Chapter Nineteen.
Yet again the basement had become the place for Buffy to seek seclusion, a place where it felt okay to speak out loud, a place where it felt like maybe, just a little bit, a connection with Faith still existed. She didn’t have much else to go on. Not a member of the Terrific Two, who it seemed could visit at will as long as they carried some comic-y goodness for her eyes to feast upon. Buffy didn’t have comic-y goodness; she had only the shared past - the one which included acts of betrayal and knives through the gut.
Their relationship needed a lot of work.
But a lot of work couldn’t be done while Faith was still insisting on an absolute communication blackout. Nothing. Not the tiniest morsel of a crumb to encourage Buffy that there was anything left anymore, other than Faith’s predicted waste of time. And it felt like wasted time.
Giles had offered her two weeks to find some sort of reprieve; to at least find a foothold that could one day turn into a bridge, that could one day cross over all of the troubled waters of the past. So far Buffy had zilch. Four days down and all she had managed to do was to lose the application form for her replacement passport. Not genius - she knew that - but as a back up plan it held some merit.
“You’ve lost the application form? Again? You do realise Buffy, that you won’t actually be able to board the plane without your passport?”
You don’t say, Giles?
And she hadn’t said. She had simply shaken her head at her amazing show of ditziness and agreed to go with Giles tomorrow, when he would personally escort her and her rather stubborn ass as she filled out every single one of the necessary forms.
“You’re taking the watcher duties just a little too watchfully, don’t ya think?”
But he hadn’t laughed. He had shaken his head oh SO wearily, made a whole big puffing show of reiterating responsibility and setting good examples for all of the young ones……
It was another reason that Buffy kept hiding out in the basement. There was way too much responsibility upstairs. Sure, parenting was a possibility about a thousand years in the future, but now? And so many children?
“…Buffy, tell Rona that the Cocoa Puffs are mine! She knows they’re my favourites, but she-”
“Well tell Kennedy to keep her witch loving lips away from my Gatorade!”
“Guys - a little perspective?” Trying to calm them, trying to act all responsible. “We save the world nightly, and you’re arguing about soda?”
Cringing as the scream had come from somewhere upstairs, proclaiming that ‘someone’ had used Dawn’s towel, and she was going to kick ass if Buffy didn’t sort it out. Now.
Yes. The basement was a quiet little piece of tranquillity.
The only person that ever sought to disturb her down here was Xander. Knowing since the first time where she would be if she wasn’t in the middle of the domestics - seeking her out to banish whatever doom and gloom mood was looking to overtake her. Her only other connection to Faith.
He was keeping her informed on all of the progress; his joy the day that Angel had called to invite him back into the fold, his absolute astonishment when he had returned that night to tell Buffy everything that had happened - “She’s changed Buffy. I don’t know what it is - maybe Angel really is all sage with the wisdom - but it’s like she’s being Faith again.”
“For real?”
“Completely for real.” His conviction convincing her. “She even called me Lover Boy.”
His peacock posing, having her laughing out loud. And for a second it had given her hope. Brave enough to put another call through to Angel - asking if maybe, possibly, Faith was ready to talk. To her.
“Give her time, Buffy.”
And that was a fantastic answer if she had all of the time in the world. She didn’t though; she had days. And the hope had started to fade again. It was just so unfair. She was sure that if she was given the chance - if someone would just let her stand again in front of Faith - that she could make it make a difference. She would find the right words. She would offer the right gestures. She would find a space to place that first foothold.
Finding only a turn of her head as the door opened up above her. Smiling already at who she knew it would be. “Xander?”
“Hey Buff - you decided on a colour scheme yet?”
“Huh?”
“Well you must be doing something while your staring at the walls. I think sky blue; it’s bright and airy.”
“I like it how it is. It’s…”
“Dank and depressive?”
“Exactly. It seems fitting.”
She managed to keep the smile in place as he took the stairs to join her; flopping himself to the floor, slinging an arm across her shoulders.
“I thought Giles taught you about keeping a positive mental attitude: a girl’s gotta smile while she slays!”
And Giles had never taught her that one.
“I missed that lesson, and anyway, I’m not slaying. I’m phily… philosopho… I’m thinking.”
“Deep thought? Nobody’s friend. So what’s taking the sunshine out of the Summers - are you and Will still fighting?”
“She told you about that?”
His hand squeezed her shoulder with the offer of support, as she listened to him let out one of those long exhausted exhales.
“Yeah. I got the condensed ‘why does the whole world hate me?’ version. It sounds like you went a little rough on her.”
“I didn’t mean to be rough, I was going to be gentle. I just don’t understand it Xander…” She pulled herself out of his arms to offer free reign to her hands. Able to gesticulate the roughness that Willow herself had been seeking to dish out. “…She keeps on attacking me, as if the things that I’m feeling for Faith are some kind of personal insult against her. She’s my best friend - nothing that I feel for Faith could ever replace that.”
