Angel knew it'd be awkward. Simply no way around it. The whole scenario reeked of awkwardness. True, Angel's gang were responsible for the whole thing, but it seemed a good idea at the time. They were driven into a corner by the PTB, bombarded with bad news as they painstakingly translated the Prague Ascension Prophecy, and tried working around the clock to solve the whole predicament.
Just when they thought they'd cleverly navigated through the problem, they ended up with another in the shape of Faith Lehane. Angel let his eyes wander over the suit wearing forms of Rupert Giles and Voirrey Saunders. Wesley and Cordelia hid out of the line of fire for now. Faith sat ram-rod straight on one of Angel's teak chairs, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her black tank-top.
She glanced quickly at Angel and he offered her a thumbs up, mouthing: Okay? Voirrey, on the other hand, appeared entranced and bereft of the ability of speech, attention on the dark Slayer. Giles unbuttoned his grey jacket for easy access to the inside pocket. A glass wipe poked out of it. Seconds ticked away before Giles opened his mouth.
"Well," he began. Angel, Faith and Voirrey looked at him expectantly. When he didn't appear able to continue, Angel took over the reins.
"Voirrey and Giles, meet Faith. Faith, meet the Watchers."
"Hey," Faith said, slouching against the chair.
"Uh, hello," Giles replied, taking off his glasses by reflex. Voirrey placed her hands into a steeple.
"Unbelievable," she murmured. "Preposterous."
Angel tensed, anticipating her negative reaction. The Watcher always rubbed him the wrong way on her visits.
"I know it shouldn't be so difficult to consider," she continued, unaware of Angel's scrutiny, "Since we've been running around with Buffy for quite some time…" A ghost of a smile illuminated the Watcher's thin lips. "I must ask you something, Faith. Do you have a Voirrey Saunders in your world?"
Faith moved her head to say no.
"Hmm." Voirrey leant forward. "Another Watcher, then. It wasn't by any chance a women named Diana Dormer?"
A shadow passed over Faith's eyes. Her attention flitted from object to object. "Yeah."
Voirrey nodded as if that was the answer expected. "Fascinating."
"What is?" Giles adjusted his glasses to settle more evenly on the bridge of his nose.
Voirrey tapped her lips. "The Council debated on whether Diana or I should be responsible for Faith when she was discovered as a Potential. It was sort of a first come, first serve basis. They deduced Faith needed someone of a certain temperament to help her out, and we were the top two on the list."
Giles raised his eyebrows. "Really? I never knew about that. What happened to, uh, Diana in the end, then?"
"I believe she was assigned to a Potential in Denmark."
"Hmm. Isn't the usual procedure supposed to assign same language Watchers to Potentials?"
"Yes, normally. Most of Denmark's population has English as their second language, though, so it doesn't cause too much of a problem, If it did, there are hundreds of translators and we're not exactly short on funds. I was stationed in Kazakhstan and the Czech republic myself in the '80s, back in the early years. Of course, it was Czechoslovakia, back then…"
"Ah yes, your extensive fieldwork. How did you cope?"
Voirrey made a motion halfway between a snort and a shudder. "Not very well. Disastrous, to be perfectly honest."
"The impeccable Voirrey Saunders, disastrous?" A twinkle lingered in Giles' eyes.
Voirrey groaned. " You're going to look up the files now, aren't you?"
Giles smirked impishly, appearing years younger. "Why not? You did to mine."
Faith and Angel watched the exchange between the two Watchers with increasing disinterest. The dark Slayer straightened up when she heard about Diana being posted in Denmark, but fast became bored when the British duo veered off subject.
"So let me get this straight," Faith interjected before they risked any more spiels, "Diana in this world is five by five, yeah?"
Voirrey trained her gaze back to Faith. "Yes. She's fine."
Faith nodded, her expression tightening.
Guilt, Angel guessed.
Giles coughed politely, adding his own question to the mix. "You have a uh, Rupert Giles in your world, yes?"
"Yeah," Faith nodded.
The Watchers looked at each other, then at Faith speculatively. Giles clucked the roof of his mouth with his tongue. "I've a few queries for you, Faith. I'm afraid they may be rather blunt, so I'd like to offer my uh, apologies in advance."
"Whatever."
