Title: Just Desserts (7/?)

Author: nailbunny617

Pairing: B/F eventually…

Rating: PG-13 for now

Disclaimers: No, I don't own any of these characters, I'm just taking them for a joyride and mean no harm. Oh and if girlsmut is illegal where you live, move! If it's not your cup of tea, then I suggest stopping reading right now.

Author's Notes: Much thanks for the feedback…this story seems to be running away with itself… But I need to clear something up first! For the record, I believe Willow would've given Faith a second chance. It seems a lot of you don't think she would have (or just plain don't think she was a good person it seems), but given her character hadn't begun her battle against addiction yet (and that's where her character got sullied)—well, I think she'd have stayed true to her actions before that point. After all, she did the same for Spike. That was a huge problem I had with Joss, the lack of forgiveness for Faith. Don't flame me please, that's just my opinion – and it makes for a good story, no?

I stood there, just staring at her, and it was like I'd suddenly developed tunnel vision. I didn't notice Willow looking nervously between us, trying to decide if she should stay or go. I didn't notice the posters on the wall or the tiny little tv by the door.

For that moment in time, nothing existed except Buffy. And she looked good, despite the fact that being a slayer attending university couldn't have been easy. I was suddenly struck by the realization that she's terribly short, even with those scary heels she always insists on wearing – like she's really fooling anybody.

She sat there staring right back, and said simply, "Faith."

I couldn't tell if there was any emotion behind that one word. It was said so flatly, without any inflection at all, that I vaguely wondered if she was a robot. I'd seen weirder things in Sunnydale.

Without any hints to her emotional state, I stayed standing on the line that divided hallway from room. I tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to under that steely gaze.

"Back to kill more people?" That was said without any emotion too. I winced and almost shrank into myself, wishing I was anywhere but in the way of that laser-like glare. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just stayed silent.

B turned to Willow, the venom dripping from her voice, "I don't suppose you letting her in was an accident."

I felt bad for Willow, taking shit on my account. I brought my head back up, ready to inform the Buffster where blame should really lay but Red beat me to it. "Nope," she chirped. You gotta admit, the hacker had developed a spine somewhere in the past two years.

"Get out," the blonde grated. So I picked up my feet and turned to leave…that is, until Buffy interrupted me and – boring holes into Willow's head – said, "Not you, Faith."

Well, that was unexpected. I watched Willow's face for a reaction, not knowing what the hell I should do. Her face kind of crumpled for a minute, and she looked at Buffy like she'd just been sucker punched by her best friend. Which, I guess, she had. Shaking her head, and not once looking at me, she walked out. I made myself as much a part of the door frame as I could, completely floored.

I thought that I knew what Red was thinking – that I sure as hell wasn't worth fighting with B. I wasn't too sure I'd disagree with her.

"If I told you to leave Sunnydale and never come back, would you?"

The question caught me completely off-guard. I was feeling off-kilter and like this was a dream, and I didn't have the slightest clue how to proceed. Could I leave SunnyD? Probably. Could I stay away? As much as I tried to convince myself that I could obey B's wishes, I knew there was absolutely no way.

I could imagine my future if I did leave. I'd only be able to go as far as LA. I'd never known anywhere else except Boston, and that just wasn't gonna happen.

Angel would probably take pity on me and take me in, having seen a fellow soul in me. I'd work with Wes, Cordy and the big guy, fighting the sleek corporate evil they'd come across. And maybe, just maybe, after a while I could be happy. The playful mood I'd found with Queen C had already healed me more than I had ever thought possible. My mind touched on the bottle of grape juice in the car and the bike that C had promised to somehow get to me once I settled in. Parting with that gift was hard, really hard, considering it was just a damn bike.

But there would always be a part of me that needed this absolution. That needed nothing more than to make this right. The sadness in my eyes would never really go away, no matter how many nights C and I tortured Wes with our sinister plans for bike races. They'd never mention Buffy's name in my presence, tiptoeing around the subject because none of them knew how to help.

I almost whispered my answer. "No."

B sighed, like I knew she would. She looked down at her feet, encased in some insanely expensive boots with heels higher than I could ever manage, and crossed her arms.

Looking up at me and tilting her head slightly to one side, she said, "At least you didn't try to lie to me."

Ahh, we've moved on to giving in to resignation, the inevitability of this moment. Inevitable. That word always makes me think of that scene in The Matrix where the agent has Neo on the floor of the subway, and he's all like 'My name…is…Neo!' and then smashes the bad guy into the ceiling. I felt kind of like that, I guess.

"Faith," she said. "Faith, look at me." So I did, I brought my eyes, full of trepidation and remorse, up to meet hers. "You made me a victim once. I'm not going to let you have another chance."

All my breath left me a silent whoosh. Well, there goes that. I wondered how much the bus to LA cost, and if Willow would be willing to lend it to me.

"I have to go to class." B not-so-gently pushed me back into the hall, locked the door, and walked away without a second glance.

My shoulders slumped in defeat, I made my way to the stairwell. I think I was in shock or something, because I couldn't cry or think or feel. I was just numb. My feet moved, but I wasn't paying any attention at all.

When I finally noticed that I'd stopped moving, I wasn't surprised to be looking at one of the many cemeteries in the town. I perched myself on the stairs of an old family crypt, and just sat. The world might as well have stopped existing, because nothing registered.

Why didn't she yell at me? I could take anger. I could deal with rage. I could handle fighting. But the complete lack of emotion? The last time I saw her, she could barely restrain herself from pounding my face in. At least that was some kind of passion.

