Chapter Thirteen
The morning came as the morning always did; with confusion, with hurt, with pain and with suffering. Nothing softly, softly enough to break through the reality which still ripped at her side, nothing ever close to strong enough to break through the fear induced fog that ate at her mind. Sweat pooling, eyes drooling. Tears beaten back by the bitterness that called for her eyes to open. To look and to see, to remember the situation she was being forced to feel… locked in a cage, still trapped in her rage.
“Morning Faith.”
Eyes closing again. Greeting the morning was always the least favourite part of any day. Not only since she had woken to find that her life had been held hostage by the pause button, but before that… since…
“I know you’re awake.”
And ignorance is bliss.
Only recognising the truth that to have *her* calling her forth to a brand new day, was the worst that it could be. Distorted dreams drawn out by the tone in her voice, dreams distorted as Faith tried to remember what was the truth and what was the lie. What was then and what was now. What was today.
She ignored the silence that made the basement uncomfortable and lay in a peace that allowed her to reconvene the madness. Remembering how to snarl, remembering how to scowl. Remembering that a smile could be so much more effective when it was Buffy she was trying to affect.
“What’s this B, you come to kiss me goodbye?”
Exhausted from the process. Her shoulders steeling as she lifted herself up, as she turned to face the one that made her feel less with a mask that made her feel more. Made her feel in control.
“I want to talk.”
“I want a pony… never did get it.”
“It’s time to cut through the crap, Faith. It’s crazy, I know, but I really thought I’d be able to help you… I really wanted to help you.” A sigh. Not sure who from. Eyes lifting, meeting green. Look away. Stay safe. “We need to talk.”
Need.
Something that grabbed her attention. Something that could always make her laugh when it fell from Buffy’s lips. Buffy didn’t know need. She didn’t know want. She knew nothing.
“Got nothing to say.”
“You had plenty to say last night.”
“Last night? Don’t have a clue what you’re talking ‘bout B.”
“Angel?”
“Oh - right. Soul dude. My saviour. He give you the low down on the sitch… tell you how he’s busting me out of the cage?”
“I didn’t need the low down.”
Faith disagreed. Buffy had always needed something low down. Something to knock the edge off the perfection. Not yet knowing why she hadn’t needed it last night though, if Buffy had gained the gift of telepathy in the four years that had shot past in a blur of nothing.
She offered an expression which showed she didn’t have a fucking clue what was being said, her eyes directed to take the route to the ceiling. To look up towards a heaven when she had only kept her gaze trapped in the direction which led to hell. The camera mounted high up on the wall. The red light blinking out its eagerness to share secrets.
“I was watching you. I heard everything.”
And that knocked her for a moment. Knocked her hard. A speeding rewind which tried to remember everything that had been said; which of her secrets may have been stolen.
“If I knew you were watching B, I would’ve put on a show. Never really took ya for the kinky type.” Leering out a way to cover her confusion. Her arms reaching up, her chest jutting out. “You always play the peeping Tom?”
“I’m not playing. I’m through with games… with all of this. I heard everything you said to Angel, I heard everything that he said to you… now I just want to know why?”
“Why what?”
“Why me, Faith?”
It made her eyes flit back down, made her shoulders ache with the effort of staying disinterested. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“That makes two of us.” Her feet creeping backwards as Buffy had sought to step forward. “I stayed up all night after Angel left - going over what you said, all the different ways that you want to see me hurting - and it got me thinking; what did I ever do to you that was so damn bad…”
“You gutted me.”
“No - that’s not it. The gutting - which I hasten to add was so not a gutting - came after the hate, Faith. I tried to pin it down… tried to remember exactly when it was that you decided to want me dead…”
“Moment I met you.”
“Liar.”
A killer and a liar?
“We were close. I remember that, so I know that you remember. And it keeps going back to that night in the alley…”
“Yeah? I spent lots of nights in alleys, ain’t nothing special there B. Now seriously; this shit is really starting to irritate… can’t you just fuck off or something? Find someone else to torture?”
Another step taken back. No way that eyes were gonna be meeting anything other than the comics on the floor. Bending down to retrieve the nearest… turning her back. Denying the sound that wouldn’t stop coming.
“You know exactly which night Faith. And I keep going over it - what I could have done differently, what part of it was my fault - and do you know what I’ve finally figured out?”
Just looking at the pretty pictures.