Giles ploughed ahead. "You may be aware we have your Buffy Anne Summers with us at the moment. She's been with us for nigh on two weeks, and she's mentioned some rather, uh, alarming things about you. To say the least."
Faith's eyes became flinty. Angel bristled. He knew the girl had a sinking darkness in her. The kind that saturated every pore with the stink of it, crushing the soul with guilt and self loathing.
He also knew that type of feeling never really went away, no matter how long you spent struggling against it.
Faith mentioned little of her alternate life to Angel, apart from being bunged up in prison and attempting to redeem herself the long way, just before she'd been so rudely whisked into their dimension and checked out by some very confused guards who didn't know how she ended up sharing a cell with a lifer when she wasn't on the records anywhere. The really scary fact was that Team Angel never even would have realised about Faith - until they got the call from her out of the blue. Angel still sweated at the thought of that potential disaster.
Her reaction when she found out she was brought along for a ride originally intended for Buffy Summers was explosive, to say the least.
"She's not wrong, G," Faith replied, lifting an arm and critically examining her black nail polish; "Hell of a time we had, together."
"That's a mild way of putting it," Giles agreed. "I also heard, and I don't think I can put this delicately - that you were in prison."
"Twenty-five to life, yeah. Killed me a couple of people." "Worried, now? I would be. I might go all serial killer onyou."
"Uh, Angel has been indicating you in a, uh, positive light, all the same."
"He has, huh?" Faith shot Angel a filthy look. "Well. Here's the sitch. I shouldn't be here - told Angel that much, already - should be locked up with the key thrown. Life's full of surprises though, right? Sure got some when big Bertha appeared out of thin air in my cell. Had a thumping great hangover, too." She scratched her head in unconscious reaction to the memory.
"Anyway. Was pretty mad about it for a bit, but shrinks in prison tell me I should deal with this sort of thing without going psycho. So, way I see it, I've been holding my shit together the past couple of weeks wicked awesome. No killings as of yet. Unless you count vamps."
Voirrey glared disapproval. "You know, that's bloody annoying."
"What is?" Faith challenged the older woman, idly examining her nails again.
"Your attitude. Your acrimonious, self-deprecating, 'I'm not good enough for anyone and I know it,' attitude. That's something the both of you share."
Faith unleashed a cynical chuckle, making Angel wince. "Angel told me a fair bit about you, V. You're all buddy-buddy with other-me, here. And she's all about the straight and narrow, fighting the good fight. Got news for you, though. I ain't your Faith. So back off."
Angel's eyes widened. Not good.
"No." Voirrey mirrored Faith's twisted smirk. "I'm afraid I won't back off. So tell me. What makes you so different from the Faith here, then? Since you obviously know."
Giles mouthed to the female Watcher: What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?
Angel wanted to ask the same thing.
Faith crossed her legs and folded her arms belligerently. "You slow or something? Or just deaf?"
Irritation twitched over Voirrey's face. "So you killed two people. Big deal. What makes you think this Faith hasn't, either?"
"Because…" Faith trailed off, suddenly perplexed.
"It happens, you know. People make mistakes. Being a Slayer, killing hundreds of demons, constantly fighting… do you honestly think you're the only one to slip up and kill a human being?"
Faith said nothing.
"A lot of Slayers are trained from an early age when they're discovered as Potentials. They get conditioned to accept losses. To understand that mistakes happen, despite all their efforts to avoid them. When you were found, it was late. You didn't have this conditioning. You were raw, wild, volatile… and damaged."
"Stop acting like you know me," Faith hissed between clenched teeth. Angel clasped his hands together. He thought he now understood the angle the female Watcher was attempting. He watched Faith for any signs it would get too much for her.
Voirrey ignored her. "All that separates you and this Faith is a series of choices and events that stems right into quantum physics. Pivotal moments, so to speak." The Watcher put up her hand when Faith began to speak. "I haven't finished yet -"
"- Don't care. You don't know me. There's nothing you can say that'll make me -"
" - Faith here killed a man." Voirrey's words hissed through the now quiet room.
Faith opened her mouth again, but words failed to come out. The mounting rage bottled up inside her winnowed away. She visibly deflated on the spot.
"She did?"
"Yes."