And then we'd found ourselves in that fucking church. I saw her there, in my body, and I lost all control. I saw what everyone else hated about me, what I hated about me, what I had become, what I had let myself be. The disgust, the terror, the anger, the regret…it was all so overwhelming and it boiled out of me harsher than I'd ever known. When I'd saved that girl's life at the Bronze and she said thank you…she'd looked at me, really looked at me, with gratitude. Before that I had thought that I'd been beyond redemption. That I'd gone so far down that there was no seeking the surface ever again.

I was drowning and I'd mistaken my soul for lost. But when I saw that girl's eyes, something changed. It wasn't big, it wasn't earth-shattering. I paused, felt the truth of the emotion in her words, and the seed was planted.

Hope.

Sometimes it was so easy to forget the human aspect of my calling, my job. That the reason I did it was because of people like her, who deserved to have a normal life and not get bogged down by all that darkness and evil. I had a purpose, a good goddamn reason to live, to slay, to be. I owed it to her and everyone like her to at least continue. There had to be a reason I'd been chosen, a wretch like me. I needed some saving grace.

Maybe I couldn't really save myself, but maybe I could save someone else. And that was worth it, right? That was something to live for, right? That was something to hope for, right?

I couldn't even consider the notion that I was wrong, that maybe my time should have been up. That maybe B should've stuck that knife in so deep that I could never wake up again. I had to believe she pulled my knife because she couldn't finish it. Not because Angel preferred his blood fresh – a dead body could still be bled dry, after all – but because Buffy simply couldn't do it.

You've gotta admit that there was a certain poetic irony about being stabbed with the very knife that had been one of the first true gifts I'd ever been given. Double-edged found a new meaning there – a thing of wicked beauty obviously meant to taste blood, to slice flesh, to render someone or something's last breath as the first gift from the only father-figure I'd ever known love from. Shit like that's gonna fuck anybody up.

You'd have issues too, dammit.

I didn't notice my hunger. I didn't notice the sun lazily setting. I didn't notice the ring of vamps that surrounded me, figuring I was some grieving family member and therefore easy pickings.

Vampires always manage to smell really, really bad. I don't know why, because you don't often see one that looks really dirty. But there's a stench that is vamp and vamp alone.

I finally noticed the smell. One was about six inches from my face, saying something and stinking up my personal space.

I may have said something witty like, "Need a fuckin' mint much?" but I wasn't really functioning very well. I thought about all the pain I'd endured, all the pain I'd caused people. And, let's face it, I would continue to cause. I pounded on them, not letting them run away when they tried, forcing out all my anger and pain and sorrow in a blur of fists. It never occurred to me to dust them.

From somewhere to my left someone yelled my name and tossed a stake to me. Mechanically, I left the three as nothing more than floating dust. I dropped the stake and stared at my hands, the already swollen, bloody knuckles. It wasn't all my blood. That was all I could think about or see, the blood on my hands that wasn't mine. It didn't matter it was vampire blood, the lowest of the low. It was blood that I'd taken.

Slender hands covered mine, and I shakily brought my gaze up to Willow's face.

"I…I…there's just…blood…" I stammered out, tears leaking from my eyes. I felt broken from the burden of revisiting my past sins. I had been out of control and lost ever since getting out of prison – and it had worn me down.

"Shh, it's okay, Faith. Come with me, we'll get you all cleaned up." Red's words were soft and cooing, like I was some kind of frightened animal backed into a corner. Appropriate, no?

I was in some sort of trance and let Willow tug me along without any resistance. Finally, she led me stumbling to Giles' door. I resisted then, backing away nervously, my stomach tied in knots. I couldn't handle more rejection.

But she took my hand and nodded at me, so I nodded back, not really having any other choice, and she knocked on the door – which was odd, because I always remembered just barging into his place. Didn't he ever lock the door?

It swung open, to better allow Giles to stare disbelieving at me. Willow tilted her head in my direction, her eyes widening in silent reprimand at the Brit until he cleared his throat and stood aside to let us in. So once the door was closed, of course, he took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. Ah, the G-man was nervous. That made two of us.

Willow guided me to the couch and sat me down. Turning slightly, she glared a hint at Giles. He perked up, put his glasses on, raised a finger and pointed it at the bathroom. Only a moment later he reappeared with a first-aid kit that was just this side of belonging in a hockey rink.

While Red daubed at my knuckles with antiseptic, Giles must've rubbed a hole in his lenses. I stayed silent, trying not to flinch at the alcohol. Why is it that I can take a beating like a pro but then whine when someone puts a little antiseptic on my cuts?

I wondered what would have happened if he'd been my watcher. Or, hell, if Kakistos hadn't killed my first one. He was, after all, Buffy's equivalent of the Mayor. It just figures that she'd get the benevolent father figure and I'd get the pleasantly evil one.

He finally gave up the cleaning frenzy and perched them back on his face. "So, Faith, Angel called me." I rolled my eyes, wondering why I hadn't thought of that. Of course the big guy'd call Giles with a heads up. "And then Cordelia called me," and judging by the grimace on his face, she'd given him a piece of her mind. I smirked slightly, knowing what that had to have been like.

So I gave him the exquisitely witty response of, "Oh."

"They informed me that you've come to Sunnydale to make amends, as it were." He paused, looking at me, so I figured that was my cue to nod at him. Upon seeing the honesty in my eyes, he seemed satisfied. And it couldn't have hurt to have my number two opponent currently tending my booboos. He got all misty-eyed, cleaned his glasses for another stretch, and cleared his throat.

I guess that meant that we were five by five, because then he simply said, "Right then. Would you care for some tea?" And smiled his patented my-face-doesn't-really-move-but-brightens-anyway smile at me.