February 2001
Faith sits poking moodily at the salad you'd had sent ahead. You hadn't been able to stomach the sight of 'real' food, as Faith sulkily complained for once you'd put the phone to your ear, her eyes still fixed to the wilting green leaves.
"Hi." The bile that's been coating your throat for days has left it now red and raw, perfectly matching your blood-shot eyes.
"He-" Faith's own voice catches in her throat as she gets her first look at you. You think if you could will the energy together you might curse her. The cheap lipstick you smeared across your pale and chapped lips in the flickering light of the visitors' bathroom hadn't fooled even you but you wish she didn't let it show on her face. You look like crap.
And she knows it.
"What's wrong?" She asks, as if anything has ever been right. "Did- did something happen? Everyone's ok, right? Dawnie? Is- is Dawn ok?"
A scoff that sounds suspiciously like a sob escapes. Is Dawn ok?
Are you ok? Is anything ever going to be damn ok? Fuck Faith and her stupid fucking-!
"It's my mom." You clear your dry throat loudly, making Faith jump, and repeat it again in the same dreary tone.
Her mouth forms a little 'o' and she says what might be some kind of vague platitude or may be some kind of insightful fantastic thing… but it's lost over the dull roar of blood in your ears.
And you don't much care. "Thanks." She notices your lacklustre tone but does little more than raise an eyebrow.
"B…?" She asks, the rest getting lost somewhere in her throat.
Of course, you pretty much know that she was intending on asking if you're alright- Faith is nothing if not selfish and you are, as always, factored in as part of that 'self'.
You think you should be hurting more, crying every second of every day. That's if there were any tears left in your scratchy, dry eyes. You want to scream and curse and cry and at the same time not.
Sitting here forever sounds like a good idea. The world can pass you by in this cold, bright room; chairs will scrape noisily over sticky lino floors and children will cry noisily, not noticing their snotty noses, to see their beloved mommies forcibly withheld from them by a glass jail- a temptation too far. So hard to at once see and yet not touch.
Forbidden.
Like the fruit.
She is your pinnacle of prohibition and you will sit here to watch her as the world revolves without you.
Only… Dawn. Exists.
You have Dawn to save and a world that refuses to watch itself. A fucking, fucking, useless-
She's still staring, watching, waiting. "I'm ok, Faith." There should be an explanation, you feel, to follow that but the two of you know each other well enough by now to not waste your time with idle talk about important things. "I have so much to do."
For some reason that seems of great consequence.
Faith replies with a smile, something about how she wouldn't know. It almost makes you groan out loud that she would bring her wretched mother into this but you just can't seem to dredge up the effort or sense to care. In other plains, in other worlds- in other universes and realities- you would have minded so extremely much to see her frown. In this one you just want her to shut up.
The awfulness of not even Faith making you sit up and take notice seems muted somehow.
Not that you care much about that.
Or anything.
You think that if you might let just one- this one- a feeling slip through the tiny fracture that is 'Faith' the pressure of worry on the other side will slam through and you'll be drowning again. Again.
You dreamt once that she held you under the water while you drowned.
Now you think it might be nice were she to be with you in the swirl, a body to cradle- yours of course- that she might keep you safe and be the protection you so desire, hold your head above the waves and-
God, you're wretched!
And maudlin.
Faith is still talking, though of what you're not sure. You nod sporadically and make the occasional 'mm' but it's obvious she knows you're not really paying any attention. You want to pay attention. Sort of. Or maybe not.
You're getting bored of your mind's stultifying Faith.
"B? You in there?"
"Did you cry when your mother died?"
It wasn't intended to be so cutting or so blunt but the look she gives you makes something flutter deliciously in your chest. "Don't do this, Buffy, you-"
"Did you cry when you woke up all alone in the hospital?"
"Stop it." She clenches her jaw and growls.
"Did you cry when you killed those men?"
"Stop it!"
"Did you cry when he-?"