Faith stared, trying to find any hint of a lie behind the Watcher's stoic expression.
Voirrey pressed her advantage. "When you killed a man, Faith… consider this. How do you think you would have coped, if Diana was still alive? If everyone working in Sunnydale was your friend?" Voirrey paused for effect, taking sly note of the dark Slayer's riveted attention. "I'll tell you. I think you'd be remarkably like the Faith here. Exactly like her."
Faith didn't say anything for a moment. Then she let out an exasperated sigh. "Why do I feel like I'm being shrinked?"
"Possibly because you are," Giles ventured.
Faith wiggled an eyebrow at Giles, her lips demonstrating the first genuine smile since the meeting started. "She do this a lot to people she's just met, then?'
"You have no idea," Giles muttered, rubbing his glasses.
"Hem. 'She' is still in the room," Voirrey interjected.
Faith snorted, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. She took her time to reply, gathering her thoughts together. Keeping herself calm. "Right. Let's just say all that stuff you said is true. You're saying I pretty much got the crap end of the deal?"
"Unfortunately. And that's why I find myself admiring you. You got the… crap end, as you put it. You went off the rails. But you got yourself back on track. You went into jail and you're pulling yourself together. It astounds me to consider how you even managed it, and irritates me to see the way you treat yourself."
Faith looked embarrassed. She also looked as though she wanted to be angry at the Watcher, but just couldn't quite manage it. "It ain't nothing like that. I was a screw up and Angel helped me through the meltdown. Prison kinda followed from there."
"I still think it's remarkable of you to actively try and redeem yourself in that way. You're a better woman than you know."
Another long silence.
"You really dig your Faith, don't you?"
"I do love her as a daughter, yes." Voirrey said, not bothering to hide her pride.
Faith sighed. "You really think we're the same person?"
"Naturally."
"You're on crack to think so."
Voirrey blinked at Faith for a second. Then she burst out laughing. The tension in the room promptly evaporated.
Angel exited shortly afterwards, leaving the two Watchers and Faith to make more slightly awkward but no longer frozen conversation between each other, with the excuse of picking up Wesley and Cordelia. He felt shaky, but also relieved. The furniture was still intact and unbroken. No one had tried to kill anyone as of yet. They even managed to go through an entire section of speech without cracking skulls.
Impressive.
Angel considered the whole time about the risky route the female Watcher took in the confrontation with Faith, wondering if the wily Watcher had simply lied about the Faith Lehane of this world killing a man. Certainly he'd heard nothing about any accidental killing.
"Is everything alright then?" Wesley asked when Angel motioned him away from his newspaper and coffee.
"For now," Angel replied, laconically. "It might get ugly once we start on the Prophecy."
Back in the office, Wesley greeted the two Watchers and stood by the desk, gathering his notes together. Cordelia hadn't joined them yet - instead keeping herself busy abusing the coffee machine in the reception area for everyone. Faith appeared edgy and impatient - she obviously wanted to get going soon - or just completely out of the room altogether whilst the Watchers no longer focus-fired her.
.
"So, Angel," Giles said. "Voirrey and I were just discussing; how long did you plan to keep the knowledge of Faith here secret for?"
Angel paced himself over to the desk. "As long as it took," he admitted. "I didn't want to add any confusion, and we were… hoping to find a way to send Faith back before you ever had the chance to find out."
"Send her back to jail?"
Faith perked up at Giles' bemusement. "It's not a problem, G-man. We got a world without a Slayer. Figure I should do what little of my duty I can and get back in there."
Giles paled. "Good lord, I hadn't thought of that. Of course…"
Angel cringed from the twin glares of the Watchers. "What?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not my fault things turned out the way they did. These spells are tricky things, you know."
"But you did, uh, deliberately summon Buffy to this world, didn't you?"
"Well... Yes. We did. And like I said, explanations will be had."
Giles scowled, his tone accusing: "We were utterly confounded over how Buffy even arrived here in the first place. And you knew all this time."
"Yes. We knew. Summoning Buffy was our responsibility. And we will explain to you with this." Angel indicated to Wesley, who walked carefully over to the seated Watchers, passing out pieces of paper.
