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Chapter Three.



Checking into the hospital had been an easy exercise and passed without incident. None of the wounded particularly wanted to be there, so gloomy faces met Giles’ instructions, but not one of them could argue that they didn’t *need* to be there. They were all new to this, they didn’t realise the extent of the power they had so recently inherited, so they didn’t know that the wounds which for now looked deep and morbid, were really not much more than scratches when inflicted upon a slayer. Buffy knew, of course, but in her mind, if she had to be there, then they definitely had to be there; and Giles was more than insistent that she be there.



In the end it had been an argument he didn’t need to make. Buffy had not spent the last few hours guarding Faith with everything she had left, to then let her pass from her gaze without needing to follow. Not a chance. So she had offered the tightly clipped smile, allowed herself to be herded like cattle through the sliding doors of LA County Hospital, and then she had taken charge of making sure that her gaze remained unobstructed.



Quite a mean feat when faced with doctors wishing to know what the heck had happened; was there an accident, should the police be called, had they been attacked..? Her head nodding vague, shaking vaguer. It led to outlandish stories of camping trips, bear attacks, car accidents, anything and everything which could help to explain the strange array of wounds which sat upon each of the injured girls. Luckily, and also kinda crazily, the stories were readily accepted; this was LA, most stories were accepted here. What wasn’t expected was the commotion Buffy caused when she tried to explain Faith;



“She was in a coma, then she wasn’t… and now…”



“Excuse me, she was in a coma?”



“Right, four years worth of coma. She woke up this morning, and then she collapsed…”



“She collapsed? She was… walking? After a four year coma?”



Buffy had assumed that the truth was the best way to go with Faith. She didn’t have a clue, not even the start of clues, as to what kind of attention the girl needed, and she was not ready to take chances. Unfortunately, even in LA, this truth was being questioned.



“Uh… sure. She’s real strong, ya know, couldn’t wait to be up on her feet again.”



“And she was on this camping trip, with the rest of you?”



Okay. A little harder to explain. “Sure! You know what they say, gotta keep the sleeping mind stimulated! We thought it might help to wake her up, I guess we thought right.”



“Right.”



The doctor was beyond bemused. He often got to see the weird and wonderful while working at this hospital, but he couldn’t recall a day when he’d had so many strange cases to deal with all at once. This latest one; this really sealed the deal. A coma patient who got up and walked after four years of sleeping. No way. Didn’t happen.



It was those kind of thoughts which had him recommend a private room for the dark haired girl, somewhere that they could observe exactly what was going on with her, away from the general population of the rest of the hospital. Buffy would never allow that.



She *hadn’t* allowed that. The tone of her quiet, yet intensely hard voice, making the doctor absolutely sure that she would be sharing the same room. There was no telling what would happen if Faith awoke again to find herself alone. Lost. Buffy would stay with her, she would watch over her, and when the time came and Faith awoke, she would be waiting there to greet her.



Buffy understood what it was like to be shoved back into a world that you didn’t understand, all alone and afraid. And regardless of anything, of everything, she would do what she could to prevent Faith from experiencing that torment again.




Willow had watched the fraught exchange between doctor and patient, they all had, yet not one of them had found a place where they had felt comfortable to intervene. She had wanted to, just maybe, drag Buffy aside and explain to her that Faith was not her albatross, she didn’t have to hang her quite so heavily from around her neck. But there would have been no point; not only would an ancient mariner’s rime, be lost on Buffy, but also, Willow had seen the steel. Slayer steel. Slayer power. Slayer, slayer, slayer. Forgetting savage wounds that ripped through her body, just remembering the creep she could send down necks, as eyes that determined stared out her demands. Oh - Willow had felt sorry for the doctor then, had almost wanted to gently pat him on the arm afterwards and assure him that he hadn’t just been crushed by the will of a slight and wounded girl, he had, in fact, been crushed by a slayer.



Yeah. She figured out real quick that that little speech wouldn’t help any, so she had kept it to herself, offered different words to different others instead. Little pep talks for all of the patients, promises that they only had to stay one night, that tomorrow they would be right as rain, ready to rumble, ready to resume the rest of their lives.