“It wasn’t my fault. I don’t know how you’ve got it spun in your head, I don’t know what it is that you think you remember… but I tried my best. All I wanted was to help you… all I wanted…”
“Bullshit.”
And Buffy also knew when to take the silent option. When to stop taking those steps which had brought her closer and closer to the cage. When to drop her own eyes to shield herself from the hatred that had spun suddenly round to attack.
“All you ever fucking wanted was to be the golden girl! To be the number one chosen, top of the heap slayer… I saw that look in your eyes… scared my shit was gonna stain you… scared you’d be dragged down…”
“No.”
“Fuck no! Fucking yes! I saw it B. You came to MY room, my fucking space, and you called me a killer. You don’t like the consequences, well ain’t that a pity?”
Space recovered. All of that old pain uncovered.
“All of this Faith, because I called you a name?”
Yet it felt like a lie. It tasted like a lie. Like a cover. Like more camouflage. No answer to a question which offered to reduce everything she was feeling to some pointless level of patheticness.
“You were like the tin man from Oz, refusing to feel. Not caring. Not even wanting to talk about it, to mention anything. All I wanted… I don’t know… I didn’t want any of this Faith. I never meant any of this.”
Nothing but silence and stares and bitterness.
“I was scared.”
She was scared?
“Faith?”
Scared. It was laughable. Buffy had been scared? She had been fucking terrified.
“Fine. Keep the silence. I can talk enough for both of us.” Hands lifting to settle on the bars. So close. “I’ve had years to think through all of this, and believe me Faith, I’ve thought about it more than you’ll ever know - possibly too much. But the thing that gets me, that single stick out moment that I just don’t understand - if you hated me so much, if all you wanted was me dead… then why did you save me?”
Save her?
It had the subterfuge of the comic forgotten for the moment, had her eyes lifting to meet Buffy’s whether she wanted them to or not. A confused look. A questioning look.
“At the docks Faith. Why not just leave me to die?”
Oh.
“Well?”
And did she know the answer to that?
“Because to me it doesn’t make sense, it makes less than sense. I could have been dead, you could have been gone…”
“I guess I fucked up. I won’t do it again.”
That buzzing starting in the back of her brain, the buzz that reminded her of all the things she would never have, would never be. Like a rattlesnake sliding tight around her mind, squeezing out everything that argued the way to make sense, silencing anything that didn’t ring out with words of familiarity. “Maybe I saved you, so I could kill you?”
“You really believe that?”
“It’s what I fucking said isn’t it? Jesus B, you think any of this shit even matters to me…? I made one stupid mistake and you treated me worse than a fucking leper… I knew how it was gonna go, I knew that first moment you came to my room how it was gonna go.”
“I tried…”
“No, you never tried. I’ll tell you what you did, what you do…” Her focus redirected as if the comics had never existed. Stalking back towards the bars, her eyes squinting shut to remember what it was she was seeing, who it was she was seeing. “…the only reason you were scared is cos you knew I was right. You were sailing close to that feeling B, I saw it in you… fuck, I felt it in you, and you couldn’t deal with that. You had to make me bad, just so you could get back to being Miss Goody Fucking Two Shoes. You were so fucking smug B, so fucking glad that it was my mistake…”
It was washing over her like every other time she had paused on the memory; the self righteous bullshit, the virtue that just couldn’t bear to be tainted. “…you caged it back then just like you’ve caged me now. It’s what you do B. All your tidy boxes for all of your untidy feelings…”
“That’s crap.”
Buffy’s voice coming to her hard and disaffected. Buffy’s hands clenching tighter round the bars. So affected
“No, you’re crap. At least I fucking know what I am, what the fuck it is that I want!”
Contact.
Her hands reaching out to wrap so damn tight around Buffy’s, grinding their palms against the bars, holding her hostage with the closest thing to the truth she had ever managed to say. Breathing ragged. Eyes electric.
“What do you want Faith..?”
Confusion. The allusion of skin beneath hers so close to all that she wanted. Holding tighter.
“What do you want?”
The illusion denied.
“I want you to fuck off. I want you to die.”
Her words making Buffy’s hands begin a struggle beneath her own. Urging on her madness, urging on the need to free the pain.
“Let go.”
No release.
“What? Think you can send your fucking boy toy down here and soften me up with salvation..? You think I give a shit about salvation?! The only thing I want B, is you gone. The only thing I ever wanted was you…”
“Gone?”
