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Turned : A Sequel
A sequel
Author Note: Hmm, not much of a note on this chapter. Sorry
Summary: The end of the First brings Faith and Buffy's own demons to a close. Here's to the start of a real relationship.
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Absence. That had been an element most repeated determinedly in Buffy Summer's life.
Absence of her father, absence of most of the men she had involved herself with, and now absence of the one person she believed herself almost, maybe able to trust.
Faith had been more or less missing since the previous night.
Buffy had taken herself through her normal routine arriving home from work. She brought herself home and put all her things away, then leisurely made her away around and found no sign of her counterpart.
The worst always came to mind, but the slayer had consoled her fears with a quick mental slap.
Faith was Faith. A slayer. If anything had happened, she could have taken care of herself, couldn't she?
But then again, would she have gone somewhere without leaving a note or a call or something?
Yes.
There was no way to tell with Faith. She was the biggest grey area Buffy would ever find.
Not evil.
Not good.
Just slightly redeemed. Whatever that meant.
She wasn't sensible.
But she was clever.
See? Big, giant Grey Area.
Buffy awaited Faith's return home for hours that night. She wait sprawled on the couch, she wait watching television, and she wait twiddling her thumbs. And finally, she was too fed up to wait any more.
Buffy made a sinister move in taking the car out. If anyone, namely Faith or a cop, saw her driving, she'd been in for some real trouble.
As she drove, unsure where to she was driving, Buffy thought of many scenarios in which Faith would be:
Piss-ass drunk in a little dive bar, or maybe arrested by the cops for stealing. Or something like that.
Faith would definitely do something like that, Buffy decided as she silently searched the streets.
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Running, an option the Rogue slayer had always used against her frequent conflicts, was frankly, out of the question.
Though the arrow had been, quite painfully, removed from her leg by Angelus himself, the limb was done.
And the floor was beginning to ache against her back.
"Now, I'm not one for favourites, but truthfully, you've outlasted Buffy by a long shot. She couldn't stand this long, could she?"
"Depends on what you're doin' to her."
As much fight as there was left in Faith, it would be directed towards Angelus.
Not that she could fight him now, or even attempt to.
But her sarcasm was all she had left. And by God, she would use it.
"And you would know a lot about that, wouldn't you Faith?" He sneered, smiling, glittering almost at his new treasure.
"More than you would, these days."
A rigid sock to the face put the slayer onto her stomach, a hand at her bleeding nose, and a new scowl plastered along her features.
Slowly, ever so slowly with the tempered leg, Faith pushed herself farther than before and into a sitting position below the vampire.
Just make it through the night, she told herself.
He laughed again, backing up a few paces and momentarily gleaming at his supremacy.
However, it wouldn't last.
The front doors were thrown open, Wesley and Cordelia, Lorne and Conner running in with crosses and stakes in tow, and Angelus' fun was over.
But the brief period of peace wouldn't last.
"Go." Wesley instructed to the vampire.
And he nonchalantly exited, doing silently as told.
Silence was a powerful weapon.
One half of the remaining group tended to Fred, and the other to Faith.
The Rogue slayer was taken home to the dingy apartments she had dubbed her living conditions.
Though it was insisted that she get immediate medical help, Faith insisted back she didn't need it.
And if there was anything Wesley knew about Faith, it was that her opinion wasn't to be changed at any time.
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The end of the night and beginning of the morning brought too many extra emotions than needed, wanted.
Faith had wait as long as she could, alone in the couple's too small home, and slowly fell into the deep succession of sleep.
Buffy had searched as long as she could, lonely in Los Angeles's dangerous streets, and slowly sunk to her greatest fear.
When Buffy finally was drawn back home, waddling with that of defeat, she was most surprised to find the Rogue lying silent, sleeping in bed.
She mentally socked herself.
Faith had just gone out, and come back late. That was all.
There was no reason for the immediate search party. She was okay, and present.
Only when Buffy's fear turned quickly into anger did she notice the awkward position her lover's hand lay in. Set gingerly off to the side, away from her sleeping body.
And her leg., curled beneath itself and glued to her pants leg with the spattered maroon paint.
Not paint, no.
Blood.
Buffy stood over Faith with her eyes closed in the moment that time stood still.
She wasn't dead.
Just sleeping.
Buffy could still feel her close, as her slayer senses always allowed.
With a ginger hand, she reached, reached, and pulled, turning the sleeping body over, revealing the blood spattered front and dried drip across the slayer's face.
The slight movement sent the Rogue awake and sitting, surprising both herself and Buffy.
They sat in a brief, disoriented silence until Buffy finally spoke.
"Where were you?"
"Out." Should she have to tell Buffy?
Or could Buffy guess?
"I was looking for you."
"Came home didn't I?"
"Angelus," Buffy finally whispered. "Why did you go without me?"
She's calm, surprisingly calm. But that's the gift of lies.
"Had to."
She's sitting up now, watching Buffy with the glare she had hoped to administer for so long.
And she starts to speak, wanting to scream and yell that she had to, she was allowed to leave and fight whom she wanted.
But she was greeted with, the second time in twenty four hours, a crunching punch to her nose. Angelus's was much harder, with much more meaning, emotion.
Buffy's faltered.
"Oh god."
Buffy's regret grew as the blood began to drip once more down it's original path.
She bent down to help, but was dealt her own hard hit.
Things were changing.
They trusted each other. Too much. Not enough?
Neither could tell.
"I'm sorry." Buffy murmured.
"I'm not." Faith retorted. "I'm sick o' this. Bein' under your rule, doin' everything you say, not doing nothin' you say don't. I'm cured."
"Cured?"
"I'm done bein' your little shit. I'm my own again."
And they trusted each other then.
"You were never anyone else's."
Even more.
"And you'll never let anyone else in enough to be theirs."
They were overflowing with trust now.
It poured out of them so freely, that the hands grazing across Faith's face, hands, legs, were unfelt.
She loved.
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