Chapter Text
Northern California Women’s Correctional Facility, Stockton
Faith was pacing and she had been doing so for at least an hour. Or, at least as much as it was possible to pace in a 9x6 foot cell. She’d tried other ways to burn off energy; sit ups on the floor, chin ups on the bars – but the floor was cold and dirty and a pissed off guard had run his nightstick along the bars and told her to save her fucking workouts for the yard. So now she was pacing. Up and down, up and down. It was way past lights out but she could no more get into bed and go to sleep than she could fly to the Moon.
Every muscle, every tendon, every cell in her body was charging and on high alert. It was a feeling she’d felt many times since she was called as a Slayer, usually when there was a vampire or demon in the vicinity, but rarely with this level of intensity. In fact, every time it had reached such a level, Buffy Summers had been the reason for it.
The bond, the connection, the hate, the love well, okay, the lust… whatever it was that had crackled between them since that first night in the alley outside the Bronze… Faith couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was there. For a long time she told herself that Buffy felt it just as strongly and that if only Angel hadn’t returned from his Hell dimension to stand between the Chosen Two as the awkward, brooding, eunuch that he was… B woulda beaten Red to the Sunnydale Pride Parade and it all woulda been five by five.
It was all ancient history of course. Faith had screwed up fatally when her stake plunged into Allen Finch’s heart. Then there’d been betrayal, attempted murder, coma, body theft, sexual assault, torture, 25 to life and a vampire sponsoring a Slayer. Crazy times even for you, Lehane, but I’m gonna keep tryna get that redemption Soul Boy keeps talkin’ about and if this is the way I gotta do it I will. Man, we gotta be the most fucken Catholic lapsed Catholics in the fucken world.
What Faith didn’t understand was why she was feeling the way she was. She hadn’t felt it for months. 147 days to be precise, because it’s not like I’ve thought of anythin’ else since then.
It had been another night in prison, much like every other in its boring, grey, sameness. She’d been lying in her bunk wondering whether it was too early to get herself off when she felt it. She felt Buffy, felt her anguish, felt her pain, felt her calling out to the Slayer line, felt her calling out to Faith.
And then Buffy was gone. Faith had first lain there in disbelief before jumping out of her bunk and screaming whilst trying to smash her way out of her cell. She’d actually succeeded in bending one of the bars before half a dozen guards showed up and tazed her repeatedly until she finally passed out.
A short spell in the psych ward followed and Faith had gradually adjusted to her new life in a world without Buffy. From time to time she still felt her, but it was a ghost of what she’d felt before, something akin to phantom limb pain. No new Slayer was called, or if they were Faith never felt them. She figured that the line must now run through her, but no one came to get her out or to kill her. Either would have been fine, she decided, but in their absence she would continue to do her time, mindlessly working out and smoking.
There wasn’t much else to do, after all. As a lifer in the early stages of her sentence, she was low priority when it came to training and educational opportunities. She could have fucked her way through the prison population and she had no shortage of willing partners, but Faith found that she simply couldn’t be bothered. None of the chicks in here hold a candle to B, and I can scratch that itch wicked good by myself. Specially when I have one of those dreams.
The dreams always involved Buffy Summers. Sometimes they would just talking, sometimes they’d be dancing, sometimes they’d be slaying. Very often they’d be fooling around, in various states of undress, rubbing, licking, biting… Faith’s favourite, and a recurring theme, involved B humping her thigh outside of the Alpert crypt.
Since Buffy’s death, which Faith had learned via a halting phone call with Angel had taken the form of a heroic sacrifice to save her little sister (and the world, naturally) there had been no more dreams. They had gone the way of the Slayer feeling, leaving nothing but the tedium of prison life and the prospect of decades more of it to come.
Until the last few hours, when the Slayer feeling had returned with a vengeance. Faith wanted to slay. She wanted to fight, she wanted to fuck. She was hungry and horny. Most of all, she wanted B, something she knew was impossible and yet…
Suddenly she felt it. The feeling from 147 days ago but in reverse. It was a thousand times better than the best orgasm she’d ever had, and an ecstatic Faith grabbed the cell bars and screamed “Buffy!”
