CHAPTER 11: SINS OF PAST AND FUTURE

Now look at me baby
struggling to do everything right
And then it all falls apart
when out go the lights
I'm just a lonely pilgrim
I walk this world in wealth
I want to know if it's you I don't trust
'cause I damn sure don't trust myself

            ~Brilliant Disguise, Bruce Springsteen
______________________________________________

The town streets were deathly quiet, empty, with not even a trace to give evidence of the living. Neat little houses in straight, quaint rows, shades drawn and insides darkened, they looked like squat sentinels, windows like blind staring eyes, hunched down and hushed with waiting so silent and complete that they might have been in the middle of a ghost town. Children's toys did not line the yards or streets here, and cars were nestled safely in garages, doors shut tight and locked against thieves and other night terrors only half-imagined. Cars that had no garage lined the streets in varying shades of bulky metal, most of them as unremarkable as the next; plain, average vehicles all merging together in a faceless representation of America's suburban middle-class. In Sunnydale it was always a good idea not to be noticed, but this was ridiculous. No people, no vampires, no monsters at all. It was as if the entire town was hiding out, holding its collective breath as they waited for whatever storm was coming to explode.

"This place is locked tighter than a nun's knees," Faith grumbled under her breath.

"Oh, that's colorful." Xander, walking beside her, seemed less concerned or affected by the strange quiet. Willow and Tara walked just behind them, and Faith couldn't see their faces, but she suspected they wouldn't be as casual as his. As they reached the edge of the graveyard, he set down the huge bag he'd been carrying like a sack of lead slung over his shoulder, and unzipped it. And, huh, the fact that he was so unperturbed might have had something to do with the fact that he was packing a double-headed axe the size of a pony. She squinted at it as he pulled it from the bag, thinking it looked vaguely familiar…

"Is that Angel's battle axe?"

"What? This?" he asked, just a little too innocently.

"How many times have you watched it now?" Willow demanded with a knowing grin.

"W-watched what?" Tara asked, glancing between the two of them, curious.

Willow smiled at her, almost smug. "The Fellowship of the Ring. I downloaded it online for him. You can't even see it in the theatres yet." She turned and looked at Xander again. "So, how many times?"

"Oh." He shrugged, evasive. "Just a couple of times."

Willow just stared at him and arched one brow, goofy grin playing over her lips.

"Okay, twelve times." He lifted the head of the axe a few inches off the ground, testing its weight. "I figure I ought to be an expert by proxy by now."

Faith gave him a dubious look. "You sure you can handle that?"

He looked at her deliberately as he hefted the axe up and over his shoulder with both hands, letting it balance there, grinning in triumph.

She folded her arms and raised her brows at him.

"Oh ye of little faiiiith—" His retort turned into a cry of surprise as the weight of the axe head overbalanced and pulled him backward with it.

"Whoa, easy there, killer." Faith chuckled, reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. She pulled him carefully upright, axe and all, with hardly a tug. "I don't think Mordor needs to flee the gates just yet," she chuckled.

He paused in his forming expression of annoyance, eyes narrowing, head tilting. "Wait a minute. You've read Lord of the Rings?"

Her grin broadened and she shrugged, taking a step away from him as if she were already growing bored with the conversation. "Nah. Just caught the Led Zepplin cliff notes versions more than a couple of times. I thought they used swords?"

"The axe is a real man's weapon," he said, sounding slightly insulted.

"Not like we're gonna need the axe, anyway. This town has turned into such a drag," she complained with a sigh, tossing her stake back and forth between her hands. "I mean, it's been weeks since we've even seen a vampire. If it weren't for this apocalypse thing I'd probably be out of a job by now."

Xander hefted the axe forward, its weight carrying him gracelessly with it before it hit the ground and stuck deep, and shot her a reproachful look out of the corner of his eye. "You know, we tend to look on lack of vampires around here as a good thing."

"Okay, well, demons, ghosts, the boogeyman, whatever. Give me something to kill, that's all I'm saying."

"B-boogeyman?" Willow asked nervously, twisting her neck to glance around the darkened streets. "You think there's… one of those?"

"Oh, I—I'm sure it's just a myth," Tara said with genuine sympathy, laying a comforting arm around Willow's shoulders.

"Will's got this whole boogeyman phobia," Xander chuckled. "I used to tease her when we were little that he carried a disco ball and sang cheesy disco music. 'I'm the boogeyman, I'm the boogeyman, turn me on'…" He did a fair impression of the famous Saturday Night Fever dance as he sang, taking sliding steps through the grass.

"It's not funny," Willow retorted, giving him a dirty look.

Faith stared wide-eyed at Xander for a second, then burst into laughter and shook her head. "No, that's really scary."

Xander joined her in laughing and Willow intensified her look of displeasure, causing him to break off in mid-laugh. "Of course, that was before she became a mega-powerful witch that could dust me quicker than disco." He gave Willow a nervous, charming grin.

For a moment, she looked unnerved, as if he'd just discovered her deepest darkest secret.