“Did you explain that to her?”
“What? After she told me that I needed to improve my taste in murdering psychos? No. I told her to stay the hell away from me. I meant it too - I can’t deal with her issues right now. I’ve spent half of the morning talking to myself in the basement. I think I have enough issues of my own.”
“Amen to that.”
“Hey!”
His infectious smile had her breaking into one of her own though; sticking out her tongue and not caring that it was childish. “Seriously though Xander, what’s Will’s problem - why can’t she let it go like the rest of us?”
“You want to know what I think?”
“Well I’m not getting anywhere with what I think. I was even starting to wonder if she’s got a secret crush on Faith… she’s always wanted her, and that’s why she hates her. Bonkers, right?”
“Right theory, wrong girl. It’s like being trapped in the middle of a huge lesbian dra…… ow! What was that for?”
“This is so not a lesbian drama; I’ve never even kissed a girl!”
She didn’t make the connection at first - so surprised to be labelled as a lesbian, that she didn’t hear the rest of his words. Running through the quick recall as he rubbed at his arm. As he mumbled something about being a punch bag for slayers…
“What did you mean - right theory, wrong girl? What’s the right theory?”
Stopping his mumbling. Pinning him down with a glare when he looked like he wanted to wriggle free. “Come on Xander, spill. What’s the what?”
“Right - the what. Well, think about it, Buff… who could Willow have a crush on that could make her hate Faith like she does? Who is it that’s got feelings for Faith?”
“No.”
Her head shaking away that first glimmer of enlightenment. Trying to stop the thought from lodging. “No way. Not a chance. God Xander, it’s Willow, as in best friend forever Willow. She would never think of me like that.”
“Sure, cos I’ve never had the naughty thoughts about you.”
“But… but you’re a guy!”
“And Willow is a lady loving lady. Not a completely zany notion that she might’ve once or twice wanted to-”
“Stop!”
Her hand raising high to prevent the finishing of the sentence. It was bad enough that the thought had most definitely lodged; there was no way that she was following the thought through to the kinda places that Xander was looking to go…
“Please, okay? Can we not go there?”
“Sure. But you have to admit it makes sense?”
“No, it really doesn’t. It makes less sense than one of Giles’ ancient prophesies. Those Babylonian ones that…”
And she babbled her way through it. Exhausting her mouth with a tumble of words that looked to silence the puzzle being pieced together inside. Not a pretty picture, but a picture all the same. All of the edges linking together. Every single one of them making sense.
“You can ignore it all you want Buffy, but it’s the only reason that I can come up with. It explains all that old jealousy, it explains the new rage fuelled persona of our resident uber-bitch… makes sense of the things she said to Faith.”
“Said to Faith? Did I miss something?”
“You don’t know? I thought she would’ve been gloating about it.”
“What things, Xander?”
And when? And how?
A little whisper of agitation having her folding her arms tight across her chest. Wanting to tap her foot. Waiting on Xander’s words.
“It was all of the basics: everybody hates you, you’re a skanky ho, keep the hell away from us. But she said some other stuff too, stuff about you and Faith. That you would never want her.”
He shrugged his shoulders as Buffy’s eyes opened up on the biggest ‘what the fuck?’ moment of her whole entire life. Because really, what the fuck?
“She said what?”
“She said that. I didn’t get it then, but when things started to make sense… then everything made sense. It’s like I said, huge lesbian drama.”
And she couldn’t chastise him that time, when what he was saying only lightened the load of what she was starting to feel. A mess of confusion that even she had not been pessimistic enough to guess at. A nightmare scenario.
So - she liked Faith, and Willow liked her… and Willow was warning Faith away from her, because…
“Where does Faith fit in?”
Wanting the one who it seemed had all the answers, to answer her this one. To reignite the hope that she was nine days away from surrendering.
“In what?”
“The big picture, the drama. You said that Willow likes me, and we know that I like Faith; but why was Will warning Faith away? Who does Faith like?”
“Batman.”
“Batman? She’s crushing on a guy in tights?”
“It’s more like rubber, and no; she just has a thing for superheroes.”
“Right. Thanks, that’s real helpful, Xander. You know? I just wish I knew if she felt anything for me anymore, aside from the crazy vengeful rage. It’s hard to keep that positive mental attitude going, when nothing seems very positive.”
She ushered out a sigh as he looked to stand from his seat. Walking his way to nudge her on the shoulder, to offer another of his infectious grins to lift the bad.
“Hey, there are positives. Faith is getting better everyday. Give it time, Buff. I’m sure she’s gonna get to a place where she needs to see you too.”
“And if I’m gone by then?”
“Then I’ll call and tell you to get your ass back here. You need to stop thinking about it - Angel’s working with her, she’s doing really good - just relax for a while. Xander Harris orders it!”
