot.

The bruises on her throat ached. Too bad the Dom last night hadn't misjudged his timing or the force of his grip. Buffy wouldn't have the same problem. Faith smiled at that. Buffy was the best; she was the best, and she didn't see in shades of gray. Buffy was all about black or white. Faith was definitely standing in the black right now.

Dragging heavy blocks across the pavement and donning heavy ear protection, the two men prepared for the incoming flight.

"Do you ever see yourself with a partner, Faith?" Diana's doctor friend asked. He'd been pestering her with questions since Diana had left her in the office.

Rather than answer, Faith kicked her feet out and stared at her shoe laces. The one on the left wasn't the same length as the one on the right. Did that mean anything? Like was her one hand better at tying than the other? Would the fat guy behind the desk know the answer to that?

"A strong Dominant maybe? Someone you could lean on, who would comfort you?" The guy was a moron. Comfort Faith? More like beat the crap out of her and rape her. "Or someone for you to care for. You're a Slayer. You've already got a strong need to protect…"

Faith hunched lower in her chair. She'd never managed to protect herself from all those johns. A submissive would never be safe with her.

The men below scurried away from the hanger as an engine roared nearby. The plane was coming in.

Faith was out of time. Would all this have been different if she'd bonded? If she'd had a Xander waiting for her at home, would Faith have fought the Council so hard? The memory of his eyes, wet with tears and despair the night he'd come looking for Buffy, pulled at her.

Snorting, Faith rolled her shoulders in preparation for drawing the bowstring. Xander and his fucking puppy dog eyes wouldn't have mattered at all. He'd have seen right through her if they'd been together for more than that one good fuck.

Another pair of eyes invaded her thoughts. Cold blue warming to indigo. A raised eyebrow. "Am I losing Dominant points now, sweetie?" Faith smiled even as her lingering hangover made her head throb in time with the approaching engine.

Tara's sub was one lucky bitch.

The plane rolled into view, and the airport workers jammed the blocks they'd gotten in front of the wheels and hooked up a myriad of cables and hoses.

Faith rose as the men rolled a metal staircase up to the plane and the door opened. The first arrow slid easily onto the bowstring.

As she drew the string back and rested it against her cheek, a shiver raced up Faith's arm. Perfect. Buffy was here. "Come and get me, B." The sooner the better because the courier was coming down the stairs now. He had a box clutched to his chest. That was going to make things difficult. Headshots required skill. But if she got him in the leg or the shoulder the first time, he'd drop that box in a hurry. The second shot would be one even Faith couldn't miss.

The courier was clear of the plane and the airport workers. He stood like a big patsy in the middle of the tarmac. The perfect target. Damn it, Buffy was going to be too late.

Closing her left eye, Faith honed in on the courier's shoulder and let out her breath slowly. Slowly. Until everything stilled and she knew it was the right moment to… "Oof!" Faith hit the ground hard with Buffy attached to her chest. The bow clattered down next to her. "Hey, B," she wheezed. "Whatcha doing at the airport? You finally gettin' a life and leaving Sunnydale?"

Her head rocked to one side as Buffy slugged her. "Shut up." There was a wild look in Buffy's eyes.

"Make me." Faith might know her fate; that didn't mean Buffy wasn't going to have to work to make it happen. She blocked Buffy next punch – easily. The swing was wide and uncontrolled. "Really? That's all ya' got?" Faith's blow was a picture perfect uppercut that lifted Buffy up and off. Scrambling to her feet, Faith took off. She cleared the roof and slid down the ladder, ignoring the burn of torn and blistered skin from the descent.

Buffy's footsteps pounded on the tarmac behind her. It spurred Faith almost over the fence until a hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled.

Faith landed hard again. Not as hard as the kick Buffy planted in her stomach. All of the air rushed from her lungs, which meant there was barely breath for a whimper when Buffy's fist crashed into Faith's nose. No breath. Plenty of blood, though. Faith gagged as she inhaled some of it in an attempt to replace the lost air.

"Hey, Sleepyhead. I hope we didn't wake you up." Monica lounged on the couch with Drew kneeling at her feet. "I told pretty boy to be quiet but he can't help himself." She smacked Drew, leaving a handprint on his cheek.

His head dropped and he seemed to inch even closer to Monica's legs.