"Okay," he said as if making note, ticking off fingers as he listed, "teasing; big check in the ixnay column. Flattery; also a big check in the negative." He turned his hands palms up and frowned as if at a loss. "All I've got left is sarcasm, which, I'm guessing, is a big plus in the 'begging you to hurt me' category."

"Oh, don't tell me you're not down with that," Faith said with a laugh. "I seem to recall—" She cut the sentence short, mentally kicking herself. Shit. Too late.

And that did it. The spell was broken. The change in the group was as palpable as it was sudden. Xander turned a suddenly cold eye on her and all the friendliness went out of the moment.

"Well, speaking as someone who's tried, you ought to know."

Dammit. Go out with Xander and Willow on patrol tonight, Giles had said. It'll be good for you all. And it had been pretty cool, truth to tell, up 'til now. Bantering and having fun while passing the time, trading quips and stories. Kind of like she'd always imagined it would be if… if she hadn't gone evil and tried to kill them all. Yeah, there was that. There was always that. That wasn't some little pile of dirt you could sweep neatly under the carpet and forget about, was it? More like the Vug under the rug.

Willow's eyes shifted away, uncomfortable, and Tara ducked her head, as if the movement alone could shield her from the confrontation.

Faith shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans and slanted her shoulders, trying to balance the guilt and discomfort, make it more bearable. "Good one," she nodded with grudging approval. "You got me, Xand." She gave a short, brittle laugh, stiffened her arms and looked up at the sky, shrugging. "Hell, not much I can say to that, is there?"

He looked at her with steady, glittering eyes. "No. Not really."

"Was a time I'd have taken your head off for saying that," she said evenly.

"How 'bout now?" he challenged, and it was all she could do not to chuckle her approval. He sounded like he was more than game for going up against her, even though he had to know he'd lose. Maybe it was a side of him she'd never gotten to see before, or maybe it was new, but whatever it was, she was impressed by it.

She pulled her hands from her pockets and spread her arms wide. "What do you want, Xander? You want me to try to hurt you so you can be right about me? Do you really think if that was my master plan I'd be helping you out?"

"You might, rabbit, you might," he said with just the faintest lilt of an Irish beat-cop accent.

"Damn," she said with heavy sarcasm, throwing in a light laugh for good measure. "And everything was going so well. What happened? Did you forget you were patrolling with the enemy for a couple of minutes and now you have to get your digs in to make up for it?"

She heard Willow and Tara shifting uncomfortably, wondered for a moment why neither of them had anything to say, then stomped one foot forward, put a hand on her hip, and sighed. Fuck. She didn't want this. She wanted to travel back in time a few minutes to the light hearted banter and tentative camaraderie. It had actually felt… good. For a few minutes, she'd actually felt like she belonged. Strange, how important that seemed.

"Look, Xander. I can't ever take back what I did," she said very seriously, meeting his eyes for a moment. "There's some things 'I'm sorry' just doesn't cover."

"Am I supposed to be impressed by your inability to apologize?"

"Depends. Am I supposed to be impressed by your inability to move on?"

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, chins and chests shoved out with impunity as they faced off, and Faith was struck by the image of two children facing off on the kindergarten playground.

The moment shattered in the roar of a demon as it launched itself at Faith from the mausoleum behind her. It slammed into her like a freight train, and she felt something in her back shift and give. Caught off guard, she tasted grass and breathed dirt, feeling her arm twist up behind her back at a painful angle, crushed beneath the leaden weight of the monster, its stench filling her nostrils despite the intervening grass.

Whatever the thing was, it was strong, too strong for any of the others to take it on. She couldn't see beyond the blackness of the ground, but she could hear the confusion and panic of the voices around her, and knew that this could be it. Killed in the line of duty, too bad, so sad. The thought propelled her into action and she shoved with what little leverage she had, and felt the demon slide from the center of her back down over her side. It snarled in rage and tried to push her back down, but she'd used the precious second of breath and movement to get her free arm under her body. Grunting with exertion, she pushed upward with all her strength, and the creature went sliding off her back, all fangs and fur and fury.

She leapt to her feet—

And had just enough time to fall backwards onto her ass as an axe came whistling through the air at her.

The blade passed harmlessly over her head, but sliced into the shoulder of the demon, which howled its impotent rage at the sky. A spray of green blood fanned out over her and drenched her face, dripped into her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked, wiped at her eyes, and rolled to the left, out of range of the immediate struggle, trying to get her bearings.

Xander strained, hands on the handle of the axe as he tried to heft it free, and she wasn't quite sure, but she thought the demon was grinning at him. She wiped at her eyes again, blinked hard, squeezed them shut, and opened them again to see the creature wrap its ape-like hands around the axe still buried in its body, using it to spin Xander out and away from it. Xander hit the ground hard, and lay there stunned, taking a moment to catch his breath—

A moment too long. The creature yanked the axe from its own body as if it no longer felt the pain and leapt at Xander, monkey-like, weapon raised high.

Everything happened in slow-motion. Faith saw the point of the axe as it reached the apex of its swing, razor sharp tip gleaming cold and deadly in the moonlight, a frozen star of light blooming from it like frost. She heard Willow's sluggish syllables as the witch stuttered through an incantation, and knew somehow that whatever spell she was casting, it wasn't going to be in time.