And then she had reached the room where two slayers lie in private seclusion. Not sure if she had to knock, not sure what she thought she was invading. It *did* feel like invasion though, like she was interrupting something she didn’t understand. Something she had never wanted to understand.



A sigh chasing away them kind of memories, as her hand did indeed lift to ask entry, her little tap immediately answered by Buffy’s little voice. Tired again now that she had won another battle, that she had assured her eyes that they still had a job to do, they weren’t being rested yet.



“Nice digs Buffy, who did ya have to threaten to get this place?”



“Funny. I didn’t threaten him, I asked, real nice, I even smiled… did you see the smile?”



“Yeah, very… friendly.” Willow walked her way inside the room, taking in the simplicity, noting Faith over by the window, Buffy taking the spot nearest the door. “So, what did they say?”



Blank looks. Yet Willow was sure she had seen the doctors visit already, had waited and watched outside for the doctors to leave again. “The doctors Buff, what did they say?”



“Oh, of course. I got stitches, matching, back and front. You wanna see?”



Buffy lifted her top gingerly to show Willow a scar which would last maybe a few days. Her body was strong, her body was powerful, there would be no scars leaving staining marks across her abdomen. For now though, it was a scar that made Willow gasp a little, step forwards to admire the matching sides and matching stitches. “What about… inside, is it, did they..?”



“No. I already glued myself back together in there, I guess. Just these, some in my shoulder. No big.”



Right. No big. “And…” Her eyes taking in the other no big. “…what did they say about coma girl?”



“Faith.”



“Yeah. Faith.”



The wary inflection that wrapped itself around the girl’s name, did not go unmissed by Buffy. She expected it of course, half of her believed that she also should be feeling more fear at the reappearance of Faith, but she didn’t, and so it made it hard to assuage the fears of others. How could any of them fear Faith when she was just so obviously broken?



“They don’t know anything Wills, they don’t believe she was in a coma, they don’t believe she woke up from a coma… I think they want to treat her for dehydration, maybe malnourishment… ask Giles. He was in here.”



“So they think she’s gonna be better?”



“Like I said; ask Giles. I don’t think they know anything until she wakes up.”



Willow had figured as much, none of them really knowing anything until Faith woke up. She waited now, as Buffy offered that little shrug, as she pulled herself up on her bed and made to settle down with eyes still watching, and she thought again of the albatross. The signs of guilt, of penance, that were wrapping the weight of the world around her friend’s shoulders yet again. It hurt.



“Buffy?” she spoke as she approached the bed, smiling softly as room was made for her to sit. “You don’t have to do this to yourself, you don’t… it isn’t like you owe her anything.”



She kept her eyes on Buffy, not looking at Faith, easier to speak about her, when she didn’t remind herself that she was right there in the room. Not six feet away. Not six feet under. “You know if she’d had the chance, she would’ve done the same to you. Worse to you.”



“Would she?”



Okay. This was crazy. Willow could understand - she *knew* - Buffy felt bad about stabbing Faith. Yadda-yadda-yadda. But this, whatever it was, like some kind of crazy denial of what Faith was, who she had been; it wasn’t good. It was the opposite of good. It was bad.



“You *know* she would have! What about Xander, huh? What about me..?”



“You’re both still here though, Wills.”



“Yes! But no thanks to Faith. She was a killer Buffy, she was bad. You know that, I know you know that.”



The memories which frazzled across the tired mind of Buffy, were assuring her that she knew that Willow knew that she knew that… okay, so she wasn’t sure of what she was knowing, but the memories sure felt like pain. Faith’s desire to hurt her, only matched by one other desire, and that desire was nothing but fuel to the first. And all of it spelt pain.



A pain which reverberated and tore rips through her conscience, which forced her eyes to see the mess that she had made, all laid out in front of her. Willow chose not to look. Buffy had no choice. “Maybe it’s different now.”



“And maybe it’s not. You said yourself Buffy, she’s still there, she’s gonna still want her pound of flesh.”



