Chapter Text
The light of the sunset flitted over the water. Faith watched it dance, like static on an old TV, as she leaned over the side of the bridge, taking a long drag on her cigarette. It was warm, like a summer’s night was supposed to be. The indecipherable sounds of the city bubbled on behind her. Groups of people, friends and lovers, chatted together at little tables that spread out all across the pale stone bridge, each of them lit by a single tall candle. The ruins of a great stone theater rose up behind them, beautiful in the setting sun. She flicked the smouldering butt over the side, watching it fall into the blue shining river.
“You know you really shouldn’t litter.”
That familiar voice came from behind her, and Faith turned to meet it. She wore a black dress, black heels, and a white shawl pulled around her shoulders, her blonde hair cascading over it. Fucking beautiful as ever.
“Didn’t think you’d come again,” smirked the brunette.
Buffy smiled shyly, looking down to her right the way she always used to. “You know I wouldn’t miss this.”
“Not much to miss.” Faith looked down and pulled at her tank top. She suddenly realised she was wearing the old red one, and the jeans with the grease stains she could never get out. “I’m underdressed,” she admitted.
“Black was never your colour anyway,” Buffy said softly. She looked around, taking in the people and sights around her. “Where are we?”
“Italy.” Faith knew it instantly. “Figured you could use a holiday.”
The blonde nodded sagely. “Have you ever been?”
A bitter laugh escaped the corner of her mouth, and she shook her head. “Mom never sprung for the villa and pool package, no surprise. Not exactly the jet-setting type.” More the hurling-whiskey-bottles type.
Buffy frowned. “But this is your head.”
Course it’s my head. It’s only ever been my head lately. “Sometimes, when my Mom wanted rid for a few days, she dropped me off at her friends house,” Faith admitted. “Old bitch she was, and her place smelled like dead roses. But she had this book. Like one of those, y’know, encyclopedia things? Think it was from the 70s or something… but I used to read it. It had all these pages with places and pictures. Like it said ‘Spain’ and had pictures of bulls and paella and shit.” Faith sat down at the table next to her, looking at the red-and-white tablecloth. “Pretty much the only education I remember.”
Buffy took her seat across from her, face half-hidden from the glow of the candle, the other half raising an eyebrow. She pulled a breadstick from a bowl between them, twirling it in her fingers. “This is what you think Italy looks like?”
Faith shrugged. “I get it. It’s lame.”
“It’s nice.” The slayer smiled. “As far as dates go, I’ve heard of worse.”
“Oh, you calling this a date now?” Faith widened her eyes suggestively. Buffy threw a piece of breadstick at her. “Alright, alright! Guess we got a long way to go ‘fore that.”
“Well taking me to Italy’s not a bad start.”
“Always figured I’d get there one day, y’know? Just run away, jump on a train like one of those old movies, and just travel.”
The other woman looked down, turning the breadstick in her fingers. “Why don’t you?”
“Don’t think they have parole hearings in Rome, B. ‘Sides, I think this place is more for you.”
“There’s still time for you.” Her eyes moved to the candle between them. It had burned down to barely a stump, flame growing smaller.
Faith shook her head. “I gotta live vicariously through you, I reckon. You gotta go, make us both proud.”
Buffy’s smile seemed to get a little sadder. “You know I can’t.”
It was cold, she realised. And dark. When did it get dark? Goose pimples formed on her bare arms as she looked around the street and realised they were alone. The bridge was empty except for the two slayers, their table, and the candle blinking its last light. Faith caught the panic in her throat. It’s happening again. “What the fuck do you mean you can’t? One of us has gotta get out of here.”
Buffy’s eyes focused suddenly on hers, shining like green stars. “Faith, I have to.”
She shook her head. Not again, not again, not again. “You know I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you have to do.”
A hand reached out and placed itself on top of hers. “Listen to me. Please, there’s not a lot of time, listen.”
Faith listened, bidding her stubborn eyes to stop prickling. She remembered what came next, and wished that she didn't. It’s not real. Remember you fucking idiot, it’s not real.