"Ah, these are the, uh, parts of the prophecy?" Giles raised an eyebrow in interest. Voirrey lifted up her paper selection and squinted at the elegant script, whilst Wesley started pointing out key elements in the documents Giles held.
"You obtained this from Wolfram and Hart, did you?" Voirrey moved the first page behind the others in her hands.
Angel nodded. "With difficulty. Wesley's been translating it for weeks - apparently a very strange language - he had to get some dictionary from a creepy dwarf in Budapest. Exciting stuff."
"Hungarian isn't one of my specialities," Wesley muttered.
"So uh, forgive me for asking this," Giles said. "But are you sure this is as accurate as you're able to get it, then?"
"Positive!" Wesley puffed himself up indignantly. "I've shed blood over this thing. Any errors in question are because the language used is effectively a dead one."
"I confess I can't recognise it. It looks like it follows a similar format to the eastern Cyrillic alphabet, but…"
Wesley bobbed his head at Giles' musing. "Yes, it's more archaic. I think it may be the origin of what consists to be the Slavic languages today."
"Possibly," Giles conceded. "How authentic is this Prophecy?"
Angel shrugged. "Senior partner tried to rip my guts out. So I'm betting, pretty solid."
At this moment, Cordelia came in carrying a tray of coffee mugs. She placed them by each of the Watchers and gravitated to Faith, pulling her up by the arm. "C'mon, girlfriend. We're going to leave these musty people to their musty pages and emigrate to less musty places."
"Oh, cool. You guys alright with that?" Faith asked in hopeful anticipation.
"Yes, yes of course," Giles beamed at her. "I'm sorry if the earlier conversation at any point became a little… trying for you, Faith."
"Yeah, thanks." She nodded curtly at Giles, exiting the room with Cordelia without glancing at anyone else. The female Watcher clutched her mug and sipped, unperturbed.
"So," Wesley said after the door had closed, "To business, then. Where to start…"
"Where is this prophecy mentioned? I've never even heard about it before," Giles said.
"Fair question. I believe there is a small reference to it in the Tiberius Manifesto - from what little the Council salvaged from the Vatican fire in the 15th century. But other than possibly the Czech Republic's National Lyceum owning information on these, there has been no mention," Wesley rattled out.
"So, what? Did you just break into Wolfram and Hart's headquarters and spot the documents by sheer blind chance?" Voirrey asked, puzzled.
Wesley shook his head vehemently, holding up one hand. "No, no. We were advised by a vision Cordelia received. The Powers That Be have their ways of making sure we're provided with necessary knowledge."
"I daresay." Giles finished the last of his documents, brow creased in worry.
"On the apex of the millennium solstice," Voirrey began to read out, before adding, "Is this a direct translation?"
"No, that was me phrasing the precise date for what I concluded to be our most recent incoming apocalypse," Wesley admitted with a wry smile.
"Alright. 'On the apex of the millennium solstice, the Plague of Ages will tear out of the earth, and once again, shall the inferior ones know ruin.' Right. Disaster. Apocalypse. Fairly standard and egalitarian of ancient scholars. 'Balkir, entity of law and chaos, the inferior's lone champion against the impending darkness, will be divided.' So. What or whom is Balkir?"
Wesley shrugged. "There's numerous mentions of the name. It's referred to also as the Lightwalker." He skimmed over the documents, pointing out each occurrence. "And if you observe, Lightwalker is always used in the singular form, whereas the enemy is always mentioned in the plural. Here: 'For Darkwalkers, their only known enemy is the Lightwalker, who makes up for the lack of numbers by the ability to re-instigate its strength when defeated.'
"Scholars and their prophecies are so annoying," Angel remarked. "It's like they deliberately have to make everything sound obscure."
Wesley glared at him, before continuing. "Anyway. I've reason to suspect the Blood Hexagon spell used to seal the Sunnydale Hellmouth is also used to seal the Darkwalkers. Which makes it very old. Which also means using human sacrifices for shielding has been going on for centuries."
"Ah…" Giles rustled his papers and rested them on top of his crossed legs. "That is terrible. Where is this main seal?"
"Prague, I believe. Hence the name of the Prophecy. They've obviously been keeping this fact under wraps. Surely the Council would not adhere to this," Wesley said.
"You'd be surprised what the Council would adhere to," Voirrey hinted darkly. "Something like this is quite within their moral boundaries."