Could she cut through the un-pleasantries and just offer up the appropriate pound, Buffy wondered. Would that appease Faith’s plaintive plea for payback? Would that level out the scales of justice to even?



If someone had offered her the tools, she maybe would have done it right then. Not eager to dice and slice, especially not her own flesh, but something so very far past eager to have answers. Something to stop her mind from whirling, from trying to figure out what the hell was happening, and more importantly, what the hell was going to happen.



“We just… look, can’t we at least wait till she wakes up, to get in line and condemn her? I know there’s gonna be issues, but let me at least fool myself for five minutes that this might possibly just work out.”



Buffy’s eyes didn’t flash steel at Willow, she didn’t try and strong arm her into accepting her will, she just showed her tiredness, her confusion, a sad smile which spoke of how much she wanted to believe that it could all work out okay.



“I’m just scared Buffy. You can’t blame me for being scared.”



“You’re a big bad Wicca, and you’re scared of that?” Her arm raised towards Faith, towards the machine monitoring her heart which beeped out that same monotonous tune of existence. “You faced The First evil, and now you’re scared of Faith?”



“No. Not quite. It’s more like, scared, for you. I know how she gets under your skin Buffy, I remember how she got under your skin, and I prefer you all, ya know, own skin under. And with you being all…”



“Being all what?”



Uh? Willow wanted to say, interested in Faith, again, but that didn’t cover it, didn’t say what she really wanted to say. Their former home may have thrived upon ignorance and denial, but deep down, Willow had read the signs. Not liked the directions, but she *had* read the signs. 



“Affected..?” Did that sound right? “Yeah. Affected by Faith… I just worry you’re gonna get caught out. Your guard isn’t up.”



“Maybe I’m sick of guards right now. Can’t I just be guard free gal for a bit?” It sounded so much easier. Buffy didn’t think she had the strength for guards right now. The day had been like a never ending endurance test, and she was sure her endurance was soon to be found wanting. Also… “And I’m not affected by Faith, I’m affected by the things we did to each other, the things that she made me do…”



“And the difference is?”



“There’s a difference.”



A thin line. A fine line. Not letting herself read between the lines.



“Sure. A real big difference.”



Willow let it go. There wasn’t anything to gain from this conversation now, there was nothing that she could do to release Buffy from her burden. Maybe it would change when Faith woke up, when she showed her true colours, good or bad. Until then this was a pointless exercise, just seeking to exhaust her friend more, rather than making her see sense.



She decided to do the only thing that did make sense. Finally assuring her own exhausted mind that rest was soon to be forthcoming. She needed to rest. She needed to replenish her own waning power. Because as sure as she wasn’t about all that was yet to pass, she was more than sure that she would be needing her power.



“I’m gonna head on out with the others, go find Angel, give him the good news. Shower, change, rest. Will you be okay till I get back?”



“Huh?” Already gone. Already back inside the gaze that never wavered. “Yeah. Go. I’ll be fine.”



Barely looking up to find a wave as Willow had left the room. Every moment pausing, wondering, waiting… would this be the moment when she woke up?




Against the odds, she had fought the need for sleep for the longest time. Her eyes red and pained with the effort of staying wrenched open, her whole body cramping with the demand to seek rest. It was inevitable that she would fall. A blink, which turned into a moment of peace, which turned into the setting for a dreamscape. Asleep. At last.



Her breathing much deeper than the girl beside her, inherent steadiness, inherent strength. But the eyes which sought to rest behind her eyelids, they were becoming just as unsettled. Little flickers at first, the tell tale sign that dream sleep is approaching, that the real world is slowly fading.



For Buffy it faded first, her mind not swirling in the same abyss as Faith’s, able to pick a point, a place that offered her the peace she needed after enduring all that had been tormenting her. Not sure if she had summoned Faith there, knowing that she wouldn’t know how to, if she was asked to, yet also knowing her thoughts had been trapped only in Faith; the same thoughts which had led her to here.



The white light not harsh and harmful, not making her shield her eyes in pain, but soft light, warm light, infusing her soul, offering her refuge and sanctuary. Buffy knew where she had brought them to; this was heaven. Her heaven.