“Fuck off!”
Those eyes truly tormenting her now that she’d found the strength to hold them. The green not reeling back in fear, the hands no longer struggling. Something different. Something more. A softness… a moment… more bullshit…
Hands torn away. Fingers clawing through her hair as if she could rip apart all of the thoughts. All of the things which crashed down on her from every single angle. Every whisper which taunted, every touch that…
“I know the game you’re playing Faith. I know it’s all crap…”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know what I’ve seen. I know what I heard.” She watched as Buffy’s eyes again flitted up to the camera on the wall, understood the insinuation that none of her moments caged had been moments spent in privacy. “I saw you Faith. I saw you cry.”
And she heard the words. The greatest blow that Buffy would ever deal. Greater than any knife to the gut, harsher than any jagged cut, deeper than anything which could be produced by something sharp and ornamental. This was fundamental. This was attacking a reality that Faith could not bear to have attacked, this was calling her on something which she would never stand to admit.
She was not weak. She did not cry.
“No you didn’t.”
Her voice softer. Her eyes darker. Memories of every tear that had fallen all of those years ago, imaginings of every tear that would have fallen in the intermission. “I don’t do tears, B. I don’t fucking cry.”
Yet her voice sounded like all it wanted to do was cry. Like all it had ever wanted to do was cry.
“I saw you.”
“You saw shit.”
Stepping back. Further back. Shadows welcomed to hide the things that she feared she couldn’t hide; not daring to show the truth. Not daring to feel the truth. Her truth resided in that place where tears were all wasted, in a life that had never gotten anywhere by feeling sorry for herself. Another excuse to be beaten down, another excuse to be made less. She didn’t cry. She was not weak.
“Just fuck off B.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Because somehow Buffy understood that this was it. This was the final throw of the dice, the final chance to make anything about this different. The final chance for her to hang onto Faith. To not be a coward.
Daring to step forward again, daring to let her eyes unmask every ounce of torn emotion. The confusion, the disillusion, the thousand things that she didn’t understand. The things that had kept her returning to Faith when she wasn’t even there. When all she’d had was a shell to hold onto, a memory to cling to. Not caring if her own eyes shone with tears, not caring if she wasted the notion on Faith. It felt like a last chance.
The last chance.
“Is this what you want?”
A gentle nudging. A gentle voice.
“Yes.”
A gentle answer.
It was with trembling fingers that Willow reached out to turn off the small screen that had just sought to shatter the fragile peace of the early morning. The recognition harsh as she forced her brain to order the thoughts. The understanding harsher as she realised where it was that those thoughts were taking her.
Not frivolous thoughts - suspicions founded in an ever meandering mind - but solid thoughts. Rational thoughts. The kind of thoughts that appealed whole heartedly to the logical side of Willow.
The truth.
Played out before her in a black and white montage that could never mute the colourful array of emotions which filtered steadily through the speakers. First the violence. The thing that she had come to expect - the foul mouthed outbursts - the twisted face that seemed stuck in a scowl. But then…
Willow didn’t quite know how to describe the then. The captivation that she had been held with as everything had seemed to quiet, as her breath was held through the accusation of tears, as her sigh was released on the gentleness of Buffy’s words. The pleading in Buffy’s voice. She did know how it had made her feel though, she did remember the sounds of a heart breaking. She understood everything that it meant.
And she despised the understanding.
For years Willow had found her comfort zone in dismissing the random moments of clarity that had urged her to take a closer look at the dynamics between the warring slayers. Her first kiss with a girl pushing her to acknowledge her first attraction to a girl. To consider the real source of her hostile feelings towards Faith. To recognise what it was that she had truly been jealous of.
And all of it dismissed as the overworked imagination of Willow-brain.
Chastising herself heavily for such silly thoughts. Reassuring herself heartily that any fleeting attraction to Buffy was grounded in a deep admiration for the woman who was her best friend. Reminding herself that Faith was evil - that it was never anything to do with… what? Love?
Absolutely not! No freaking beeping way mister!
Except that she had seen it. Had felt it. And even the steepest of her denials was being overcome by the tremors which still shook her body. Assuring herself she had cracked the code - deciphered the text.
Yet she didn’t feel flush with the triumph; she felt decidedly sick.