Demon. Xander. Axe. Her. Those were the only things that existed in the span of that millisecond as instinct kicked in, and she knew exactly how to move them. As the arc of the axe pulled the creature to the point of no return, she launched herself at it. Her feet left the ground just before her hands wrapped around the handle and twisted the weapon's length back against the demon's chest. The two of them spun like drunken dancers for a moment—and then the momentum carried Faith around the demon and she let go, falling awkwardly to the ground. A split second later, the axe hit the grass between them, pulled free by their struggle.

The creature screamed in anger and leapt for her, and she had an instant to think how badly she'd miscalculated before it struck, the impact of its body rattling her teeth. Its claws raked painfully down her sides, leaving stripes of bleeding fire behind, and she ground her aching teeth together in an effort not to cry out. Shit! Too slow to grab the axe. Too slow to at least turn over so she'd have a fighting chance. The creature had her pinned face down in the grass for the second time inside a minute, and she would have laughed at how sad that was if she'd had any breath left.

The world began to swim with a feeling she was recently familiar with, bright spots bursting behind her eyes. Suffocation. Again. Great. Whatever the fuck this thing was, it was damned heavy. It might not even get a chance to maul her to death. She had one last semi-conscious moment to wonder what would happen during the apocalypse without her, and then her thoughts began to bleed away like smooth, black oil.

Her body jarred with heavy impact again, and the little bit of air that was still in her lungs left her in a tiny gasp. The weight atop her went suddenly limp, heavier than ever for a moment, and then she felt it slide off. Gasping gratefully for air, she rolled over on her back, prepared to come up fighting again—and saw Xander standing over her breathing hard, covered in green blood. Willow came into her line of vision, pale face pinched in an expression somewhere between curiosity and concern. Tara stepped timidly into view a second later, her face open and anxious. Faith turned her head to the side and saw the demon slumped like a broken doll, axe buried in its hulking upper back.

She looked back at Xander and coughed out a rough laugh, relieved at the absence of lancing pain. The slices down her sides burned like hell, but at least her ribs were still whole. She was really tired of having broken ribs.

"My hero," she teased with an attempt at a grin.

He seemed uncertain about what kind of reaction he was supposed to be having. Or perhaps he was just debating about which one he wanted to have. He shifted with indecision, a hand rising to halfway to the back of his neck, self-conscious, and finally settled for neutral concern. "Are you… okay?"

"Am now."

He hesitated a second more, then reached out to her with one hand. She took it and pulled herself up slowly, mentally checking herself for aches and pains. Nothing serious beyond the cuts and shortness of breath, it seemed. She'd been lucky.

"You guys okay?" She glanced at Willow and Tara.

They both nodded, looking chagrined and awkward. Absently, Willow touched her upper arm and Faith saw that the fabric of the witch's shirt had been torn, thin line of blood seeping slowly into the material. Somehow, during all the action, she'd gotten clipped by the demons claws. Well, that explained the lack of a spell to save their butts.

"You guys should probably head back while we clean up here, get that looked at." She nodded at Willow's arm.

"It's just a scratch," the witch said, defensive, her hand moving up to cover the wound all together.

"Yeah. But I think that thing's poisonous. I can feel something wicked working its way down under my skin."

Willow and Tara both stared at her.

"But then, shouldn't you…" Tara asked, confused.

"I got some time. Benefits of being a Slayer; poison can take days to do real damage."

"Oh."

They both hesitated a moment longer, and Willow glanced at Xander with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Me and Faith'll take monkey boy here to Hangar 18 and head right back."

There was another awkward pause while Willow glanced at each of them, mistrustful and self-conscious, and then they went.

Faith turned to look at Xander, and the two of them just stood there, silent beneath the bright moonlight.

"You saved me." It was a question, a quiet exclamation and a challenge all in one.

"You saved me first," he retorted, and it would have been totally grade school if not for the hint of dark humor he added to the words.

"So does that make us even?"

"No." He shrugged and turned away, moving to pull the axe from the demon's back.

She nodded and smirked. Not even, no. But maybe it was a start.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Anya flipped another page in the massive tome she was reading, and sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "Didn't you Watchers ever do anything exciting?" she asked aloud, exasperated.

Giles glanced up from his own book with a wry look. "Watcher histories are written to give great, painstaking detail on all supernatural phenomenon, Anya, not to entertain the masses with stories of parties and orgies."

"Yeah, you need the Watcher diaries for that kind of stuff," Fox spoke up from behind his laptop monitor. When everyone turned to give him an odd look, he shrugged and turned a bright shade of pink. "Or so I've heard," he mumbled.

Tenth chuckled at his partner, and then spoke up, thoughtful. "Anya has a point," he allowed. "The inactivity's beginning to wear on us all."

Angel and Giles both raised their eyes to the larger man, as if confused.

He took in their look and amended his statement. "Except for the Watcher and Angel."

