A/N: As you may have noticed, this fic is now titled! We had a little contest over at the guild where members had the opportunity to suggest a title after reading the first chapter, and the suggestions were then voted on. Congrats to poppyseeds (Lemurr on fanfiction) for suggesting this winning title, Forgetting Isn't Easy! Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 3

by buffyfan32578

(Buffy's POV)

Okay, now I'm officially wigged out - (wigged, ha, funny word) because now here stands a woman, wooden point raised in her hand and a smug look on her face as her eyes narrow onto me.

"Who's 'B'?" Alex asks, looking clearly frightened at this woman.

The brunette's smug look falters and she looks around at us all, her expression slipping into confusion and then disappointment. An unplaced twinge of resentment for her surfaces, and I eye her warily, too aware of the blunt weapon in her hand. When fear grips too close around the heart from her murderous expression, I take a cautionary step backwards and in front of Dawn.

"Erm, hello." The stately old man greets her in a somewhat lost expression from behind the register. "Can I help you? I-I appear to be the owner of this establishment a-and...do you plan on fixing that door?"

We're screwed.

(Angel's POV)

Kunckles can't turn any whiter, but I grip the wheel until I feel the plastic splinter beneath my hands. I'm embracing the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign in a flurry of 100 mph, and pressing harder.

God help them if I'm too late.

What went wrong? Why? I'd thought I'd made such improvements with her, and then...

Faith is still the same, still the same reckless bullet she was on a late night so long ago when she staked a living man. She's the same reckless bullet.

I thought I gave her aim. But she's still the same.

(Faith's POV)

Some things never change. Xander's moppy hair, Willows' ever present geekiness. Buffy's bottle blonde hair. And the way Giles's glasses splinter when you knock him cold.

A scream echoes out from the smaller one as the old man crumples to the ground, and the blonde who'd held his arm jumps a bit before cowering behind the register and eyeing me fearfully.

Good to know I still have that effect.

"What, B, too many years behind bars? Too many years in a hospitable bed? Forgotten that quickly, then?" I punctuate with a harsh laugh, standing to face her with a quivering lower lip. Snapping my teeth, she jumps back and I smile.

People shouldn't run.

I stop Xander with a quick hand, gripping his shoulder until he winces, his forehead beading with sweat as I force him into a chair roughly. Massaging underused knuckles, I smile.

"Well, then. Time to get reacquainted."

Good to know I have the same scary effect.

(Angel's POV)

The red and blue flashing lights are beginning to blind me from a rearview mirror. I have no other choice, so I ease the car to the curb. Rolling down the window, a gritty looking police officer rubs the bristles on his jaw as he looks me up and through.

"Y'know how fast you were goin' there?" he growls gruffly.

"No sir." Politeness was never the key to anyone's heart, I think, as I shove the door open into the Policeman, knocking his knees out. He's unconscious by the time I pull it shut and restart the engine.

I was going 120. Doesn't matter.

(Willow's POV)

Food would be good right about now, I think, feeling the bile-y taste of vomit that I sustain in my mouth. And with a scary macho-chick and a knocked-out librarian on the floor, it'd be really good to have a couple hot dogs right about now.

Not that I could keep it down.

The dirty-blonde...the college student..Tara...looks a little scared so I edge over to her and we silently grip hands. I feel her rub my thumb and smile.

Scary experiences might not be my area of expertise, but, well - I wouldn't know that, would I? My only knowledge is a name. Willow Rosenberg. Pretty, I guess.

Faith...she's introduced herself as that...is yelling, brandishing a crooked smile and a thick shiny dagger that's making the lump in my throat bigger as she brandishes it and yells.

I'm scared...Scared for my life to some crazy woman and for these strangers and the pull of friendship I have towards them.

But chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream sounds good right about now...

(Angel's POV)

The sight of a bashed-in door does nothing for my elevated panic state, and the pinprick of raised voices I hear doesn't help either.

This can't be good.

I bolt out of the car, yanking a rip through my coat as it catches on something, and sparing a second glance I grip the sword tucked away between the drivers seat and the door.

Could be useful.

The voice is lowered when I dash through in a hopeful expression and gloried posture, but hopes of knight in shiny armor are dashed at the sight of Faith grinning at me from my right. A wooden stake is poised above her shoulder in a certain grip and I feel the sword slip from my hands as she knocks me down with a swift kick.

I can tell she's practiced, her moves are refined just so, and she keep her balance nicely as she pounces on me once I've hit the floor.

"Was wondering when you'd show." she says, and all I can think of is the terrified expression Buffy has, looking at me from the floor and the sword that's fallen off to the side.

Yep.

Could be useful.

(Spike's POV)

Contempt. Hatred. Repulsiveness. Regret, and I don't even know the bloke.

And the tweed's kind of itchy.

I can't help but smirk when the woman pounces and knees him down, all lithe muscle and swift movements. I can sense the warrior in her.

This is just surface painting.

She is a warrior, dark.

A quick tumble of sorts ensues as 'B' vaults off the floor and tackles Faith, bringing them thumping against the wall, an array of glass bottles smashing over them.

The new arrivals' eyes darts to the sword, but I'm quicker. Sweeping it off the floor I point at him.

"Useful bit o' metal, you think?"

TBC!

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