"SHUT UP!" A guttural roar erupts from her as she slams her hands up to smack against the glass. Before she makes it two guards latch on to her shoulders and drag her back down into the chair. The fight to resist or submit rages in her eyes until she shrugs them off and sinks back into the seat. They nod respectfully at her and move back to stand against the bars.
Margie, the guard who checks your food and calls your girl 'Faithy', steps forward to cuff her to the chair. You know they rarely restrain her- it's that working denial thing that happens so much in Sunnydale- they're perfectly aware thin metal can't hold her but it gives them peace of mind.
And stops the other prisoners complaining.
She's still glaring and you almost say you're sorry but you think it might just make her snap again. "Faith, I… I just feel so…" 'Useless' and 'ashamed' and 'angry'. "God, my mom died and I wanted you there but you… fucked everything up."
"Excuse me?" She snorts and swings her legs round so they hang over the side of her chair and are crossed away from you, taking special care not to snap the new handcuffs. "I wasn't the only one who fucked up."
"I didn't side with the mayor!" A valid point and the best you're capable of making while ignoring hers altogether.
Faith rolls her eyes then gives one of the guards an 'is she kidding me?' look. He shrugs in reply. "I was jealous! You chose Angel over me."
Though of course your eyes don't light up every time you hear his name. And you don't have him listed as 'family' on your medical records.
And you don't tell him your deepest darkest secrets rather than telling you!... or something.
"Oh yeah?! Well you chose fucking Angel over me too!" You so didn't mean that, "uh… 'fucking Angel' not 'fucking' Angel." Though she did that too.
It's obviously hard for her to not smile as struggles to keep the angry look on her face. "Yeah, well, at least I had the decency to tell you about it." She mutters under her breath.
"You wrote me a note Faith, it's hardly the same as 'telling' me."
Another snort is the only reply.
It was an awfully written note too- her handwriting is truly appalling and the spelling makes even you cringe.
Once, back when you saw her every day and she pissed you off a whole lot more (and at the same time, 'less') than she does now, you volunteered her to help Giles catalogue the library with her copious free time. It backfired hideously as he nearly had a breakdown from having to recite the alphabet to her a thousand times and then was so angry he made you rewrite every piece of paper she'd scribbled on.
"But thank you for going a hundred percent further in telling me."
"Why, how far did he go?" No one said slayers had to be bright.
She almost makes you laugh, "Not that far."
But who are you to be laughing?
You were an awful daughter when your mother was alive and you're a worse one now. This visit was just supposed to be about telling Faith- not flirting with her, not checking her out in that 'for some reason much tighter than normal' jumpsuit and definitely not being nice to the girl who tied up your mother and held her hostage.
It might almost be better just to yell at her or something… and if not then to hurt her just as much as you should be.
A few well-placed insults and a scathing character assassination has her on her feet and shouting again in less than five minutes; "You don't fucking define me Buffy Summers! I have my own life; it doesn't stop as soon as you walk out that door. Not every thought I have is of you. Not everything I feel is because of you! I ain't one of your little pals who stops breathing the second you walk out the room!
She holds a hand up to cut you off and continues as if you'd enver tried to speak, "There was a 'me' before you and there will be one after! If you died tomorrow I would be upset- probably even cry- but then I would get up and get on with it. Not for you, for me.
"You're fucking selfish, you know that? When my mom died I cried tears of joy because it was the best damn day of my life and now you're moping because you don't get to spend yet another twenty years with your Perfect Mom? Grow up and… and…" She struggles to find a suitable insult but ironically ends up with the only thing she can think of being supremely immature, "Just die!"
So of course you start getting angry too, which makes her get even angrier and the guards back off.
It isn't until the bell rings that you both finally stop bawling.
She gets pulled off looking pissed- but mainly at herself, you know she tried hard to stay calm.
As she leaves you almost want to apologise. Again. But again you don't. And then you remember how your mother had loved Faith and went on loving her- even after finding out everything she'd done. Yet she had thrown you out of the house for trying to save the world. So you don't feel bad. You feel right.