Chapter Fourteen.
Xander Harris stood in silence as he surveyed the scene of the most recent destruction. He was used to destruction - had whittled away many hours piecing together the broken shards of his former happy home - but this he did not know. Did not understand. The weapons that Willow had used so effectively to batter and shatter Faith, seeming like words being spoken in a foreign language. So sharp, so twisted. So nothing that he had been expecting.
Xander had only flicked on the switch to the screen to check if his comic club cohort was still wrapped up in sleep. Not wanting to disturb her if she was still resting, yet as eager as anything to carry on the conversation of the night before. Friendly words. Something so much softer than what he had just witnessed from Willow:
“If you were in the X-men Faith, which X-man would you be?”
Remembering the snort of derision she had tossed his way, the smile which had become such an easy companion to all of her words. “I’d never be in the X-men - I’m way too badass. If I’m gonna be a superhero Xander, I wanna be someone cool…”
“Is this gonna be another ode to Batman?”
“What can I say? A girl’s gotta have standards.”
His smirk sneaking out. His posture bordering on comical. “I guess I’m the living proof of that.”
“Nah, you’re the exception. My moment of madness.”
Everything becoming so easy. Learning how to banter past the bad, focusing on the fun times instead of the fraught. Something which felt like friendship growing in a place where Xander had never expected to find it. And he liked it. He enjoyed it.
There was a rawness in his own past that was still clenching tight to his chest and making his heart beat harsher - time with Faith had softened that. Had given him a purpose when his mind might’ve otherwise sought to wallow in Anya. In what was lost in the destruction of Sunnydale.
So much destruction. So much lost. His voice stating his wish that Faith not join the list of the dearly departed. His feet stepping closer to the bars to offer her the sentiment.
“Are you okay Faith?”
Honest sentiment.
“Totally great. Five by fucking five.”
Only producing lies.
Only inducing a thousand question marks in his mind as he tried to think of words that might make anything better. That might douse the flames of hatred that had flared so fierce with Willow’s words.
“You know that wasn’t the truth. No one here hates you, no one…”
“Save it.”
“Faith…”
“What? You want me to care and share and play pretty for the camera, is that the deal?” Her eyes still shining bright. Her shoulders still held rigid. “Not gonna happen Xander. I’m done being played by you guys. If I’m gonna get fucked, I’ll get fucked on my own terms.”
He thought of offering an apology. He vaguely considered asking what her terms might be - and he did the only thing that seemed right. That seemed as though it would make any difference to the glare that was threatening to nail him hard to the floor. Silence his only company as he made deft work of stretching up and ripping out a wire from the back of the camera. As he closed forever the evil eye of the witch upstairs.
“You really think that makes a difference?”
“I was hoping for a yes vote.”
“Then you’re a chump. It doesn’t make a difference - nothing here makes the slightest fucking difference, does it?”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? Just look at me Xander! Jesus - you keep telling me things have changed, so what’s changed? Why am I still the one getting fucked over? Why am I the one locked in a goddamned cage?!”
Because if she wasn’t he’d be cowering in the corner like an overgrown schoolgirl?
It was the truth, but not the truth. Not the truth that Faith needed to hear. Not the truth that he would offer.
“I said that things had changed Faith, I didn’t say that we were perfect now - that we don’t make mistakes anymore. The cage was an impulse decision. You can be pretty fearsome for someone fresh out of a coma.”
“What about the camera, was that an impulse decision too - did you all get your rocks off laughing at the dumb little prisoner?”
“I don’t think you’re dumb.”
“I was dumb enough to believe that you were on the level, that you were my…”
A pause.
“Your friend?” Not missing the injury that flashed so plain in her eyes. The pain of betrayal. Pain he had placed there. “I’m your friend if you want me Faith, if you’ll have me. Admittedly the eyesight’s starting to fade, the patch maybe lowers my resale value; but I’m still a mean hand at fetching donuts. I whittle a good stake - I could come in useful.”
Time stretching out as her gaze slid across him. Perhaps measuring, perhaps wondering. He wasn’t sure. Only sure that he would stand strong, would stand and allow her to take whatever time it took to be sure that he spoke the truth.
“Told you I liked the patch.”
Yes. She had. And it still made him smile. Maybe even more this time. Wishing that he could make her smile a return. Could wipe out the hours since she had laughed so easy last night.
“So that settles it then; we’re buddies for life?”