Anya snorted. "Oh believe me, this is their idea of a party. Cooped up inside with a bunch of dusty books." She looked at them both, almost accusing. "It's no wonder neither one of you has a life."

Giles looked mildly offended and had opened his mouth to contradict her when the bell over the shop door rang out.

Willow and Tara stood there, the redhead leaning on her girlfriend's shoulder as if she would fall down without the support.

"Willow," Giles said, voice sharp as he rose briskly from his seat. "Are you all right?"

"I, uh, think I'm okay. Just a little woozy. Slight case of demon poison," she explained as Tara helped her inside the shop.

"What did it look like?" Giles and Angel asked, almost in unison.

"See what I'm talking about?" Anya asked with a pointed look at Tenth, who smiled in return.

"Big, muscular, quick. Kinda monkey-like, sharp claws, uh…"

"Face like an orangutan and a walrus that got caught in a blender during a really angry date," Tara summed up.

"An Angaturan demon," Angel said with a look at Giles.

"Yes, yes," the Watcher agreed, quickly moving to the shelf that held the shop's herbs and spell components. He picked out a few odd ingredients, grabbed a small iron cauldron off another shelf and motioned Willow and Tara toward the back room. "It's, it's not a fast acting poison, thankfully. I should be able to have an antidote ready fairly quickly."

They disappeared behind the door together, and Anya turned the page and gave another sigh.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Ten minutes later, Giles had administered the antidote and Willow was feeling much better.

"Are you… is it okay?" Tara asked, blue-gray eyes still concerned.
 
"Maybe not five by five," she said with light sarcasm, "but I'm okay." She sat up and forced her grimace into a smile as if in proof. "See? Good as new."

"Tara, why don't you go out and have Anya help you find a book to make sure the antidote is correct? Just so we can be certain," Giles said with a tentative smile.

"You're not sure?" Willow asked, suddenly anxious.

"Extremely sure." He hesitated. "Fairly sure. It's been, ah, years since I had to make an antidote for an Angaturan."

Tara looked worried as well, and Willow hurried to reassure her. "I really do feel better sweetie, but maybe you'd better go check."

Tara smiled gently, gave her one last look, then squeezed her hand and let it go, leaving the training room without another word.

"Are you really all right?" Giles asked as soon as she was gone, glancing at Willow with concern.

"Yeah, I think so." She glanced down at her arm, then looked back up at Giles, suspicious. "Guess that thing really was poisonous. I thought for sure Faith was trying to get Xander alone to take him out quietly."

Giles blinked, thought about that for a moment, then gave small shrug. "If she'd really wanted Xander dead, she could have let the demon kill him."

Willow fell quiet, considering that, then finally sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right," she admitted with reluctance. "It's just… she used to be all Psycho Slayer 2000 and now she's... I don't know. I just don't know how we could ever trust her."

Giles frowned slightly and gave her a quizzical look. "Not that I'm unhappy to hear it, but this doesn't sound like your usual 'I hate Faith' litany."

"I know. Weird, isn't it?" she asked with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. For the split-second she closed her eyes to create the expression, she saw Xander's face, the axe coming down on him, her fumbled spell, Faith's intervention. Amazing how much could happen in that short a span of time, she thought, and grew somber.

"What's wrong?"

His voice was gentle, prodding, but she didn't want to talk about it. She really didn't want to talk about it. Okay, actually, she did want to talk about it; she just didn't want to feel the embarrassment that would come along with the telling. But it was Giles, and he'd already seen her at her worst last night, and he hadn't turned away. This was nothing compared to that. Besides, she needed him; needed him to understand so that she could be okay with everything, needed him to tell her that everything would be okay. All these years, all this time, she'd struggled to stand on her own, and still it came back to him. He was the father figure to all of them, and she guessed they still needed him. Would there ever come a time when they didn't?

"Giles…" she swallowed, seeming to flinch from the sound of her own voice. She took a breath and forced the words out. "I really screwed up tonight. Xander… Xander almost died. I tried—I started to cast a spell… but if Faith hadn't…" She trailed off and shook her head. "It's just… after what happened with last night's spell…" She heard herself spouting random sentences and ellipses, not able to finish a complete thought, and shook her head at herself in wonder. "I'm really not telling this very well, am I?"

"Is that why you didn't finish casting the spell to stop the demon tonight?" Giles asked softly.

He did understand. Still, it was hard for her to take the next step, make the next admission. "Giles… what if my power got away from me like that again? What if… what if I hurt someone I care about by accident?" She looked at him with round, miserable eyes, and yet part of her was relieved to have gotten that out.

He didn't look surprised by what she'd said, but he seemed uneasy. "Willow… I understand why you're frightened. I—I'm afraid of that happening, as well," he stuttered out, clearly not comfortable with the admission. "But you—you can't just stop using magic all together because it scares you."

Had she heard him right? "What?" Willow stared at him. "But—but I thought—"

"If what happened last night was real, it happened because you were forced to defend yourself and you weren't prepared. You will be attacked again," he promised. "Or someone will. Next time will be no different than the last if you do not learn to control the magic, control yourself."