Buffy touched her cheek. “I love you. I will always love you.”
“Wish you did, B. But that’s not how this goes.”
The girl didn’t seem to hear her. “But this is the work I have to do.” She stood, eyes drifting away from her, to the side of the bridge, to the river below.
“No.” Faith tried to grip her hand harder, but it ghosted through her grasp like smoke. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Tell Giles I figured it out. And I’m okay.” She stepped up from her chair, towards the wall.
“Screw Giles! And screw everyone else too, you gotta stay here!” She threw the table aside, and it bounced silently into the dark. The only light now came from the river. It looked like it was glowing; a sickly blue lantern in the dark.
“Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now.” She walked up to the wall, looking down at the shining water below.
“You know I was never good at that. That’s something you do, not me!” Her hands were shaking in the vicious cold.
“You have to be strong.” The blonde stepped to the edge. Suddenly they weren’t on a bridge. They were higher than that. The wind whipped at her face, as if they were on top of a tall tower.
Faith’s feet were iron balls, and her face was slick with sweat. The air became molasses around her. Every cell in her body was screaming to run and to catch her, and every law of the universe seemed to be denying her that. It took all her effort just to squeeze one little piece of air through her throat, forcing out a word.
“No.”
She never looked back at her. A blue light crowned around her hair as she tip-toed at the edge of the tower. ”The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”
“NO!”
She spread out her arms, and leaned over the side. “Be brave. Live.”
“BUFFY!”
“For me.”
The blonde fell forward, there was a crack of thunder, and then the bridge was gone. Faith saw the body in freefall beneath her - and felt her own rush upwards, like she was being pulled up into the black night sky.
“Lehane!”
The word meant nothing in that moment. Everything else disappeared, except the girl, and the blue light, crackling like pain. Someone screamed from miles away. The girl was flying, sailing away from her, and then, with a sudden white flash, she was gone, and the light too, and Faith was still soaring upwards, into the black, which closed around her and filled her throat like tar.
*
“Lehane!”
The name was the first real thing Faith became conscious of. The second was the blinding white pain, triggered by the backhand that struck her in the temple. She knew its source before she squinted her eyes open, and saw the blurry figure of her cellmate looming over her, that bitch with her buzzcut and thick fingers, pointing at her face like she was accusing her.
“Wake up Lehane!”
Faith sat straight up, squeezed her eyes closed again, and put her fingertips to her forehead. She ran them back through her air, pushing the sweat-sodden strands away from her face. “You don’t wanna do this right now, Wilson.” Her head was throbbing and she could still see that blue light behind her eyelids.
“Listen you fucking mental case, that’s the fourth time you’ve woken me this week with some night terror bullshit, screaming your nut off ‘bout some dykey bitch. It happens again and I will fucking kill you.”
Her hand shot out like a cat pouncing. She felt her fingers close around neck and heard the little gurgle of shock before she opened her eyes and turned towards her charming roommate. Faith could see eyes widening below in a face that was rapidly turning purple.
“I said you don’t wanna do this now.” She could’ve kept squeezing right then. She could see it all happen. She’d just apply a little more pressure and she would crush this asshole’s windpipe like an old toilet roll tube. Feel the bones in her neck crack and shatter. Watch that head with that ugly haircut pop off her shoulders and roll along the floor. Half a second, and no effort at all, she could do it.
You have to be strong.
Faith forced her eyes closed, squeezed her thoughts away, and breathed as deep as she could. You’re better than this, now. Concentrating, she stretched her fingers apart, giving the woman just enough freedom to pull free. She fell to her knees, gasping for air.
The slayer turned towards her, smiling sweet daggers. “Sorry, just not much of a morning person. I’m crabby ‘til I’ve had my coffee.”
“You… psycho… bitch…” the woman spat through harsh gulping breaths.
She shrugged. “Heard worse before. Now get outta here, or you’ll find out what else these hands can do.”