“Whatever. Way my life’s going, I wouldn’t get too attached.”
Not having a chance. Her monotone not inflected with anything that sounded like fun. Her eyes sticking to lifeless as she had approached the front of her prison - had confronted him without any of the energy left inside for anger.
“Why didn’t you just tell me Xander - let me know I was putting on a show for the whole damn world to see?”
“I’m sorry Faith. I should’ve told you.”
“Yeah. You really should’ve.”
A sigh took. A helpless look.
“So what did you see?”
“See?”
“What was the highlight, what had the viewers chomping hardest on their popcorn?”
“It wasn’t like that Faith. We were only making sure that you were alright…”
“Great. Ever heard of asking?”
“In the future, I’ll ask.”
“In the future, it won’t matter.” He offered her a dipping brow, an honest show of confusion. “I’m out of here. Angel’s bringing my release papers tonight - I’m blowing this joint.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Sure am.”
It was news to him. He didn’t even care that something approaching daylight had crept up on her face - he was still flashing confused. Not remembering that the minefield he was negotiating needed such a delicate step. “Does Buffy know?”
His foot inserted before his thoughts were formed.
“You wanna rephrase that?”
“Does anyone know?”
“Not that it matters, but yeah, people know. She knows. Probably getting the balloons and streamers ready right now - maybe even baking a cake…”
“Where are you gonna go?”
“Fuck knows. As far away from her as I fucking can.”
Her? Here. Edged with the fiery again. That one special word all it took to fan the flames. All of Faith’s hurts seeming to gather in the darkened depths of saturated eyes; old pain. New pain. Same pain. “I just need to get away from here. From all of this.”
And maybe he could ask to go with her? Tempted by the harsh beat in his heart, by the tightness creeping across his chest; by the knowledge that this newfound friendship which had softened the blows was also getting ready to be lost.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“You what?”
“Really Faith; I don’t want you to go. I get the bid for freedom, I understand needing an escape from all of the crazy stuff - but I like having you around.”
“Yeah, bet it’s a real laugh riot.”
“It has its moments. I’ll miss the moments.”
Unexpected words painting her cheeks a new colour; a hint of a flush that was fresh to her face. Brushstrokes of confusion. Cover.
“You sure that preacher dude didn’t pierce your brain when he went for the eye?”
Camouflage.
Xander saw it. Recognised it. And after what he had seen Willow inflict upon her just moments previous, he determined to allow her to keep it.
“Okay Faith - you got me. The sentiment is just a lame ass cover for the devastating loss of the comic club - I never actually got anyone to join my secret society before.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Oh no, I’m being completely serious - there was this one time back in Freshman year when I thought it might take off. There were gonna be these little flyers, group meets…”
“I didn’t mean the comic club, Einstein, I meant you - wanting to keep me here just so you can get me geeked up to your level. That’s a pretty harsh punishment. Kinda makes me wanna rethink the whole friends thing.”
Xander wasn’t. He was cherishing it.
“I think you can manage the geek thing all alone Faith. As for the friends thing, that’s a whole different ball game; you have to keep your end afloat or it all comes crashing down…”
“Told ya not to get too attached.”
“Too late - I’ve lost too many friends lately - too much of everything. It’d mean a lot to hang onto you.”
Her face flashing him a look draped in desperation and distress. So unsure of what was being said. His honest sentiment smashing through the camouflage to bring so many glimpses of the girl lost inside. “Hey, it won’t be so bad, it’s not like there’s any ritual torture involved. I’ll just drop by and see you now and then, maybe call once in a while…”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure I’d do that. I want to do that.” Answering the voice that sounded the same as her face had looked. Making him ache, making him want to offer more. “Listen Faith, I know you don’t like talking about this, and I know I swore on all things DC that I wouldn’t push it… but if you really are leaving then you have to let me say something.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Then I’m saying something.”
Breathing deep. Meeting the eyes. Stepping in closer - breathe deep again. “This whole psycho deal Faith, all of that going crazy stuff…”
“Wait Xander, don’t…”
“No. I need to say this.”
“No you don’t. You don’t need to say anything, right? Just keep it at the comics… we can shoot the shit on Slade Wilson some more. You know in this light, there’s wicked hot resemblance…”
“Deathstroke lost his right eye Faith.”
“I’m just saying.”
“So was I.” He wondered how many breaths he would have to take before she would seek to meet his gaze again. Counted thirteen. Was glad to stop. “I get that this is rough, but I’m not here to beat on you.”