"What moral boundaries?" Angel asked. Voirrey smiled thinly in response.
Giles remained silent for a moment longer, rereading the passage. "I presume the Lightwalker is the Slayer, isn't it?"
Wesley inclined his head. "Yes. There's numerous hints to it that match the prowess of Slayers. It refers to the Slayer bloodline as 'descendants.' It doesn't mention 'Slayer' outright, but the conclusion is pretty foregone. The 'Lightwalker' is the Slayer." Wesley sighed. "We probably captured Balkir or summoned its essence into the world to make up the First Slayer. It's no secret a demon soul was used. It's just a secret as to how the spell was cast."
"Fascinating," Voirrey said, her eyes brightening. "So if the Lightwalker is the Slayer, then are Darkwalkers the general demon populace?"
"Possibly. I think it's being a little more specific, though. A caste of demon called Darkwalkers, rather than the generic name for demons."
"There's still something bothering me," Giles interjected, pushing the bridge of his glasses higher up on his nose. "Assuming you deliberately called Buffy here, how did you work out you needed her from all of this? It seems a rather huge leap to take."
Angel chose this moment to jump in. "Well, we tried pulling a few strings to get the PTB to give us a bit more information, for a start."
"That can't have been easy. They're notoriously tight with their information," said Giles.
Angel grimaced. "It really wasn't." He leant against the desk, drumming his fingers on the edges. "They don't generally like dealing out information. But in this case, they had to. It turned out, something happened in this world that wasn't supposed to happen. Wes can probably explain it a little better than me."
"What's there to explain? Buffy here wasn't meant to die. At least, permanently. She was scheduled to fall, enough so the Slayer line would jump to the next - but she needed to come back, as well. That's what this prophecy refers to." Wesley quickly went to fetch the dictionary he had obtained from the Hungarian dwarf to show Giles.
"Balkir is the Slayer essence," he continued, after giving the book over. "And for whatever reason, there has to be two Slayers when this apocalypse occurs - and one of them has to be Buffy. When we were told that... naturally, we started looking at ways to circumvent her, ah… death."
"And so you decided to borrow a Buffy," Voirrey finished.
"What else could we do?" Wesley defended himself. "The Powers That Be were adamant it needed to be Buffy. They didn't tell us outright how to solve the problem... but they were confident we could."
"Your little tryst jeopardised the dimension Buffy came from, however. Their world is without a Slayer," Voirrey growled.
"Well, there's the thing," Angel shrugged, helplessly. "We did the spell specifically for Buffy after spending weeks chasing up ingredients and leads. We weren't expecting to get Faith as well."
Giles furrowed his brow. "Well, from what you've described to me of the spell over the phone, what you did was effectively call the Slayer essence of Buffy into this world. Bear in mind, this same essence is in Faith, too."
"Oh!" Wesley punched his palm in sudden realisation. "Of course! Why didn't I see that? Predict that?"
"Because you're a ponce," Giles muttered.
The Watchers continued discussing elements of the prophecy, leaving Angel to drift off.
He really wanted to see Buffy, but he knew he'd be deceiving himself. Even if this one acted exactly the same in every way - the same smile and style and mannerisms - his Buffy was long dead.
The curse of being a Slayer. It took away people when they were still young. Girls, hardly more than teenagers, thrust into the boiling pot of good versus evil. No wonder the death rate was so high.
"-So you're sure there isn't much we can do, then? Just sit here, twiddling our thumbs until the disaster starts? Most prophecies have at least a counterpart or method to prevent it," Giles stated hotly. "But this… for all the fancy wordplay it contains, it basically says the apocalypse will happen, but if we're lucky we'll stop it from destroying the entire world. That's not entirely reassuring."
"It's why we're in the process of planning to go to Europe," Wesley replied. "Go right to the source of what's going on."
Voirrey closed her hands into fists. "Reasonable. Are any of you fluent in Czech or Slovakian, then?"
"Passing knowledge," Wesley said.
"Got nothing," Angel wandered back into the conversation. "I mostly roamed western Europe, back in."
"Well, from my excursions into the Czech Republic, I established a few contacts. I know a good native guide - if he's still alive. He's a retired member of the National Lyceum. They call him Vllk in his tongue, or wolf."