And she wanted to salute. Smiling instead, catching his hand and thinking about the future. “You wanna come grab pizza with me and Dawn? I promised a lunchtime excursion.”
“No can do. I told Faith I’d-”
“Right. No problem.”
Dropping his hand with a little bitter sting of disappointment. Not only because she wanted to hang out with Xander, but also because he got to go and hang out with Faith. And it wasn’t fair. And she wanted to scream; and it seemed that she was telegraphing every single emotion with each look that leapt across her face.
“Cheer up Buffster, we can hang out later - there’s enough Xander love to go round.”
“No, it’s okay. I have to patrol later, set a good example…”
“I can patrol. I can set good examples too.”
“You want to?”
“Of course I want to. Go take Dawn for pizza, I’ll go see Faith. And then tonight, we slay!”
And as she watched him walk the stairs with that little bounce in his step, she felt nothing but the deepest admiration for him; maybe tainted with the slightest hints of resignation. Buffy had not lied when she said that she would always need Xander in her life: he was her heart. He made her happy. And the thought that not only was she leaving Faith, but that she was also leaving him…
She wanted to lose the passport form again.
Try as she might, Faith could not manage to keep any level of concentration on the conversation that was carrying on around her. Pushing cold fries round the plate, rather than tuning in on some oh so boring details about Giles setting up a new council. Because really - who gave a fuck? She was almost ready to start talking about all of the nasty things that went bump when the lights went out, if only it would add some sort of excitement to the mix.
Angel and Xander. And blah, blah, blah…
“…does Giles propose to allocate a Watcher for every slayer? Does he even know how many Watchers survived?”
“We don’t even know how many slayers there are now. Willow is guesstimating at somewhere in the upper hundreds…”
And please, could someone slice her ears off?
When Angel had first suggested that they get together for a few intense three-way conversations - his moniker for therapy sessions - she had thought, why not?
Three different perspectives for the time when she went bad. Angel’s always peppered with his really old guy wisdom; her own kinda sketchy, depending how much she felt like talking. And then Xander’s. His had been the most revealing - not just describing the Scooby anger as she had slipped away from them, but also the sadness. His own. Daring to mention Buffy…
“…She always felt like you were her responsibility. She never gave up on you.”
“Right. Say it with stab wounds.”
“That’s not fair. If you think that Buffy wanted to do that, if you think she would’ve done it if there was any other way, then you’ve still got a lot of learning to do. I saw her that night Faith, and she wasn’t a bundle of joy-”
“Alright. I get it.”
Always silencing the words before they touched on the things that still raged confused. Always more information to gather - trying to form pictures, to make everything fit. Hearing in real time about the things that she had missed… the glorious rundown of every single apocalypse.
And Buffy had been busy. And dead. Also resurrected:
“Serious? She really was in heaven?”
“Apparently so. I still never know if I’m supposed to feel bad for taking her out of there…”
Listening to the way that Xander had to tell it. Sliding it together with the things that she knew from Spike. From Angel. The things that she had seen in a dream. Just working it through - moment by moment…
Not letting herself feel a thing. Freezing whilst they spoke her name, tuning out on anything except the bare facts. A passive face turned their way - nothing happening. Everything is fine.
Except until the moments when it all became too much and she was forced to feel with so much urgency, that Angel had learnt to always keep the gym free after any type of conversation. Pounding out the same beat that her fists had always flurried too. Driving home the pain - trying to beat away the feelings that still held her in a vice. Still had her feeling as if this wasn’t her life.
Define confusion?
Letting her ears open up again now, rather than confronting the things that she still felt might lead her into madness. Smiling at Xander as if she wasn’t wrestling with that someplace dark inside. Just wriggling in her chair, restlessly tapping her fingers.
“It’s nothing to smile about, Faith. You try and supervise fourteen girls all trying to use the bathroom at the same time. It makes me wish that the nine days would fly by.”
“Nine days?”
“Till England. Till hot showers.”
Her fingers stilling in an instant. Information she had missed.
“You’re leaving in nine days?”
“No, they’re leaving in nine days. I’ve decided to stick around - I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. Like I could ever bear to surrender my presidency of the comic club. Not a chance.”
She shot a look across at Angel, caught his barely there nod that confirmed Xander’s words. Had to remember how to breathe as she pushed down the urge to strike out. The heat that was building in her veins threatening to combust into rage…
This was so fucking stupid. So fucked up. Xander could hide behind the comic club bullshit all he wanted, but Faith knew what this was. Felt the sincerity of feeling that sat in his gaze.
He was staying for her. And that was messed up.
She didn’t even know if she’d wake up tomorrow and still feel sane; didn’t know if this time next week she’d be creeping her way up the list of America’s most wanted. She didn’t want Xander to throw away his life in some kind of sacrifice for hers…
She couldn’t carry the weight of what felt like expectation.