Sliding herself into the shadows as Buffy had crossed the lobby before her, hiding the distaste which shone in her eyes as dark as any forbidden magic.
Willow simply could not bear the thought of Buffy and Faith.
It was something which hit far too close to home, uncovered way too many feelings that had been successfully smothered and doused by time. By a welcome coma.
So, so easy to feel seventeen again, to feel all of that same hurt and rejection again. It all clouded anything which urged Willow to hold back. Dismissing the intervening years of maturity and understanding. Darkening her eyes, darkening her intentions.
Finally directing her feet to take the stairs to the basement and welcome back Faith.
The desolate slayer was not expecting the sound of footsteps on the stairs again so soon after Buffy had left. She did not want to hear the sound of footsteps - of anything. The gentleness in Buffy’s voice disarming all of the defences she had spent years crafting as protection - the look in Buffy’s eyes doing everything to force forward questions that held more than enough power to topple the whole of her belief system.
“All I wanted was to help you…”
The softness of the skin beneath her hands as she had sought to hold Buffy a prisoner. The electricity that had sparked from the touch only enhancing the steady beat of Buffy, Buffy, Buffy which still infected her maddening mind. Only not so mad. Not in that moment.
And that was wrong. Faith was the affecter, not the affected. She was the player not the played. It was her turn to come out on top. It had to finally be her turn. So sick of being at the bottom. Belonging at the bottom.
It had made the soft skin burn. Had branded her in places that she did not ever wish to be branded. That one word mantra of destruction seeming so useless in comparison to the one word mantra of her…
“Is this what you want?”
God. So gentle.
Thump, thump, thump. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy.
Is that what she wanted?
Faith knew enough to know that every want of hers was drenched in the crimson stains of bloodshed. Knew enough to know that her soul was tainted in ways which could never stand up to gentleness. Could never bear to be encased in softness. Was it what she really wanted?
It was what she needed.
Anything to stop the thumping of her heart. Anything to stop the relentless chanting that had followed her footsteps so steadily down into hell.
No. The footsteps on the stairs had not been a welcome intrusion. The hollow words that had echoed against the dingy walls returning her thoughts quickly back to the present. The past. Another unwanted reunion.
“Hello Faith.”
As hard as nails. As welcoming as an acid bath. Inviting the smirk to find a place on her face, twisting her lips to mimic with gusto the red head’s obvious distaste.
“What do you want?”
“Aw - that’s not very nice. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
Willow’s tone of voice did not induce pleasure. Faith could remember so well the Willow of yesteryear; the pathetic excuse of a creature that she had sought to torment at every turn. She did not recognise the confidence. The power that radiated so menacingly in the former eyes of uncertainty.
“Guessing you’re not here to play nice with the psycho Red, so how about we skip past the pleasantries and you tell me what the fuck you are doing here?”
“Oooh - someone’s all touchy. Anyone would think you were feeling a little threatened Faith. Does it feel good?”
And she was the crazy one?
“Look, I dunno what your deal is - don’t really care what your deal is - but I’m not in the mood for this shit. Either get to the point or…”
“Shut up.”
Huh?
“You’re right Faith, I’m not here for pleasantries; there’s nothing pleasant about sharing space with you again. This is more of a… hmmm, what shall we call it? A ‘friendly’ warning?”
The question didn’t ask for an answer. It only produced silence. No quick retort issuing itself from Faith’s lips, no scathing comeback to wipe the smile from Willow’s face.
“Everyone else may be rushing to find the friendship with you again - but I don’t know - I guess I just don’t trust you. You see Faith, Buffy’s not the only one that’s been keeping an eye on our new best friend. I’ve been observing the little lab rat too - and really? You’re just the same as you used to be. Skanky on the outside… skankier on the inside…”
“Fuck you.”
“No chance. I don’t do skanks.”
The seething hatred mirrored in both girls eyes. Willow peering with an intensity that left Faith feeling far too exposed. Naked. A rawness about her need to inflict violence, to control the situation with the only power she knew she possessed. Her hands again gripping tight to the bars, screaming inside with a need to break, to shatter…
“There’s really no point in trying to get out. You could never break through the magic, Faith. I’m way stronger than you are.”
Her hands burning with the effort.
“Just stay in the cage where you belong, and listen to what I have to say. Oh - you should probably try and pay attention to this part too, I’d hate to have to show you what I’m really capable of.”