Wilson stood up purposefully, eyes burning with fury and Faith thought for a moment she was going to hit her again. But instead she just kicked the metal frame of the bed, turned, and stomped away from her.
Faith sank back onto the thin, uneven plank they called a mattress, staring up at the bars that formed the top bunk above her. She realised then that her sheets were damp with sweat, and so she flung them aside. Wilson was right. That was the fourth time that week. Italy was new, but the rest of it… the words, the jump, the light… it was the same, every time. She’d known it the first time, it wasn’t some nightmare. Slayer dreams felt different.
And what the fuck was she supposed to do from here? Prophetic dreams were for people who had a chance of doing anything about it. Not for losers doing time. She was as useless here as she was on that fucking tower. She pulled the pillow over her head, and willed the throbbing in her head to stop.
*
The numbers on the keypad had long faded away, Faith noticed, but she punched them in anyway. The buttons creaked stiffly as she completed it from memory. It was the only number she ever called, she should know it by now. She held the speaker to her ear, listening to the tense trills as it called through, echoing in the cold stone of the Northern California Women’s Facility. Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Ring Ring.
It had been the same all week. Just ringing and ringing and then:
“Hello, you’ve reached Angel Investigations, where we help the helpless.”
Yep, there it was. Cordy and her best customer service voice. “We’re sorry that none of our heroes are available at the moment. Please leave your name, number, and credit score after the tone, and we’ll get right back to you!”
Faith slammed the phone back onto the wall unit, just about controlling herself enough to not smash it into pieces. That fucking message, and no word from Angel neither? It wasn’t like he visited every week or anything. But he checked in most months, and filled her in on whatever evil he’d been fighting. She didn’t usually call - only when the nightmares got real bad - but when she did he’d be there. Now, there was nothing, and nobody was answering that fucking phone.. He was the only person who gave a fuck about her, the only person she’d seen in a year who didn’t keep a sharpened razor blade with her name on it. Now he was gone, and fuck knows where.
It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to being alone. Being alone was where she thrived. It’s just that she needed answers. Bad dreams she was used to, but this was slayer shit, some prophecy or something. She needed someone on the outside who could check on it, do some research, pick Wesley’s big watcher-brains. Someone who had contact with Buffy, and could check in, see if she needed anything. Make sure she was ok. Make sure she wasn’t…
Her fist connected with the cold brick of the wall and she chewed her lip angrily. Sometimes, in her darkest moments, she thought of calling her. She hadn’t said a word to her in reality since that night on the roof. Faith wasn’t sure if she wouldn’t just hang up on her straight away. And she didn’t have a fucking clue what she’d say if she didn’t. But this seemed important, important enough to be worth trying. Even if they weren’t friends, weren’t anything, they were still slayers, and slayers can put the shit aside for stuff like this.
But here’s the kicker - she didn’t remember the number. She had tried to, of course She’d known it once, back when they were… friends? Whatever the fuck they were. She was pretty sure there was a 3 early on, and a couple of 6s. But as hard as she rinsed her brain, the whole number just slipped away from her, like the memory of a dream. It was a cruel joke. She got super strength and the ability to see the future, but the ability to remember a few digits was too much to ask. What use is a slayer then?
None. There’s no use in you, you waste of space piece of shit evil bitch stupid stupid… Faith grunted, and kicked the wall. The pain in her toe was enough to distract her from that train of thought. She’d learned that trick a while back.
“Hey, Lehane, some of us got calls to make!” A voice called out from the queue behind her. Faith tugged on her hair. I’ve really had enough of these cunts .
“Yeah, well patience is a virtue,” she snapped back, not even bothering to look at who it was talking before she turned on her heel and stomped down the corridor, considering her own advice. If I can’t get answers , she thought, I guess patience is the next best thing.
*
Three more days and two more nightmares later, she got the shout.
“430019. You got a visitor.”