"But Giles… what if I can't?" She was torn, inconsolable for a moment, and then she hurried on in an eager rush, as if desperate to convince him. "If I just stopped using it, or if I never—"

"And if Xander had died?"

She looked away and said nothing.

"Willow the magic is a part of you. You can't just shut it off or stop using it like it's some kind of drug. That would be…" he searched for words. "You would be repressing yourself. Denying a part of you that is essential to who you are. The consequences of that could be just as devastating."

"But… but maybe who I am isn't good!" she blurted out. "Maybe I'm… bad, and wrong and, and full of l-lecherous evil!"

"Lecherous?" He smiled with a gentle raise of brows.

"It was all I could come up with in a pinch." She shrugged with an apologetic attempt at a smile.

"Do you really believe that?"

"No. I don't know." A pause and a rustling sigh. "Maybe."

"Willow, you can't go in living in fear. The magic is part of you, but it is only part. You are the vessel that defines how it will be used. Whatever happened last night, whatever will happen, it comes from you. You have to come to terms with your power. With yourself."

"And if I don't?"

"Magic isn't sentient, Willow, but it is a force. Without a proper moral compass to keep it on course, it can slip its chains. Power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely." A shadow passed uneasily over his face, and though he hesitated only a moment with the words, she could tell he didn't want to speak them. "If you do not master yourself, the magic will become your master. Through the part of you that hates, or desires, or craves power, it will escape, and it will devour you completely. And it will happen because you want it to."

She wanted to argue, tell him how wrong he was. She was okay, wasn't she? She had it under control, right? If she just tucked it away, kept it locked away in a safe little box at the bottom of her soul, maybe she could get through her whole life without ever having to look at it again. The sound of crunching bones echoed inside her mind, dying screams, reptilian skin crushed to pulp beneath the power of her hands. These hands, she thought looking down at them, and they shook slightly in response to the thought. She didn't want the horror of that wanton, gleeful destruction inside her ever again… but what if Giles was right? What if it wasn't the magic? What if it was always there, inside? And if it was, how could she ever be sure it wouldn't break free again?

She slumped, defeated. "But… how, Giles? I don't know how."

"Meditation. Study. Practice. Knowing your limitations. Keeping your emotions as separate as you can from what you wish to accomplish." He offered all these things lightly, and she could tell that he hadn't yet said everything he wanted to. "Magic works best when you do not seek to bend it to your will." That was closer to what he wanted to say.

"You mean use my powers unselfishly for 'good'?" She asked, feeling almost sheepish. She was trying to get at the root of what he was hinting at. Practice, study, meditation, all that stuff probably did help a lot, but it wasn't the root, was it?

"Something like that." Giles gave her a small smile. "But Willow," he went on, voice low with warning, and here, she knew, was the point he'd been getting to all along. "Understand; this is not an easy thing, nor an immediate one. It requires discipline, study and training, but those things alone are not enough. You're going to have to look deeply into yourself, face things about yourself you may not like and come to terms with them. The magic is only as balanced as its user."

"Oh." She looked momentarily chagrined as she took that in. "Um… isn't there like, a rule book or something easier?"

"Would that there were," he commiserated.

She was about to say more, but then the door to the room burst open and Angel stood there, gigantic leather-bound tome in hand.

"Giles." His voice was anxious, almost desperate.

Willow didn't know what was more frightening; the worry in Angel's voice or the way Giles' face paled at the sound of it.

The Watcher hurried across the room and Angel hefted the book into Giles' arms, pointing to a passage even as he looked away, as if he couldn't stand to look at what he'd read there. Giles read the passage, once, twice, then a third time before he removed his glasses, face going slack with horror and disbelief.

"Dear God, no."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"And so there I am, clothes half torn off, straddling this thing and trying to pin it to the floor, hanging on to its horns while it thrashes around like a bucking bronco, all gruntin' and hollerin' and sweaty, and in walks Sister Mary Theresa with a bunch of orphan Annie's."

"Guess they weren't exactly crying hallelujah," Xander said with a chuckle.

"Oh, there was crying all right, just not the happy kind." Faith grinned as she shoved open the door to the shop. "They chased me and the demon both right out of the church, calling us 'fornicators' and 'so—"

She broke off in midstream, her smile fading like an ugly bruise.

"What?"

Every eye in the room was fixed on her with silent appraisal, and she could feel the apprehension. It hung over everyone like a thick, taut web, spun with suspicion and mild guilt, with Faith herself at its nexus. Not that long ago, they'd all looked at her with a measure of this mistrust. She hadn't realized how much it had faded in the last few weeks, and now that she did, she realized that she hadn't missed it. Not even a little.

Giles rose from the table, clearing his throat and slipping his hands into his pockets. That usually meant he was mulling something over, figuring something out, or terribly uncomfortable with the situation. She could guess which one of the three this was.

"We, ah, found something. In one of the books."

"Was it the recipe for how to bake a better ziti? 'Cause if it was, I want in." Oh yeah, stay flip, stay casual. Don't let them see for a second how riled you are.

