Last night was the longest of my life. Longer than my first night here, longer than the first night after I betrayed the only friend I've ever had. The sick feeling in my gut never went away. She's dead. B's dead, and I'm here. That sounds wrong, even if it's truth.
We go through the routine in the morning. Prison doesn't care about feelings. It doesn't care if you got bad news the night before. Up at dawn, shower, breakfast. Out in the yard for a few minutes, just enough so you remember what sun is, then back to your cell. I exercise a lot here, keeps you busy and works out the built-up energy. But no exercise for me today. More visitors. At least I know who to expect today.
This time it's a conference room. How the hell Giles and Angel managed to swing outdoor visitation yesterday I'll never know. I sit, noting the complete blandness of the room. It's somber even for prison. Slate-gray table, metal chairs, dingy walls, dingy floors. Big honking two-way mirror so they boys can keep an eye on me and so I can't see them. Do they think they're fooling anyone? 'Cause I sure know any of the conference rooms I've ever been in don't have mirrors in them the size of small trucks.
The door opens a moment later and, yep, it's Council. These boys must have tweed regulated to them. And, I lean over to check, sure enough, loafers with tassels. Christ. London Fog #1 sits across from me, gives me a stern look like he's not going to take any trouble from me. He's older, maybe forty, with a face that makes Christopher Walken look like frickin' Rob Lowe. Not pretty, let me tell you. The other guy is a little younger, maybe thirty, blonde. Nice enough looking, but he's got this "I'm here for you" sympathy in his eyes that I'm just not in the mood for.
"Faith," London Fog says, "we're from the Council."
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "Do tell."
He's already irritated. This could be fun. "My name is Winston Deering and this is Martin Reid," he says, pointing to Blondie. "We know that you've been informed of the…tragedy of Ms…." He looks over his notes, "…Summers' death."
"Her name is Buffy," I say through clenched teeth. They had how long a flight and he doesn't even know her name?
"Yes, well, it is of the opinion of the Council that you are to be reinstated into active duty as the Slayer," he tells me, a smug smile on his face like I'm going to just jump up for joy, maybe give me him a little hug. Whatever, perv-o.
I cock my eyebrow at him--I love doing that, looks all sassy--and say, "Is that right?"
He looks perplexed, like I'm not answering the way he wants me to. Blondie jumps in. "Faith, we know that your tenure as the Slayer was an…interesting one. However, the warden here assures us that you've been a model inmate, with the exception of a few tussles here and there at the beginning."
I turn to him. "So I've been here not even two years and I'm ready for parole?"
He and London Fog exchange glances. "Well," Blondie says, "not exactly. The Council has…made some arrangements. You're free to leave with us this afternoon and return to Sunnydale."
"Arrangements, huh? What kind of arrangements?"
London Fog is not liking the way this conversation is going. "That's none of your concern. I would expect, young lady, that in a position such as you find yourself in, you would be a little more curious as to how quickly you can leave this place rather than the reasons behind your release."
I consider this, decide it's time to stop playing. "I'm listening."
Blondie nods, happy things are going their way now. "The paperwork is all taken care of."
"Is it now? You boys were pretty damn sure I'd say yes, now weren't you?"
Blondie looks a little irritated. "You'd rather stay here?"
I lean forward, look him dead in the eye. "I'd rather be on a beach gettin' rubbed down by a cabana boy and sippin' a rum drink, but I guess I'll take what's offered to me."
That's shut him up. London Fog takes over. "Collect your things. We leave now. You will be returned to Sunnydale where your new Watcher awaits you." He turns to walk out the door, then turns back, and afterthought. "I suggest that you reevaluate your methods this time, young lady. The Council has had about enough with you."
I ignore him, except to say, "New Watcher? Why can't I have Giles?"
Blondie give me the sympathy eyes. "Mr. Giles has requested that he not be assigned a Slayer…even if a new one had been called."
I understand. It's not about me. Well, maybe a little of it is…I was pretty bad to him and the Scoobies, but I know that it's mostly because of B. He doesn't want anyone else after her.
"Wesley?" I ask, grasping at straws. Wesley probably wants less to do with me than Giles.
Blondie shakes his head. "Mr. Wyndam-Price is no longer employed by the Council. He was not reinstated as Mr. Giles was. I'm afraid that's impossible."
I know it is, knew it as I was asking, but I still wish… "So who's the new Watcher?"
"His name is Jackson Sloan. He's an American…perhaps that will…well, maybe it will be better for you?" He looks nervous. "He should be in Sunnydale as we speak. I've instructed him that we would be arriving with you in a few hours. You'll stay with him for the meantime, until you get settled somewhere else."
I nod. New Watcher. Oh joy. Sunnydale, two years later. No B, no Giles, no Scoobies even…but Angel said he'd be there. He said. That's like a promise, right?
Buffy's friends need me. They need a Slayer to help protect them. I owe that much to her.
I push back from the table and walk towards the door where Blondie is still waiting for me. "I've got nothing in my cell that I want. Let's go."