Wesley beamed. "That would be useful, thanks."
"When were you thinking of setting off?" Giles asked.
"As soon as we can," Angel affirmed.
"And...?" Voirrey flicked her gaze over to the closed office door.
"Faith wants to come," Angel said, instantly guessing Voirrey's line of thought. "She doesn't want to cause confusion here. We figured to keep her away from Sunnydale and just focus on returning her."
Giles buttoned up his jacket. "Fair enough. It makes sense then to probably not inform the Sunnydale group about Faith's presence here. Do you think you will be able return her back to her dimension?"
Wesley looked dubious. "Hopefully. But thanks to your revelation, we'll have to make sure it won't return Buffy at the same time. We need her, Giles."
Voirrey nodded. All of them paused, taking stock of the strange events of the meeting, and the impending news of the apocalypse.
"I'd like to have some words with Faith later, though," Voirrey added.
"Good luck with that," Angel said, grinning.
Four Days Past
The first thing Faith noticed: searing pain. The second: Buffy Summers standing in front of her, white as a sheet and holding onto a bloody rag. Other things assaulted her sensory perceptions. Cold. Bright white Bathroom. The smell of rust. The taste of blood.
Faith bared her teeth and jerked forward, fully intending on gripping her fingers about the blonde's throat and squeezing indefinitely. Their desperate fight still played out with vivid clarity in her mind. Everything up to a sound like a whip cracking, and her falling, tumbling into darkness.
"Holy shit,' Faith hissed, eyes popping at the fresh dosage of pain spiking her system. Buffy's face blurred out of focus. With a groggy shake she regained clarity, taking short, sharp breaths to control the mounting rage.
Buffy's mouth opened and closed. She opened it again to finally whisper Faith's name.
Faith narrowed her eyes into slits, a hiss escaping her mouth. Anger crashed into her, the pain and helplessness steering her into dangerous waters. Goddamnit. She needed to reign it in. These feelings would solve nothing. She wasn't that girl, anymore. At least, she tried not to be. Sometimes she failed.
Her head lolled and took in the view of her semi-naked body and the numerous contusions decorating her arms. Her collarbone and pretty much the entire upper torso was swathed in bandages, with a bulge of around four layers of dressing clapped over the wound. She felt like a mummy being prepped for a tomb. Her eyes shifted, noticing thin lines of crimson streaked along the sink bowl.
"I-I should take you to a hospital. I don't think this is working."
"No hospitals"' Faith rasped. Bitter words laced the tip of her tongue, fighting to make themselves heard.
Faith, the Inner Slayer rumbled; Play this cool.
Newsflash: bitch tried to kill me.
Newsflash: bitch brought you here and patched you up.
Newsflash: Don't care.
Newsf- oh, come on. This is stupid. You're stupid. You know full well what the fuck is going on with her. I mean, it's not like you went through it yourself or anything.
Faith inwardly flinched. Shut. The. Hell. Up.
Don't screw this up, then.
Faith banged the back of her head against the bath-tub, blocking all visual stimuli. Too late, she thought bitterly. She breathed deeply, slowly.
"Faith? Are you awake?" Feathery fingers brushed her shoulder. Faith focused on the tenuous Slayer connection between them, not trusting herself to speak. With the state of her body and mind, she was at the other Slayer's mercy.
The same one responsible for this mess in the first place.
Bitch should go to hell for this - Faith reined in the venomous thoughts, reminding herself that the situation wasn't completely Buffy's fault. After all, Faith spent hours meditating each day when she first became the Slayer. Committed weeks of training in order to suppress the demonic instinct inside her to something manageable. She still needed to meditate daily. It wasn't easy, sharing your body with a chaotic hell spirit. Humans struggled with the pressure it exerted. Often or not, without rigorous attention, a Slayer went mad, regardless of the assistance the sentient part of the spirit provided.
All power came with a price.
Something lukewarm and wet slid its way over her brow and it required every ounce of attention to keep still. A calloused hand levered her head forward for easier access. Cleaning her? Reviving her?