"Ah, n-no. Not actually." Giles glanced down at his feet, looking as if he'd like to crawl out of his own skin. "We, ah, found a passage about the apocalypse."

She took a step forward, excited, forgetting herself for a moment. "Well that's great! What is it?"

Giles refused to look up, and it was Angel, her sweet, confusing, and utterly baffling Angel, who spoke.

"'And the Master shall rise, his vessel given life again in this world, and he shall lead the vampires and demons to their promised land, with the Slayer at his side.'"

Her blood turned to ice, frozen in her veins. Solid and still, mind blank, uncomprehending, she looked to Angel, beseeching, and when he didn't look at her it made her heart ache even more.

"No. That can't be right." The words were flat, faraway, uttered through numb lips by a mind that wanted desperately to believe what it said. She shook her head and felt her world unraveling all around her, careful constructs of trust and tentative belief in herself coming apart at the seams like an old rag doll that had seen too many years and not enough love. "No."

Giles still would not meet her eyes, and the gaze of everyone else had gone elsewhere, staring at other items in the store with an interest so feigned that even the most challenged mental patient could have seen it was fake.

"It has to be wrong!" Anger, fear, barely restrained tears hovered on the verge, and she pushed them back, not willing to give in. Not yet. It had to be wrong. Had to be.

"Faith…" Giles said at last, his voice low and reluctant. "It's one in a series of prophecies."

"So!" she tried to scoff. "What—what does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Angel said, rising from his seat with determination. He met her eyes at last, sad and torn, but resolute, then glanced around at everyone else, as if daring them to challenge him. If she had been able, she might have smiled. Angel could be so quiet, so soft-spoken, but sometimes, his voice echoed with thunder no matter how loud he spoke. "You told me yourself, Giles, this Oracle said Faith would be Savior or Destroyer. We knew something like this was a possibility. It could go either way."

"It—it may not come true," Giles allowed, awkward and oddly deferential. "But… it—it is a prophecy, and prophecies are almost always absolute."

"Not this time." The determination in Faith's voice could have stopped Medusa herself in her tracks, turned her own power against her and made her into stone.

"Per-perhaps," Giles acquiesced. "But we must be very careful, stay on guard, be aware of everything that could lead to such a, a catastrophe."

"Right. So we'll be on guard." Faith nodded, mind still trying to catch up to the situation, to regain control somehow. No wonder everyone had been looking at her like she was the big bad; she might as well already be, as far as they were concerned. Didn't take much to turn the dial back, did it? For them to fall back on their hatred and suspicion of her. She could hardly blame them for it… and yet, she hated them for mistrusting her at all, prophecy or not. She hated that she mistrusted herself.

Savior or Destroyer, her mind whispered insidiously. She shook it off, tucked it away in the back of her mind, and proceeded to ignore it. Old habits. So easy.

"I'm not going to let it happen, Giles. We'll figure something out. There has to be a way."

"Yes. We'll… figure something out."

"Damned right we will." It was her moment to run, to fade away and hide from the looks everyone was giving her, to rage against the darkness on her own, as she'd always done. And part of her was primed to do it, more than ready. But be damned if she'd come this far to back down now on account of some moldy old book. She never gave the idea so much as a moment of entertainment. She moved toward him, more determined than ever.

"Let's have a look at this prophecy. In fact, let's have a look at all of them."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith slipped into the back alley a while later, printed passages like damning fire burning in her mind. She pressed a shaky hand to her forehead and sighed, forcing herself to calm down. They were only words, after all, ink that had been written on paper by humans like her. Nothing to lose her head about.

"Bad night?" Spike asked, slipping from the shadows like a smirking wraith. And oh, she didn't need this, not right now.

She didn't answer and he shrugged, started to light a cigarette, and she stopped him. "You got another one of those?"

He eyed her curiously for a moment, then with a challenging, disbelieving raise of his brows, pulled one free and offered it to her.

She put it to her lips and let him light it, dragging heavily. "Thanks. Been a while. Smoked a lot of these in prison. Not much else to do." She shrugged. He only looked at her, and then she offered, in a dull, dead voice, "The Master's coming back."

His brows rose again, and he leaned back against the wall near her, taking a drag of his own cigarette. "Persistent little bugger, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Worse than that? Apparently I'm gonna be playing on his team."

He gave her a look that would have sent her into a fit of giggles, had she been in a more laughing state of mind. She almost laughed, anyway, but she was afraid of how it would sound. She didn't want to hear the hysteria in her voice.

"Tell me about it."

She did.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith and Spike entered the shop to find Giles in a state of "flustration", as Faith had come to term it.

"I simply don't understand how the Master could come back. His bones were crushed and the blood of all those closest to him when he died is, is no longer available. It simply doesn't seem possible. Perhaps the entire prophecy is a lie."

"Or maybe there's another way to do it," Angel suggested.

Giles' eyes flickered toward the vampire with annoyance and reluctance. "I don't see how."

"M-maybe someone else's blood would work? I mean, um, if they were powerful enough or something," Tara offered, tentative.