Relief and fresh dread washed over her in equal measure, and the brunette felt sick in her throat. She steeled herself as she walked silently to the visiting booths, every answer she feared rushing past her mind’s eye. Whatever Angel’s here to tell me , it’s not gonna be worse than this. Least I’ll get an answer about where he was .
It wasn’t the spiky-haired vampire who was waiting for her though. It was someone she hadn’t spoken to in over a year. To be honest she hadn’t really thought about him much either. Not like they had much of a relationship with her. He was B’s Watcher, never really hers. She studied him on the opposite side of the glass, and took the phone in confusion.
“Gotta say. Didn’t think I’d live long enough to see you paying me a visit.”
“Hello Faith.”
She pulled up the red plastic chair and sat down on it, never breaking his eye contact. “Where’s Angel?”
The question seemed to catch him off-guard. “I-I don’t know. I believe Willow should’ve found him by now. I drove us both down this morning.”
“What for? Planning a big family reunion? Not sure why you’re here, you might wanna double-check the guest list ‘cos I doubt I made it.”
Rupert Giles leaned in, looking through those little glasses he wore. His expression was still, but Faith could see his eyes were a little red, a little bloodshot. “Willow is going to tell Angel, but I… I thought it best that you know too.” He rubbed his temple, his glance shifting away from her as he seemed to search for the words. “I’m afraid I have some bad…”
“Don’t.” The word escaped her mouth without passing through her brain. The Englishman just looked back at her in surprise.
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s B, isn’t it?” She could feel her throat quiver, and she looked down at the grey linoleum beneath her feet. This was it. The Bad Answer. “It’s gotta be B. There’s one person me and Angel have in common and there’s one reason you’d come all this way to tell us anything. So don’t. Don’t tell me. Do me a fucking favour and let me rot here in ignorance.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look flustered, or surprised, or angry. He just looked so sad. After a handful of precious long seconds, he said it. “She died, Faith. I’m sorry.”
Right then, she felt like a pit had opened inside her, a gaping howling void. And in that pit, a girl falling away from her, and a sickly blue light. Faith, I have to. She heard the echo of her own voice - a stranger who for some reason kept talking, even though the world itself had just ended. “How did it happen?”
“The short version. There was a portal, to, uh, to a hell dimension. She… she had to jump to close it. And she jumped.”
The stranger nodded. “Going out like a hero. That’s my girl.” Of course she'd gone out saving the world. That’s what those champion types did. It was all they knew how to do. She even dies better than me. God I hate her. She bit her lip to stop it quivering.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
This isn’t how I found out. She could only say one word. “When?”
“U-um. Six days ago. At dawn.”
I found out before she did. Ain’t that a joke. She felt like she might break out laughing. Or maybe throw up. “Gotta hand it to B. She knew how to make a dramatic exit.”
Giles narrowed his eyes. “I know you and Buffy had a… uh- complex relationship. I do know you cared about her though, in your own way.”
You don’t know shit how I felt about her . “Oh yeah?” Faith raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. “What way is that?”
The older man’s expression was indecipherable for a moment. He seemed to be studying her, like his words were dependent on her next movement. When he finally spoke, it was with ice in his throat. “Faith, I am in no mood for games. I loved Buffy more than anything else in this world. You cannot imagine how it feels to sit here and tell you that she is dead.”
Faith felt suddenly small, like a scolded child before a teacher, and just nodded dumbly. “Yeah. I get it. Sorry.” She chewed her lip, thinking of something to say to make it better, and remembered Buffy’s words on the tower. “She’s okay. I think. She wanted you to know that. And that, uh, that she figured it out. Whatever that means.”
Giles fell silent, mouth ever so slightly agape. He was still studying her, but now with a sense of awed confusion. It took several seconds for him to speak. “How did you…”
She shrugged and gestured vaguely to her head. “Slayer shit. Guess I got a front-row seat to the show. Didn’t know it wasn’t just a dream at first, else I would’ve…” What? What would you have done, Faith? Rode in like a knight in shitty armour? “I didn’t know,” she finished.
