May, 1999

Cake. Another one. Sitting in your locker staring at you from a little gummy face stuck on top.

You're still feeling slightly indecisive as to whether the look it's giving you is warm and friendly or smugly accusatory. This is the fourth one this week and the first for a while to come with a note. Normally you spend five fugitive minutes snapping your eyes from side to side while trying to appear inconspicuous and then as fast as lightning jam the cupcake into your mouth when you see Willow approaching and hope you've swallowed by the time she makes it over. It's been a month now and you have it down to a fine art.

Today, however, your timing is out. 'Out' in that it's unnecessary; you dashed out of the house this morning- much to your mother's surprise- and made it in to school early.

You wanted to see her.

The last time had been 10 days ago with that stupid box thing. You'd ached to be as close to her as Willow was, knife be damned. So this morning you'd been early in the hopes of catching her in the act.

You almost had.

Her eyes take another leisurely sweep across your back. You've amp-ed up the Slayer hearing, you could literally hear a pin drop in the drama block from here. She knows what you're doing and she's keeping Slayer quiet to tease you.

You pause for a second. Then make the rudest hand gesture you can think of in the direction of the display cabinet down the hall, it chuckles quietly back at you and you grin, loving being right. That damn gummy face is still staring back at you but now it just looks happy.

"Buffy?" You spin round so fast you almost crack your head open against the locker door. As it is you've probably created a bump the size of Texas and lost a few hundred vital brain cells. You curse under your breath.

The voice you'd been listening for is smooth and husky at the same time and permanently amused. Instead you'd got Willow's whisper to herself registering as a shout on the Slayer hearing scale.

"Oh My Goddess! Are you ok?" She's flashing different numbers of fingers in front of your face and wiggling them around so your eyes will follow.

"I'm fine Will, who needs brain cells anyway?" You give her your best grin and let her help you up. Further down the hall, Faith is giving herself a coronary trying to keep from laughing; you shoot a glare her way and know she'll somehow get it.

"What's that?" Willow is standing, looking in to your locker and eyeing your cake.

"Nothing." You almost yell, snatching away the note and grabbing the cake so hard you almost crush it. "Mom made it for me- want it?" She shakes her head like you knew she would so you stuff it in your mouth instead.

And then remember the cake holder.

Willow watches in near disgust as you pull the soggy paper out of your mouth. "Sorry." You mumble, around the cake.

"That's… ok." She grimaces, "What are you doing in this early? More Faith nightmares?" You freeze. Of all the things she could have said…

"N-no." You clear your throat "why would I, er, Faith? Dreams of Faith?"

"It's just, you were telling me about how down you are about the whole 'Evil Faith' thing and I know when you have something big on your mind you normally can't sleep." She pats you on the shoulder and gives her best concerned look. "Buffy, you've gone all red- how hard did you hit your head?"

"Not hard enough…"

She pats your shoulder sympathetically, "I know it's awful right now but it'll all be better soon."

"Will it?" A quiet voice is chanting 'Will, will, will' to the tune of the William Tell Overture… you're not entirely sure if it's just in your head or if the display cabinet's hidden, evil – and incredibly hot- villain is trying to rile you by alerting Willow.

This may be the only time you've ever hoped you're going mad.

Willow's smile back at you is placating, "It will, it really will. You'll beat that…. Bitch!" You both jump at her loud profanity, Willow looking slightly more shocked than you despite the fact it came from her mouth. You direct another hand-gesture at the display case as it starts turning the air blue and listing ways to skin a cat (you weren't aware there was more than one).

She smiles guiltily at you and silently motions towards the library, you nod and she slinks off, itching the rash that always seems to appear on the side of her neck whenever Faith is mentioned.

"Oddly, I like her more now she openly hates me."

"I wouldn't use 'hate', per say"

"You wouldn't?"

"More like despise."

She chuckles throatily as you turn to her and then stops as she sees the shiver it sends down your spine. "Do you despise me, B?"

In the five long seconds it takes to attempt to process what it is exactly you feel about her and how to reply she slides up to you. Her few extra inches seem to stretch to miles as she towers above you, her dark pupils cupping yours. "I…" You start to reply but something foul seems to be coating your throat, thick and bitter it burns and stops all breath. There's an angry thump in your chest, the golden light she was bathed in a few moments ago now seems cold and murky. She smirks, her teeth pointed ridges and all you can think is 'how dare she?'. How dare she ask you such a thing? You have every right to hate her, to want to smash your fist into her perfect face, pull on her shiny hair and rip her god damn eyes out!

Faith lets her eyes wash over you. "Oh." She yelps under her breath. Turning to walk away she gives you one last look and looks for a moment like the girl you fell for; the girl in the cemetery with the wild, messy hair and sarcastic grin who layered on too much make-up and found fun in everything. You blink and don't have to try hard to recognise that the girl in front of you is the cold-blooded killer, not the child. Her hair weighed down by expensive styling products and face artfully painted. All paid for by him.

You can almost kid yourself that you can see the gleam of the knife in her eye. The knife you pulled out of the wall and a giant spider. The one under your pillow.

"Go away, Faith. You've ruined it." She winces as if you'd stabbed her before molten iron floods into her vision and she fixes you with a sneer.

"Nothing to ruin, Princess." You'd blocked her out of your mind but her words speak to your body, tightening the vice round your heart and burning the invisible mark under your left breast- the only place she ever touched under your clothes.

Her back is steely as she struts away from you; hands equally hard clutch a note and a mushy fairy-cake cup by your sides. Your game stopped today. The rigid edge you show to each other when in company has spread into your secret life.

Suddenly it all seems very real, the air rushes out of you in one short blast. Your weakened knees almost find the floor before you steady yourself on the edge of your open locker.

You give yourself a moment to grieve before you take a key and lock away whatever it was the two of you had.

It isn't until English the next day that you remember her note. Searching for blank paper, you find it hastily shoved between the pages. You scan briefly over her scrawl-y handwriting and messy doodles. Your more self-destructive side pointing out how happy and carefree she seems, scribing smile-y faces at random. She asks you to meet her this Saturday and gives you only a street name and number to go on. You recognise it as somewhere just off the main street.

The janitor who picks it up after it rolls out of the bin smiles good-naturedly. Looking around the empty classroom he thinks back to when he was young and in love.