"Blackwell," Willow muttered, eyes distant with the realization, then focusing on Giles with excitement. "She's the key to all this, right? So maybe there's some way she can be used to bring the Master back. Something we don't know about. I mean, there's got to be a reason she's so important, right?" She glanced around for confirmation.

Giles rubbed a hand over his chin, thoughtful. "Yes, perhaps. We haven't yet been able to figure out why she's key in triggering the apocalypse. Perhaps that's why." He frowned, troubled. "But there's no mention of it anywhere that we've been able to find. Nothing that tells how the Master will be reborn."

"What do you know about your friend's powers?" Faith asked, turning on Tenth.

The big man looked uncomfortable as he shrugged. "Nothing. In the Order we're not allowed to know anything of our comrades power unless we become partners, or it could be used against them, somehow."

"Oh, that's just great," Anya put in, sardonic. "Our biggest resource of information and you know squat."

"If we could go to her, set her free, then maybe we could stop this," Tenth replied, his tone angry and offended.

Everyone fell silent for a moment, considering that.

"Giles," Faith began, an idea forming slowly. "He's right. If we went and got Blackwell out of wherever she is, then she couldn't be used for… whatever she's being used for."

"Yes. But Faith, to do so might be like walking into the lion's den at this point. We simply don't know enough. We'd be running in half-cocked."

"Lion's den?" Tenth asked, voice terse.

Giles and Willow exchanged an uneasy glance. "Yes," Giles replied with caution. "The place where she is located is underground, most likely a part of our enemy's territory."

"And you just want to let her stay there?" the large man demanded, enraged.

Faith stepped up and laid a hand on the man's chest. "Easy, big guy." She turned to Giles, contemplative. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"We only discovered it last night. I thought it might be wise not cause anyone undue stress, since we decided not to go in immediately." He gave Tenth a glance that was half apology, half annoyance, and shrugged, letting it go at that.

"So you'd let her stay there, in the arms of an enemy?" Tenth raged, stepping forward.

"You know, you're only proving him right," Faith said as she shoved him back, eyes cool as she turned on him. "Look, Mr. Universe. Right now you're here because you're helpful. Start being a pain in the ass and I'll kick yours so hard you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on us. Whatever's going on with your friend, I think we're gonna be taking care of it real soon, so why don't you just have a seat while we hash this out?"

Tenth eyed her angrily for a long moment, debating, and then he subsided, reluctantly falling into a nearby chair.

"Giles, I think he might have a point," Faith said, turning toward the Watcher when she was satisfied that the warrior was done.

"Faith, you can't go in there. Knowing what we know now, it would be idiotic to send you into the enemy's lair."

"Knowing what we know now," she contradicted, "it might be idiotic not to. Everything we know points to Blackwell being the key to this. If we get her out, maybe we stop the Master before he rises; stop the apocalypse before it happens. I don't know about you, but I'm totally on board with that. In fact, I'm so on board with that, I think I've got a first class seat."

"Yes, I understand. But Faith, so long as we have time to research and find out what the specific connection is—"

"Well, when's the 'Night of Sansain'?" Anya asked.

Everyone stared at her, faces blank.

"Because it says here that that's when it's going to happen."

"What?" Giles asked, blinking in confusion.

Anya shifted her shoulders with impatience and lifted her book up to the Watcher. "'The Night of Sansain'. You know?" She glanced down at the book and quoted from it. "The night when the walls between this world and others grow the thinnest?"

Giles fairly snatched the book from her hands. "Sansain… of course! That would be the perfect night to bring back the Master."

"Of course," Xander echoed, feigning infinite wisdom. "Sansain, 'cause that's…" He gave up the pretense and turned to Giles. "What the hell is that?"

"It's the night that the legend of Halloween grew from, when the evil spirits draw closest to the earth. It later came to be celebrated by the druids as Samhain. It's, it's the night when the barrier between this world and others grows thinnest, allowing evil spirits to pass through more easily. It only happens once every three centuries. I'd never even thought…" He turned the pages quickly back and forth, frowning. "It was calculated by the Mesopotamian calendar, originally." He set the book down, hurried to a shelf, perused the volumes there and drew down another, turning pages like lightning. "According to this…"

He trailed off and Faith thought she might actually burst with anticipation. "What? When?"

"According to this… it happens in six days."

She was calm, steady for a moment as she took that in. It's okay. I'm gonna be okay, she thought. Wow, look at me, the picture of togetherness. Wouldn't B be proud?

And then the room exploded in a chorus of voices.

"Six days?!"

"But Halloween was months ago!"

"I said Halloween was based on it."

"What are we going to do?"

"We have to stop it."

"We have to go now!"

"Are you sure that's the night?"

"Six days?!"

And then the vertigo set in and Faith blinked, putting one hand out on the back of a chair to steady herself. Six days. Fuck. What was she going to do in six days? She had no idea… and then her brain bloomed in a flower of bright white light.

I'll tell you what I'm gonna do in six days, she spoke up mentally, contradicting the nay-saying voice in her mind.

"I'm gonna go in and get her, that's what I'm gonna do."