“You’re not? You sure you don’t wanna pick up where Red left off?”
And he started counting again. So close to losing her. Sensing the rising tide of anger that still festered below the surface. Hoping he wasn’t pushing too far. Too soon. Almost as if he could see it as an entity creeping out across her skin; the way her body tensed, the way her hands reached up to claw endless through her hair. Fighting. Trying…
“It’s okay Faith.”
Wanting to break through the pointless bars himself and shake the sanity into her. Wanting so badly to understand what had taken the sanity out of her.
“Just go Xander…”
Watching her retreat. Not turning to leave.
He did have things to say. Things which had mulled in his mind the more time he had spent with her; the more time he tried to put reasoning to all of their actions. The good ones. The bad ones. Determined to speak the conclusions before he was forced to wish her goodbye.
“I can’t go. As much as this hurts you to listen, you need to hear what I have to say…”
“For fuck’s sake! Why can’t any of you just leave me alone - all I want, is to be left the fuck alone!”
“Then I’ll make you a deal Faith; you hear me out, and if you still want me gone - I’m gone.”
Keeping a sense of joviality to his tone to combat the harshness of hers. Stifling a chuckle as she grabbed at the comics on the floor, as she twisted her body away from his gaze and buried her eyes deep in distractions to counter his words.
“Okay. I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
A chuckle of something that would be joy. The way that she seemed to soften the world’s blows. Even in this moment; balancing precariously on the fraying thread of newfound friendship - she still softened the blows. A woman, a slayer; yet still such a girl. Believing that the world could be silenced by the superheroes in a comic.
He envied her optimism. Focused his.
“As I was saying before I lost you to the lure of Batman; all of that crazy stuff Faith - the stuff back in Sunnydale - I want you to know that we’re past that now. It’s gone. Done and dusted. I’m never gonna beat on you about anything that happened - sure, I’m here if you ever want to talk about it, but I’m still gonna be here even if you don’t. You’re not the only one of my friends that has taken the dive to the wrong side of the tracks - it’s a pretty crowded club, endless group meets… ”
He saw her gaze sneak a glance. Knew that she was listening.
“…and the thing is; I forgive my friends. I don’t torture them till they repent and get down on their knees to beg. It’s a given.”
Absolute attention.
“I’m a lucky enough guy to have seen the real Faith; here and four years ago. And I’m telling you now; that rage crazed guise you’ve got going just isn’t you. Not the real you. It’s not someone you have to be anymore…”
“You really think that?”
“I know that.”
“Yeah…” The comic was tossed. “…cos it’s all so fucking easy, right?” A sigh delivered. “You don’t know Xander - you have no fucking clue what it’s like in here… everything’s so messed up, nothing makes a damn bit of sense to me…”
“That’s life Faith. It’s messed up and senseless and some days it’d be easier to roll up and die than to make it worth living - we still try though. You can still try.”
He watched her flinch at each of his words as if they were weapons as harsh and as hateful as Willow’s. Starting a pace, stomping out a rhythm. Giving him a beat to carry on his sermon. “Everything still seems rough, I get that, but things have changed. There’s nothing left to hate Faith, no one left to fight against - just give it a chance. Give us a chance?”
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Over and over and over.
Her eyes different when she finally stopped. When Xander finally ceased counting his breaths at somewhere past hundreds and stilled himself to hear her verdict;
“Faith?”
An eternity of silence.
“Just go Xander, please… ”
A hung jury.
Upstairs in the sunshine, away from the doom and gloom of the basement, a different kind of doom and gloom was settling down across the shoulders of Buffy. The number one golden girl feeling bottom of the heap. She had sought out and spoken to Giles after her time below with Faith; had nodded along with the pretence of agreement to each of the words which were founded in wisdom and maturity. And she wished that she could reject them all.
“This is probably for the best Buffy. I doubt that any of us here could have provided the kind of help that Faith so obviously needs… I’d have to say that with all things considered, this provides a rather satisfactory conclusion.”
A satisfactory conclusion.
Nothing more than Giles’ British way of calling it what it was. The End. An end that she did not want. Could not contemplate coping with. There were still too many secrets left untold for Buffy, still too many messes that she didn’t want swept under the rug, too many words that were yet to be spoken out loud. In all of the time that Faith had been sleeping, Buffy had offered her a thousand different whispered words - millions and billions of jumbled up sentences that had never come close to touching the truth of the story.