God was there hate. A different hate. The strongest hate. When Faith had found herself facing off against Buffy it had all been edged with an intensity that fed something deep in her soul - this was something which strangled her soul.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“That’s pretty simple, even for you. I want you out of our lives, I want you gone. I don’t ever wanna hear from you, see you… actually, I’d like to pretend that you never existed…”
“You think I wanna see you?”
Watching that smile trace the strawberry lips. The air seeming heavier with the glint that shone in the evil eyes of a jealous green.
“I guess not Faith, but that’s the thing - I don’t mean me.”
“Huh?”
“Buffy.”
That word again. The shaker of her beliefs.
“I don’t want you near her. I want you out of this cage and gone from her life. And I mean for good this time. No death and destruction, no psychotic grabs at revenge - this is it. Game over…”
Words. Just words. A pointless stream of noise which prickled at her senses as it crept across the space to find her ears. Had she not already just covered this ground? Had she not just issued her own plea of ‘stay away’, to the woman herself?
It made her eyebrows lose the scowl and settle instead in confusion - taking her own time to peer just a little bit closer - letting her own eyes seek out the truth behind the empty flow of words.
“Back up there, Red.” Interrupting the endless stream to issue a few soundbites of her own. “For someone that thinks she knows what she’s talking about, you sure spout a lot of pointless bullshit.”
Finding a smile.
“You really think I wanna see Buffy? Are you completely fucking insane?”
Enjoying the silence that answered her question. “If you have been watching the show, then you know that ain’t the case. I mean, sure - not gonna be upset if she dies a horrible death anytime soon - but I want away from her. I’m done with this shit, with all of you. I’ll tell ya Red, my life’s never been nothing to sing about, but it was a whole lot fucking better before I came to Sunnydale. Before I met your precious Buffy.”
And damn, was there some truth to that statement. Even Faith could feel the honesty which had managed to sneak up on her words. Remembering a time when it had simply been about good over evil. About being right instead of wrong. And well, sure - there may have been a few shortcuts, ways to make the duty a whole lot more enjoyable, but the premise had always stayed the same; the good guys always won. She had been a superhero.
And then she had met Buffy. And then she had seen what a real superhero looked like. And she had known that could never be her. Could never be hers.
“I wish I’d never met her.”
“You’re lying.”
“You what?”
“You really think I’d fall for that Faith? You really think I don’t see what this is all about?”
“For fuck’s sake!” Hands again finding hair in an absolute honest need to claw away the madness. Not the psycho kind. Just the normal kind. The kind encountered when it felt like you were uselessly screaming into a never ending abyss. Like no one ever listened to a fucking word you had to say. “I hate her, okay? I fucking hate her! Do you hear that, do you get that!?”
“More lies Faith?”
An absolute endless abyss.
“I probably should have seen it sooner, I mean, with hindsight it’s glaringly obvious. You don’t hate Buffy… you never hated Buffy. I get it now - what drove your little crazy train down the tracks marked psycho. I get how hard it must have been - knowing you’d never have her, knowing you would never be worthy of her. Seeing her with Angel all of the time; all those little touches that you wanted to give, all those loving glances that were never for you. I bet it itched at your soul Faith - getting closer but never close enough. Never good enough to be the one that she chose to lo-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Oh no. This needs to be said. You need to understand.”
It was too messed up. So fucking far beyond crazy. Willow was attacking her with a wisdom that scared the living crap out of her. Terrified her. The words which she had silenced inside of herself a billion times over. Words which when spoken, left her gaping like an open wound. Prone to attack. Ready to break.
“You need to realise Faith, that if you ever come near her again, I will end you. Buffy doesn’t want you - she will never want you. She hates you. We all hate you. Now do you get that?”
Did she get that? It was all she had ever got.
Her head dropping, her eyes closing. Ready to step back, to give in. Game over.
Never expecting the sound of the door swinging hard overhead. Enough interruption to silence her words before she’d had the chance to speak them. Forced to wonder instead if maybe she was wrong - maybe it wasn’t all she ever got anymore. Maybe sometimes - just onetime - someone was on her side?
“Get away from her, Will.”
His voice holding command in a way she had never heard before. No softness about a man face that still held the charm of a boy.
“Xander, I…”
“No…” His hand raising firm, his one good eye holding firmer. “…I mean it Will. Just get away from her. Leave her alone.”
A light in the dark. A hero.
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