Everyone stopped, looked at her, and she saw wariness reflected in every eye. Okay, every eye except two. Okay, make that two sets of eyes. Not that it surprised her much, but it did make her feel one hell of a lot better. Knowing she could count Angel and Spike on her side was worth more than damned near anything.

"Faith," Giles spoke up, slow and muddied. "You can't."

"I can. And I'm gonna. Giles, we don't have time! You said yourself that if we had time we'd take it, but we don't anymore."

"And what gives you the right to decide anything?" Xander asked, voice cool, level, holding that same challenging note he'd had earlier when he'd challenged her to best him.

She wanted very badly to plead with him to understand. Wanted to plead on whatever little friendship they'd cultivated over the last few hours or weeks to trust in her. But she knew that wasn't going to get things done. She took a step nearer to him, folded her arms over her chest and looked down at him almost imperiously. And it was arrogant, calculated, but in that moment she also felt the knowledge and confidence of her own power. The power she'd been bestowed as the Chosen.

"Because it's my job."

"And if we decide we don't want to play?"

She gave him a thin, fractured smile. "Then you can get the hell out, now."

"Hey! You don't just, just get to walk in here and start giving orders," Willow said, rising from her seat, angry now, as well.

"You're not part of us," Xander added, coldly.

Willow looked at him, askance, seeming to teeter on the edge of agreeing with him.

"Beg to differ. I am part of you, like it or not, and if you can't get that through your head, you might as well throw in the towel right now. Because the way I figure it? There ain't gonna be any stopping this apocalypse unless we're all in this together. I'm the one out there putting my ass on the line, I'm the one on the line for this apocalypse, so I figure that pretty much gives me the right to be in charge."

She put both her hands on the back of the chair and leaned over it, looking each of them very deliberately and directly in the eye, in turn. "So unless any of you are ready to step up and fill my shoes, I suggest you all fall in line."

Xander leapt to his feet, face dark. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Xander," Giles interjected quietly. "She's right. This is bigger than us. Much bigger than the worries and problems we have between us."

"Excuse me, Mr. Watcher Guy," Xander said, raising one hand and turning on the thick, viscous sarcasm. "But Miss Psycho Killer here is prophesized to turn on us. Or did you forget?"

"I think that Faith has more than proven herself at this point, Xander. And certainly none of us can walk into the enemy's territory alone. Time being what it is, prophecy or not… I don't see as we have much choice. If the worst happens, we'll deal with it then.

Xander made as if to retort, but Giles cut him off, ignoring the younger man as he looked to the Slayer. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Faith?"

It was as if he'd reached into her mind and plucked the words from her dream days before. For a moment, she faltered, feeling exposed as every eye in the room turned on her again, and a shadow fell over her face. She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear and met his eyes, nodding once.

"I have to be."

And Giles' heart throbbed once, painfully, as he saw the steel in her. In that moment, she was every inch the Slayer; vulnerable and sad, resigned to the undoubtedly terrible fate that awaited her, and yet she was strong enough, brave enough to bear the burden and do what needed to be done. It was clear in the line of her stance, the curve of her posture, the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. In that moment, she reminded him more of Buffy than ever, and he was, strangely, somehow, terribly proud, and at the same, vaguely sad. Perhaps all Watchers were both proud and sad to see their charges come into their own. Or perhaps he'd simply grown fond of her.

"Giles…" Xander lifted his hand again as if he didn't quite know what to do with it and made one last attempt to appeal to what he considered sanity. "The Oracle said she would betray us."

"That's not exactly what she—" Tenth began.

And was cut off as Faith slammed her hands down on the table and leaned even lower, staring up at Xander through narrowed, predatory eyes that danced with bitter humor.

"I'm not gonna let that happen. And if it did?" The corner of her mouth quirked upward in a mirthless smile. "You wouldn't be able to stop it, anyway."

"We could kill you now," he answered steadily. "Save ourselves the trouble."

"I don't think you want to try that," Angel said, voice low and dangerous.

"I don't think anyone asked you, Dead Daddy Dearest."

Faith ignored the entire exchange, heading it off before it could escalate. "Except I'm the best hope you've got. One prophecy says yes, the Oracle says maybe. Not exactly betting odds, but they're better odds than we usually get. I'm the Savior or Destroyer, remember? Kill me now and you lose any chance of winning." She let that sink in a moment, watching his face, knowing she'd won, then stood straight and tossed her hair back. "This is my show, now. Buy a ticket or get out."

Xander clenched his jaw and looked away. "This doesn't make everything okay between us."

"And you know, if I actually cared about that, that might be a problem." She fixed him with a dark stare. "I don't know what your deal is, but if you still want a piece of me after this is over, I might just give you a chance at it. But for now, we call truce." She looked around at everyone. "We all call truce. Deal?"

There were scattered mutters, a lot of shifting and shuffling, but in the end, they all nodded.

And if her heart was hammering in her chest, they couldn't hear it. And if fear was pulsing in her veins, they couldn't sense it. And if there was a tremor in her voice, they mistook it for anger. And for all those things, she was intensely grateful.

"Great." She sealed the agreement with her tone and moved on. "Let's get down to business."