“You shouldn’t bother. I’m getting bored with the comic club anyway, it’s nothing but some fucked up geek thing.”
Still capable of causing shock. Of hurting feelings. Not understanding why he didn’t look aggrieved, why his mouth was softening even further into a smile.
“Yeah. Like we didn’t already decide that you’re a geek.” Settling himself further back into the deep comfort of his chair. “You’re not getting rid of me, Faith; it’s pretty much a waste of time trying.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Just start thinking of all the fun things we can do, when Angel finally lets you out of the tower of doom. You know there’s an all-you-can-eat ribs place just around the corner?”
And settling for smiling herself. Keeping a lid. The face still passive. Words which could flow and not make her sound like she still felt just a little bit too close to crazy.
“Cool, we’ll definitely check it out. Bet I can eat more than their all.”
Steadying her breaths as they wound down the fun times. Knowing that the gym was going to be the only therapist that made any sense as soon as all of the goodbyes were said. Not knowing where else to focus her feelings, not remembering what it was that fed the blood in her veins. Why the urges raced so strong.
Not long now.
Standing as the others stood. Tuning in to hear the last of the words.
“Yeah, well it’s getting pretty late and I told Buffy I’d patrol with her. How long have I got till sunset?”
Looking at Angel. Angel looking to her.
“What? I’ve never had a watch.”
Just knowing that she needed something to punch. And she needed it now.
Angel watched in silence from the doorway to the gym; knowing that on some level Faith no doubt sensed him anyway, but not wanting to interfere in the therapy that she dished out to herself as she beat defenceless punching bags into a decimated pulp. No longer any doubt for him about her physical recuperation - she was fighting fit. She was fighting ferocious.
Which only left her mental recuperation. The thing that he couldn’t be so certain about. He saw that she was trying; he was well aware of the hoops that she had been making herself jump through as she came to terms with the things that she had done. But he wasn’t so sure that she was succeeding. There was an instability there, something which she hadn’t yet found the strength to focus on. And he knew what it was. He knew the issue that made her look to always change direction.
Buffy.
And every single act that came of Buffy.
He had watched her as she emptied her eyes to hear the tales from the past; the light always dimming when the stories were of slaying, or of demons, or the council… when they might come anywhere close to touching her inside. To reminding her of who she was inside. Only close to admitting it when he watched her in her silent battles with inanimate objects - her grunts resurfacing, the cocky roll of her hips as she sliced her way through routines which had returned to her almost as soon as she had stood on the mats in the centre of his gym.
So slow that first time. As if she didn’t trust to lift her hands - as if she didn’t trust what she would find there. Listless thumps making dull thuds against leather. Her face not coming alive for what had seemed like an age…
Until the sun had set.
That had been when it first made sense to him - the first time he realised that it wasn’t only Buffy that Faith was forcing down, but also the urges that came with her. The need to slay. To be the chosen one. To fight and protect and to destroy all things evil.
And he imagined just how terrifying it must feel to confront the calling that she had betrayed. Perhaps as hard as confronting the one that she had betrayed. Never mentioning it. Just opening up the gym to her as the moon began to rise and letting nature work it out. Every night seeing that one more improvement, every minute hoping that this would be the one: the moment when she opened her eyes and saw who she was.
Wishing for it now.
Angel had noticed Faith’s instant discomfort at the words from Xander, how her ears had pricked - how her face had frozen:
“…I told Buffy I’d patrol with her - how long have I got till sunset?”
Not being able to think of a way that he could have scripted it better. Knowing that her mind wouldn’t have been able to do anything but soak the words up. Sensing her agitation, her grab at words about watches. And then following her down as she headed straight for the gym… not bothering to change, just wanting to pound. Her screams still reverberating against the high walls now. The punching bag still suffering as she went at it with all that she had. The most that he had seen.
Crying out as her leg span graceful through a final spinning kick, the moonlight filtering across the room as her arm arched back - a pause, a second - and slamming it home. The phantom stake that he had been waiting to see, busting to dust every single demon that dared to cross her mind.
And he clapped. Not even knowing why, just wanting to offer some kind of appreciation for the moment that he had been allowed to witness. Her eyes meeting him confused - raging - the power that he saw in her gaze, seeming to buckle each of her words with a deep down pain.
“Angel?”
Barely a hoarse grab at making sense. Like everything might break as she began to speak the truth.
“I… I need to slay.”
And she did. Not in this moment, not to let off steam. It was deeper than that - it was the place that produced the steam. The very thing at her core.
Faith was the slayer. And now she needed to slay.
He offered something that he hoped looked reassuring; stepping down into the room, crossing the distance to arrive in the centre. Lifting off his sweatshirt and stretching out his shoulders.
It was time.
“Come on, Faith. We’ll spar.”
Giving her a place to release the feeling.