Oh no. Buffy the Brave had never even spoken those words to herself. Four years she had sat poised with her mental eraser; ready to un-scribe in an instant any words which would pounce on her with the force of uninvited memories. Always so many of those. The wrong smell, the wrong sound, the wrong phrase; a million moments which could catch her unguarded.
The times when Buffy had held Faith’s hand in hospital had always been the hardest to run from. A deadness in a connection that had always ebbed with life. The emptiness in her heart that had never been explained. Never been questioned.
And who needed questions when the answers were so unbelievable? Unachievable.
Buffy had always thought not her. Had clung to the reality where Faith’s coma was an everlasting barrier to any kind of question that had sounded too tough. Too rough to deal with. Not banking on the sleeping, waking. Not banking on the insistent threat from her heart that it was ready to take up the beat again. Ready to name the tune.
Faith.
Such an easy little tune to remember. Buffy knew - it wasn’t like she had managed to forget. The intensity in glares and stares. The electricity etched in just one touch. In every touch.
Name that tune.
Taunting. The words still too daunting to allow a safe passage. Like a game. Like rings round roses. Spirals formed to outrun the rhythm. Distraction sought to prevent falling down. Buffy could do it.
Like slaying!
In sunlight?
Or not.
Not really a distraction anyway when she considered how every blow landed inevitably reminded her of who she was trying to forget. Or not forget. She couldn’t forget. Maybe not think about. And anyway, it wasn’t like Giles hadn’t given her plenty more things to think about. Asking her to lead again, asking her to give direction; to make decisions. A plan of action for the army of slayers that she had helped create. Because that was important. That was far more important than the dead beat that had taken up residence in her chest.
Than the deadbeat that was taking up residence in front of her eyes.
“Hey Buffy. Can I talk to you?”
The short answer or the long one?
“I’m kinda busy right now Kennedy, can’t you speak to Giles instead?”
“You don’t look busy.”
“Don’t be fooled by this total lack of action. I’m actually strategising - making plans - doing like all good leaders should…”
“Was it your plan to send Faith away?”
Kapow!!!!
Complete with comic book writing and exclamations aplenty. That’s how it felt to Buffy at least. No place for hiding. Smashing headfirst into the solid brick wall that she’d been hopelessly seeking to avoid.
“You know that Faith’s leaving?”
“Giles just told us - the girls aren’t happy.”
“I don’t really see how it has anything to do with the girls.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t, would you?”
The distinct aroma of a challenge wrapping itself around the words.
“Am I sensing a little hostility here Kennedy?”
The hint of distraction enticing Buffy to stand.
“Could be. Mostly though it’s just disappointment - we were almost starting to think that you were human - that you gave a crap. I hate being wrong; it leaves a bitter taste.”
“It does? I would’ve thought you’d get used to that after a while.”
And it was all there: the sarcastic slice of perky in her tone, the hardness of the slant that cocked her hips. Every wrong thing that she used in her own defence against the weight of the world. “You should go and ask Giles for a mint, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.”
“You really are something, you know that?”
“Tell it to someone who cares.” Because Buffy really didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. “Now was there anything else, or can I get back to what I was doing?”
Almost turning to dismiss her. Ready to settle back down and remind her mind to think about something else.
So close.
“You didn’t answer me yet Buffy - was it your idea to send her away?”
Forgetting perky. Feeling pissed.
“I thought we just covered the ground where this isn’t your business - are you having trouble understanding - do you really need me to break it down for you?”
“You could try and break down the part where we’re all supposed to stand back and smile, while you go ahead and get rid of Faith…”
And could she just scream? Please?
“I’m not getting rid of Faith!”
Except that ‘letting go’ and ‘getting rid’ both sounded the same in the harsh light of heartbreak. Both hurt the same. No shout loud enough to cover the empty echo of such empty words. Nothing hard enough to protect against the desolation that wracked her body in the moment that denial was sounded.
No answering words to fill that ever growing void.
And the silence was the worst. A space created for every unspoken thought that wanted to batter her already fraught defences. Memories thrusting fast. The present and the past. Every minute. Every moment. Everything Faith.
“You just wouldn’t understand Kennedy.”
Stepping down. Running scared.
“I thought you were gonna break it down for me?”