The Slayer connection fluttered tentatively, like a butterfly settling on a flower. Buffy hesitated, before retracting from Faith's proximity, taking the permeating stench of the sewers with her. Water sloshed and hissed. A migraine stirred in the back of Faith's head, and her eardrums pounded in insistent response. The dizziness fluctuated between intense nausea and mild disorientation.
Faith allowed the administrations to continue whilst pretending to be out cold, finding it a mild laxative on her rage. Buffy touched her like an apology with every dab of cloth and application of dressing. Minutes trickled by, the sensations and the gentle touch of the Slayer connection lulling her mind into a light doze of disconnected images.
When the cloth pressed against her upper thigh, Faith opened her eyes to see Buffy leaning down, tangled hair concealing most of her face as she washed the blood-spot. Faith set her jaw in a hard, determined line, a bitter taste in her mouth. The anger she thought she'd successfully chased away injected back into her system. Again, she attempted swallowing it. She winced when Buffy pressed firmly on her collarbone.
"That hurts," she whispered. Buffy halted and looked up, revealing a dirty, tear-streaked face and wild eyes. She immediately began to draw away - until Faith grabbed her wrist to prevent escape.
"Seem a little nervous, B. Something you hit?" Faith hissed. Buffy stared at Faith's hand, then back up to match gazes.
"I'm sorr-"
"Don't apologise." Faith flexed her hand, increasing the pressure on the smaller Slayer's wrist. "Won't solve nothing. You dug your damn grave, bitch."
Buffy's mouth hung open in a stricken expression. She ignored the dig of nails into her flesh. "So what do you expect me to do, then? 'Cause apologising was pretty much all I had."
"No idea." Faith's voice cracked; "But I'm all kinds of pissed off with you at the moment. Ya banged me up good." She allowed a vindictive sneer to creep on her face.
Buffy gasped and attempted to break the grip with force. Faith let go before the strength strained her muscles too much, watching the blonde topple onto her elbows with a thud, before scrambling onto her knees.
"Oh…" Faith tilted her head to the side, a sneer twisting her lips. "Got yourself pretty trigger happy in the tunnels. All that stuff you said about the other me… didn't realise that stuff was enough to murder someone over. Guess I didn't get the memo."
"Stop it!" Buffy demanded in a shrill voice, panicked.
"How much did you enjoy it?" Faith pushed, "Beating me up. Spilling all that blood. Did it make you feel good? Did it? Was it worth it?"
Buffy clenched her fists and involuntarily jerked forward as if about to punch Faith. "What the hell is wrong with you, Faith?" She hissed. "Do you want me to lose it? Are you suicidal?"
"Hey, B, playing with a full deck here; dunno about you. You seem eager to hurt me. How hard is it to restrain yourself? Don't you just wanna..." She mimed a punch, "Ugh?"
"What kind of insane troll logic are you using?" A tear slithered down Buffy's face, followed by more oozing out of the corners of her bloodshot eyes. "Everything's been going wrong since I came here, and then there's you, and I didn't know what to make of you at first, but now I do. You're just as psycho as I thought you'd be. You're just as evil -"
"-You did enjoy it, didn't you? Can't exactly blame ya, Summers." Faith's smile was cruel. "Throwing down with the vamps ain't enough, right? Nope. But that's where I come in. 'Psycho' Faith. 'Evil' Faith." She leant forward, her breath tickling Buffy's ear. "Cause you look at me, but you don't really see me. Oh no. You see her. And when you lose control of your Slayer, you have the perfect excuse to kill…"
A strangled shriek stuttered out of Buffy.
Crash!
Buffy's fist lay buried in the bath-tub, inches from Faith's head. The blonde's jaw jutted out in animal fury. It very quickly became agape in horror and fear. Faith breathed in silent relief, the fury gone as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on her head. Buffy yanked her fist out of the bath-tub, taking a chunk of plastic with it and revealing large scratches all over the knuckles. She bundled her hands to her face, her body convulsing in sobs.
Faith watched the blonde completely break down, examining Buffy's dirty, puffy face writhing with bewilderment and panic.
What am I doing? What the hell am I fucking doing?
Screwing up. As usual.
"Awh, crap," Faith cursed, unsure of how to deal with the situation, and hating herself for causing it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! "Stop being like that. Stop, uh, crying, okay? Hey? C'mon." She awkwardly patted Buffy's shoulder.