The watcher nodded, still looking slightly taken aback. “I don’t believe there was much that could’ve prevented it. She, um.. she didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. That’s what Angel says.” She moved the phone from one ear to the other, eager to change the subject. “So what happens now? One slayer down, you find where the next one’s popped out?”
He shook his head. “No, I believe the Slayer line transferred away from Buffy permanently when…” He paused, like he was having trouble with his words. “When she died the first time. Kendra was called, and then when she died…”
“Me.”
He nodded. Faith was suddenly aware of how uncomfortable this chair was.
“Shit. Guess that makes me the Big Star now. One girl in all the world and all that.” She let out a laugh. “Never been The One before. Sounds wrong.”
“The Watcher’s Council are not aware of Buffy’s death, of course. We thought it best to keep it a secret, as much as we can.”
“How do you plan on doing that without B?”
“We have a robot.”
Faith nodded in simple approval. “No shit. Well guess that saves the Council from causing me any grief. Can’t imagine they’d be wanting me back on the team even if I’m their chosen one.”
“No, I don’t suppose they would.”
“And what about Sunnydale? That place gonna be alright without its protector?”
“There are a few of us left to fight. Willow and Xander of course, and uh, others. I must admit, without a Slayer it will be substantially more difficult.”
She felt a little red in the face. “Can’t say I’m not a little offended. You got a Hellmouth and no Slayer, but the only one you know doesn’t earn an invite?”
He seemed as uncomfortable as she was for a moment. “Well, uh, I’m sure you understand, given your history, why we… why it might not be the best idea for you to…”
She cut him off. “Nah, I get it. You need a Slayer, you just don’t need me. Well if it’ll help, give me twenty minutes with some shoelaces, and you’ll have yourself a new Slayer in no time.”
Giles looked more upset than she expected he’d be at that. “You know that’s not what any of us want.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Dunno ‘bout that, can’t exactly see Red or the kid crying at my funeral. Not after what I did to their beloved Buffy.”
“It’s not what she would want either.”
She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Guess you’re right. I wouldn’t be a big help out there. Gasoline, on a fire, that’s me.”
“Is that what you think?” He was studying her again, in that way he did. Part of her wanted to punch his stupid little glasses off his face.
“Doesn’t really matter what I think. You’ve all made up your minds. And that’s fine, really, I don’t blame ya.”
He shook his head purposefully. “I’m not going to tell you that it wouldn’t be difficult to forgive. There are very good reasons for us not to trust you. But there are people who have done worse who are now fighting on the side of Good.”
“I’m not Angel, though.”
“Funnily enough, I actually wasn’t talking about him.”
She stared past him for a moment, at the window on the far wall. She thought about Sunnydale, and she could see it all then. Xander and Willow and Dawn - their sneering, fearful faces, judging her. They were Buffy’s friends. They’d never accept her.
Give my love to my friends.
She shook the memory of that voice from her mind, and refocused on the older watcher. He was still refusing to look away from her. “You think I could do it? Go back there, and what? Replace her?”
“No. Not to replace her. I’m sorry but you couldn’t.”
Faith nodded. “That’s the truest thing you’ve said all day.”
“But you could do good. You could help us. If that’s what you want.”
You have to take care of them now.
She looked at the window again. It was single-pane crap - they never sprung for anything high quality in this place. She could easily break through. And from there, a two-storey drop. She’d had worse falls.
You have to be strong.
Her whole body was vibrating. She felt alive, more than she had done in days. Weeks. Ever. She turned back to him. “Is this it? You giving me the call, come be a hero?”
“I’m not saying anything. Buffy told me it was your choice to be incarcerated here. It’s entirely your choice what to do next.”
The chair scraped loudly across the floor as she stood up. Giles stood up nervously too, backing up a little. A guard shouted at her from somewhere far away. There was the glass, then two guards, then the window. Then she’d be free. She thought of a blue light, and a woman falling.
The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.
She took a deep breath, and two steps back.
Live. For Me.
“Step away from the glass.”
And then she jumped.