Tara forced a smile. "No. I didn't even know you were here." She'd passed out the second her head had hit the pillow and would have slept until the next day if everything didn't hurt so badly. Pain lanced her head and settled on her chest. The link was fading. Tara could barely see it now; although, she could certainly feel it. Like someone squeezing her heart in a vice. She wasn't even sure how she had the energy or the motivation to stand up and move.

"Trish took Maxie to grab dinner. I have very strict instructions – like I'm a worthless submissive now – to settle you in and pamper you." Monica didn't smile. Her eyes examined Tara like the experienced Dominant she was. "And that's why Drew isn't naked and in his humbler. I will lounge and chat; Drew will pamper and serve."

"Please, Ma'am, have a seat. Is there anything I can get for you?" Drew rarely said much. Or…Tara didn't remember anything he'd said the first time they'd met. She surely didn't remember the twinkle in his eye or the bright grin. "Mistress says I give wonderful foot massages."

Monica reached out and tugged his hair, but there was a tender expression on her face. "Shut up, little worm."

Stumbling to the couch on rubbery legs, Tara shook her head. "Thank you, Drew, but my feet are just fine." Was he as talented with heart or head massages? Actually, a brain massage sounded fantastic. The fog in her mind was so thick, Tara struggled to put two thoughts together.

"Drew, get Tara something to drink. Water, if I remember from the party." Drew was up in a flash. "You don't look good. Should you even be up? Trish can be a little blind sometimes. She thought you just needed to sleep. If you want to hole up in the bedroom, I'll let her know you're sick. And I can send Drew out to Walgreens to pick something up to let you sleep."

"No. No, I'm fine," Tara lied.

Monica crossed her arms and simply looked at Tara. On the Dominance scale, she was much higher than Trish could ever hope to be. Tara, too.

"I'll rest tomorrow." Tara fought the urge to squirm under the weight of Monica's continued scrutiny. "I…you know I work for the Slayer House. There's some research that can't wait." Research. The Mayor. Tara forgot all about Monica and her crusty glare. "What time is it?"

When Monica didn't answer fast enough, Tara snatched up Monica's wrist and peered at her watch. A little after eight. She'd slept through the delivery at the airport. And no one had called. Monica and Drew would have passed along the message, if there had been one. A little more of Tara's motivation drained away. Closing her eyes, she slumped back on the couch.

Where are you, Faith? Tara asked the silence in her mind. Why won't you let me in? In. That was a joke. Faith wasn't merely shutting Tara out, she was closing off any hope they had of actually bonding. Tara suddenly realized she wasn't going to let that happen. It was selfish of her. After all, it might be the absolutely wrong decision – for her and for Faith. And Tara didn't give a damn. Faith was hers. Tara was going to make sure Faith knew that.

Something warm and soft wrapped around her, and Tara's eyes fluttered open. Drew ducked his head as he smoothed a blanket over Tara. "Would you like a pillow, Ma'am?"

"This is perfect, Drew. Monica's a very lucky woman." His grin indicated he already knew that. Tara closed her eyes again, barely aware of Monica and Drew in the room. She was done playing it safe. If Faith was stubborn, Tara could and would be even more stubborn. This was a fight Tara vowed not to lose.

Pretending to sleep, she pulled her awareness down and in. The mental fog was thick, and it swirled and clung to Tara's astral form. She pushed past it until she came to the link. The opening was a bare slit. No light leaked from the fissure. It was dark and cold and ominous.

This wasn't a horror movie, though, and Tara wasn't a shrinking, screaming victim. She was an angry Adept. A Dominant with a submissive who needed her – even if Faith didn't want to admit that. As she had during the Trial, Tara used only her personal energy stores. She would not risk dragging something evil into the mix because she had not cast a Circle. Quickly shaping the energy, Tara pushed it between the crimped edges of the link and…pried. The link opened for a heartbeat before dropping closed.

There was nothing inside the link to hold it open. It was completely dormant.

Fine. It would just take more power. Tara opened the floodgates to her energy store and poured magic into the link. This time, the bond exploded open and Tara's power surged into the conduit. The link held as Tara let her awareness swim with the current of magic toward Faith.

One of Faith's eyes was swollen shut. She couldn't see the punch that launched her over the couch in her living room. They'd battled all over Sunnydale, leaving a swath of destruction behind. It was fitting that it all ended right here in her apartment. Right where she'd let the Mayor worm his way into her heart. Sprawled on the floor, she wondered why they were still fighting. Why she kept getting up. She didn't want to win. She wanted Buffy to finish this; finish her. But every time it seemed Faith was down and out, Buffy pulled back. It was unbelievable. What the Hell was Buffy doing?