Buffy emitted wavering sobs, her body shaking as though being ripped apart from the inside. "I want to go home," she whispered, fingers curling over her eyes.
Faith scowled in confused frustration, at a complete loss for what to do. Half of her wanted to punch Buffy back for the near miss with her head and the bath-tub. She glanced at the jagged hole. Maybe more than half. The rest of her knew that approach wouldn't work. Couldn't work.
"Hey," Faith murmured, hoping her tone sounded calm and soothing. She moved slowly, the effort causing personal discomfort, and prised Buffy's hands away from her face. The action startled Buffy into silence. "Ssh, ssh," Faith encouraged, intertwining their fingers together. An incredulous expression wrought over Buffy's features. Her red-rimmed eyes fixated on their interlinked hands. The Slayer connection jolted through them. They remained in the same position for a moment.
Then, without really being aware she did it, Faith began to rub the top of Buffy's knuckles with her thumbs. "Hey. It's okay." Faith inhaled, fighting for words. "I uh, got a bit mad. You know. Nearly get killed by you. Wake up with aches in all the wrong places - makes a girl cranky."
Buffy raised her wet eyes to greet Faith, the incredulity softening. Faith couldn't help but think what a mess she looked. Buffy's blonde tresses hung limp like wet ropes, and her face was swollen and streaked with dirt and tears. Slime tainted her clothes. Faith in comparison appeared sterile clean.
"Thinking we better get you washed up, too. You look about ready to date a zombie." Faith kept talking, still circling Buffy's knuckles, picturing the blonde as a terrified animal in need of comfort. Buffy was unstable. She was on meltdown, and had just recently lost control of her Slayer. Never a nice experience. So, because Faith was sensible like that, she went ahead and pushed the little red button labelled: DO NOT PUSH.
But hey. Blood loss did strange things to a girl. So did rage, injuries, and concussion. Try thinking straight with that.
Buffy's breathing slowed, and her heaving movements lessened. Just when Faith felt like they were finally getting somewhere with the whole calming down thing, Buffy's expression crumpled again, more tears leaking onto her cheeks.
"The hell now," Faith muttered, darting a tongue out to wet her parched lips. Buffy raised one of their wrapped up hands to wipe a tear, freezing when Faith grimaced.
"Hey, watch it. In pain over here."
"S-so…" Buffy hiccupped, her nose starting to run and her words contracting.
"Jeez." Faith gritted her teeth and pulled the blonde as close as she dared, let go of one hand, and snaked her arm slowly around Buffy's back, all the time making sure Buffy knew her intention.
What the hell am I doing? The whole scenario was spiraling out of control, and not in the way Faith imagined, at all.
Should she be angry? Should she be sorry? Hell.
Now Buffy had received the hint Faith didn't want to sucker punch her into next week or rain more callous words, she allowed herself to relax in Faith's embrace - and promptly wail harder.
Is this supposed to happen? Faith fretted, now palming Buffy's shoulder blades in a clockwise motion, hoping the massage would calm her down. Being no expert at this kind of thing, and definitely not being much of a touchy-feely kind of girl, she soon stopped and just rested her hands gingerly on the blonde's back.
Yes. You're doing just fine, the Inner Slayer purred.
She gave the Inner Slayer a mental: up yours! and concentrated on the shell-shocked blonde partially buried in her shoulder. By now, Buffy had completely stopped crying altogether, but still maintained the close proximity, reluctant to increase the gap.
The silence carried on.
And on.
"So," Faith said, in an attempt to break the forming layer of permafrost. "On a scale of one to ten… how screwed up do you think this whole thing is, right now?"
Buffy tensed, as though hauled out of a daydream. She mulled over a response. "Uh… very?"
More silence.
"I'm gonna…" Buffy began, shifting her body.
"Yeah," Faith agreed, letting go.
They stared, gauging each other's expressions and body language. Faith somehow knew that Buffy wouldn't talk until she did. Something about the set of her jaw, the downcast shadows over the blonde's eyes, the defeated and submissive pose of her body.
Yup. This ball was in Faith's court. Her words held power. Faith glanced at the discarded cloth staining the floor, and the dried blood on Buffy's hand from clutching it.
Faith narrowed her eyes, considering the options.