The sleeping cons in the cells nearby stirred and began making their views on the disruption clear.
“What the fuck’s going on?”
“Lehane, you’re a fucken retard and imma slice ya up bad.”
“Never had you down as a screamer, Lehane.”
Downstairs in the officer pod, Eddie Rhodes put down his newspaper and sighed. Night shifts were meant to be the quiet ones, especially on C-Block where everyone was in a single cell so the scope for trouble was limited. However, judging by the noise something had happened to cause serious alarm. Grabbing his nightstick and praying he wasn’t about to have to deal with the aftermath of a suicide attempt, he rushed up the stairs towards the source of the commotion.
On reaching the area where the shouting had originated, he slowed to a stop. The screaming and yelling had been replaced by low level conversations. Women were peering out from the bars and exchanging words with inmates in neighbouring cells. There was a general atmosphere of confusion.
Eddie’s attention was briefly drawn to the empty cell which sat between the cells housing two of the loudest cons from a couple of minutes ago, but then he remembered it had been unoccupied for weeks. Adopting his most serious correctional officer stance, he asked, “Okay, what the hell’s going on here?”
“Uh… not sure.”
“Thought I heard somethin’ but now I dunno…”
“Some other bitches were yelling so I thought I’d join in.”
“Right.” Eddie looked back at the empty cell and thought for a moment that it might somehow be significant, but then he shook his head and told himself to stop being so stupid. “Well, if there’s nothing happening how about you girls all get back in your bunks and get some beauty sleep. Any more trouble you’re all in lockdown, get it?”
Everyone mumbled variations of “yes boss” and calm was restored. Walking back to his newspaper Eddie couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something strange had just occurred, but he reminded himself that crazy stuff happens every day in the pen. Think I’ll stop volunteering for night shifts though. Not like I really need the money.
Sunnydale
As Xander helped Willow away from the cemetery and back to the Magic Box, he thought about what a disaster the evening had turned into. The resurrection spell had failed. Sunnydale was being trashed by a gang of biker demons hellbent on taking advantage of an unprotected Hellmouth. Of course the BuffyBot was never gonna be a patch on the original, but it’s almost like these guys know the real Slayer’s gone. What the hell are we going to do?
His musings were interrupted by Willow demanding they return to the grave and restart the ritual. On learning that the Urn of Osiris had been broken, she choked up. “There is no other one… she’s gone. She’s really gone.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. Xander focused on getting him and Willow to safety because he knew if he thought too much about it he’d break down. The appearance of a magical guiding light at least provided a glimmer of hope as well as providing an opportunity to make a Tinkerbell joke, but Xander knew just how grim everything was looking.
Something that was confirmed back in the Magic Box. The BuffyBot was gone, Dawn and Spike were missing, and Willow was insisting that the remaining Scoobies grab some weapons and take on the Hellions. It was crazy, it was suicidal, but what else could they do?
So the weakest posse of white hats that Sunnydale had seen in some time girded their loins and went out to fight the good fight. To everyone’s surprise they ran into Buffy and to everyone’s horror they realised what this meant. Buffy had clawed her way out of her own grave. Her greatest fear had become reality.
In the days and weeks to come, whenever Xander thought back to the night it all seemed a blur. There were demons and weapons and a dustbin lid? And traumatised, silent Buffy fighting the bad guys and then taking off for reasons unknown.
It was Dawn who found her. Found her climbing the tower for the second time, seemingly ready to hurl herself off it once more. Thinking she was in Hell.
But seeing her sister in danger brought Buffy back. She grabbed her, used a pulley to lower them some of the way, then when that failed cushioned her fall with her body.
They got to safety and crouched down next to a fence. Dawn marvelled at the miracle that was Buffy’s return and pulled her into a hug. “Buffy, Buffy you’re back. Buffy…”
Buffy allowed herself to be hugged but her mind was somewhere else. Something was missing. “Where is she?”