If Buffy wouldn't cross the line on her own, Faith would push her across it. She was the expert at pushing, after all. Especially with Buffy. Scrambling to her feet, Faith murmured, "Who'd they send to replace me, B?" She hadn't met many of the other Slayers at the Social; she knew the type Wes would have picked, though. "Bet she's worse than Wes at quotin' rules."

Buffy ignored her, advancing around the ruined furniture.

"Know what I think?" Talking hurt – and it made the cuts on Faith's lips bleed more.

"Not really interested," Buffy snapped back.

Faith laughed. Buffy was nothing if not predictable. "Sure ya' are. 'Course, I think you already know. Watcher Wes brought just the right Slayer to town this time. Not one like you and me, B. One of them kids the Council trained since they was little. A Slayer that don't ask questions."

Only the sounds of their panting breaths filled the room for a minute.

"Next thing, you're gonna be out of a job," Faith taunted. She was ready for Buffy this time. Faith automatically blocked the kick to her head and ruthlessly swept Buffy's pivot foot out from under her. She grinned tightly when Buffy's head connected with the floor. Nothing pissed Buffy off more than losing. "But you havin' a job won't matter."

The rest of her taunt had to wait. Buffy was on her feet faster than Faith anticipated, and they were off again. The apartment would never be the same. Faith left a body-print in the refrigerator as Buffy slammed her back against it. Unused utensils and glass containers shattered on the floor when Faith slid along the counter and off the far end.

Faith dragged herself up – in time to duck the chair Buffy chucked at her. It hurtled through the windows to the roof. Faith dragged herself up and out of the window behind it. She'd make her "final stand" here. If Buffy couldn't get the job done…well, it was a long way down to the sidewalk. Even a Slayer couldn't survive that.

This needed to end. Taking a deep breath, Faith stopped in the middle of the roof and faced off with Buffy. "You should leave the Council, B. Come join me and the Mayor."

"So I can turn into a killer like you?" Buffy's words landed harder than any of her punches had, but Faith refused to let that show. "There's no way you're walking away from this."

If only Buffy knew. "Ya' think? From where I'm standing, there's no way you can win, B. The Mayor's like invincible or some shit." Sliding forward a step, Faith kept searching for the right button to push. She didn't understand the way Buffy was acting, why she watched Faith so closely without attacking. "You're done, B. Done, just like you were always scared would happen."

Yes! That was it. That was the right button. Buffy's eyes flickered; her fists tightened. "You told Xan you'd keep him safe, didn't you? You're a fucking liar. You can't stop this, B. When this all goes down, the Boss'll kill Xan. And the Scoobies. They'll all be dead and it'll be your fault."

With a scream of rage, Buffy tackled Faith. Punches rocked Faith's head back and forth. Her ears rang; her vision grew hazy. Faith thought her head might crumple with the next blow.

And that's when Buffy stopped and leaned back. Tears tracked through the blood and dirt on her face. "Why, Faith? Why would you…do this?"

Holy fuck. Only Buffy would be seconds away from killing Faith and stop to ask fucking questions. Faith had been ready to die. She'd accepted it. Made her peace with it. And Buffy wanted to have a conversation? "You want…the truth?" she gasped. One hand found purchase on Buffy's collar and pulled her in a little closer.

"It didn't have to be like this." Buffy stared imploringly at Faith. Was she stupid enough to think Faith was going to surrender? She wasn't letting the Council lock her up and suck away her powers.

"Ah, hell, B…" Faith gathered all her remaining strength and snapped her hips up. Because of her position, Buffy was catapulted over Faith's head. Faith managed to get to her knees and threw herself on top of Buffy. She drew her dagger, pressing the blade to Buffy's throat. "Why do you always gotta fuck things up for me? Huh? You weren't supposed to lose, B. You never lose, and I was countin' on that." More blood joined the dark rust of Willow's dried blood on the knife. Faith's hand shook and she tightened her muscles until they ached in order to hold the dagger steady. "I'm sorry." She leaned more of her weight onto Buffy, and…

Pressure exploded inside Faith's head. It ballooned until Faith cried out. Another voice, a voice so cold and commanding she shuddered under its force, announced, "Don't you dare!"

A/N: Another chapter, another note. I'm giving in to RL until the end of the year and will only be posting every other week. By then... Well, by then I can only hope work slows down. The little Faith and Tara voices in my head don't like it when I can't let them out to play every day.