“Wish I could. Really don’t think I can.” Searching hard for the bouncy step, for the sun sparkling eyes. “Look, it’s great that you’re worried about her, we’re all worried about her; but there’s really nothing to worry about. She’s just going to stay with Angel for a while. It’s all for the best - a satisfactory conclusion.”
“You sound like Giles.”
“That’s good… Giles is very wise.”
“Giles is a jerk who doesn’t have the first clue what it’s like to be a slayer. To be like us. I can’t believe you’re doing this - what chance have any of us got if we can’t even save one of our own?”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what we all think! So Faith’s past is a little shady - seems to me like all of you guys have got some shady in your past; it’s hardly a good reason to cast her aside. To give up on her. She’s still a slayer Buffy. She belongs here with us.”
And maybe Kennedy was the wise one. The one who could force the issue. That could drag the words of truth from the fear infested Buffy. So scared of the realisation. Of the consequence of all the inaction. Every single memory reduced to a sigh as she offered just the faintest glimpse of what twisted inside.
“You really think I don’t know that - you honestly believe that I don’t know where Faith belongs?”
“Then why let it happen? You’re supposed to be the big leader, right - so do some leading. Tell Giles to stick it.”
“As highly tempting as that thought is, this wasn’t Giles’ call. Faith made the decision all by herself; it’s her choice to go.”
“Yeah, well if it was me you were keeping in a cage, I’d be pretty keen to up sticks too. Maybe if you let her out… if you told her you wanted her to stay…”
Laughter.
Fraught and frantic painful laughter.
Provoked by the absurdity of the statement; by the idea of standing before Faith and declaring the wish that she wouldn’t leave. It was hysterical.
Hysterically sobering.
“Do you have any idea what would happen if I was ever crazy enough to ask Faith to stay - better yet, if I opened up the cage and then told her that I wanted her to stay?”
“Do you?”
“I can probably guess. There’d be beatings. Possible heinous acts with definite mortal consequences. There are certainly no happy scenarios. Believe me Kennedy, I’ve spent more than enough time thinking them through.”
“Sounds bleak.”
“It is bleak. That’s the life of a slayer; destined for bleakness. You still glad you signed up?”
“I signed up after the inspirational speech, if you’d given us this one, I guess your ass would be sitting home alone in that dust pit named Sunnydale.”
“I think I’m all out of inspiration.”
“Well there must be something we can do, someway we can make Faith see that we’re on her side. She hasn’t even met any of us yet - maybe knowing that she’s part of something bigger…”
If only. Not likely.
“Faith’s not one for group bonding. She never really grasped the whole concept of playing well with others. I doubt that rounding up the girls to offer solidarity would swing much in our favour - except maybe a crossbow. She has real flair when it comes to being pissed off.”
“So that’s it - we’re giving up, just like that?”
“No. We’re accepting that what Faith wants is far away from here. It’s not giving up, it’s being mature. It’s giving her what she needs.”
“Right. So what makes you the big expert on Faith - how do you know what she needs?”
Kapow again. Memories prickling again. Conversation threatening to cross over into realms where she wasn’t so happy straying. If Buffy took the time to listen, if she truly asked herself what it was that she believed Faith needed - where the heck would she start? Where the hell would she stop?
How would she ever keep her grip on the slipping defence of denial?
It was hard enough to deny the need that beat so strong in her own chest; she doubted that she was strong enough to ever deny what she had always seen in her reflection. What she had felt from Faith all of the times they had danced chest to chest beneath the strobing lights of The Bronze. When that taste of something so unrestrained had rocketed her heart full thrust towards disaster.
This wasn’t affect, affectedness or affection. It wasn’t desire and lust or the thrill from a kill.
Buffy knew exactly what Faith needed. Had always known. Beyond the cut and thrust, the hate and mistrust. The feminine wiles and deceptive smiles. Beyond blood stained alleyways and the hard ride to crazy. Buffy knew. It was in the eyes behind the door on Christmas Eve, in the fingers that brushed a photo in the empty office of a Deputy Mayor. It was in every single reason that Buffy had never been able to let go.
Name that tune.
So much being said without words.
Not turning from the intruding eyes of Kennedy - from the untainted mind that rushed fast to fill blanks. Flicking a switch - blipping a radar. “Oh my god.”
Not even allowing a sigh to escape as every single dam sounded out a warning of impending flood. Broken defences. Flinching at the touch from Kennedy - from the hand that tried to offer a small stroke of comfort.
“Have you ever told her?”
The silence still saying so much.
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