The bed which had held her rest all those months, still waiting, her place still assured, and she headed that way now, unable not to reach out and touch. Smiling at the fresh sheets her mind had produced, sat off to the side, waiting to be laid upon the bed.



“Damn. I know we’re in *your* head this time.”



The first words Buffy had heard, the first time those tones had tickled her senses in years. Sure, there had been the timid taunts outside of the crumbling school, but none of those words held Faith. They were too broken. No, this was Faith. Buffy’s eyes raising from the bed to take a look at the one who had been occupying her mind.



“You’re fixed.” The words streaming as if on playback. No thought to say them, just the compelling need to release the sound.



“Yeah. I’m a tough cookie.”



Buffy smiled at that. A look of pure pleasure. Her hands reaching out to pick up the sheets, beginning the task of making her bed. Paving the way towards rest. “Help me?”



“I never did know how.” Yet Faith was already moving. Her own head not finding the confusion of the dream, just accepting the space, the room, something comforting in her soul. Her hands moving as if making the bed with Buffy was the most natural thing in the world, timeless, smoothing over sheets, a careful placing of pillows. “Sure is a big bed for a solitary hero.”



“One girl in all the world. One girl all alone.”



“That’s what they say.”



Their eyes meeting then, across the bed. Not scared, not fearful, no harrowing look of yesteryears resentful envy, no boasting to the other of the pain they could inflict. They met in peace. The patience taken to truly understand. To see past the spills of old wrongdoings, to settle in a look of truth which eased out across the dreamscape.



Buffy felt it to her core. She felt the hope and the belief, and she felt a spirit able to endure anything. It compelled more of her words. More of the kind she didn’t think to say, that were just said.



“That’s only because they don’t know about the comics by the bedside.”



Faith’s smile raising as much as hers. “We done here?”



“Just pass my comforter?” The last thing to make it right. Her hand reaching out to take the offering from Faith, no idea how it got here or why, just waiting for delivery. Ignoring that feeling that was creeping slow up her spine… a crawling…



“You not grown out of this yet?”



Expecting to look down and see Mr Gordo. Not the thing that was sitting cold and vengeful in Faith’s hand. Shining in the light that was fading fast from comfort, that was chasing her already, even though she remained standing still.



“Faith..?”



Her voice breaking now, eyes drawn to the bed as it grew mind numbingly cold, as the sheets lay in tatters, as everything was broken again.



“It’s okay.” And Faith. Not knowing. Not knowing how this world was twisting already to bring all of her demons crashing back round to face her. Foolish of Buffy to think she could ensconce them safe in heaven when so much of Faith resided in hell.



Her eyes were still smiling as they looked toward Buffy, almost done now. Not knowing why the other’s green eyes seemed to be growing darker with each breath of time, still advancing towards her, determined to give her the comfort she requested. Finally, almost begrudgingly, looking down, looking to see exactly what it was that she was offering;



“Even I know that’s a fucked up metaphor for comfort, B.”



And with those words, the world came crashing down. Her distaste at seeing the knife, only matched by her fear at feeling it, her wound festering and reopening, blood spilling down upon the pureness of the white sheets to open up a pit to hell. Swallowing her instantly, slipping and sliding down the sides, her hands clawing to find purchase, to drag herself back up.



A hand. A grasp. Clutching, grabbing…



Words again.



“I won’t let you fall… I’m pulling you up…”



Buffy’s voice finding desperate, trapped, not understanding what went wrong, how they got here. Why they left there. She knew it had changed though, she knew that they were in Faith’s head now, she knew that this much pain could never be all hers. She pulled harder, could feel herself slipping, realising that Faith was struggling against her, not with her.



“Don’t sugar coat the truth B, you know I’m pulling you down.”



Faith didn’t know where the venom had come from, but now that it was back she held it close to her heart, feeding the memories, understanding the pain. Her hand a vice around Buffy’s as she invited her down to hell.




Her breaths fought to stay in her body the harder that she ran, legs pumping, heart racing. She could feel the hunter behind her, closing in on her. Payback. Revenge. Buffy. The mirrored reflection of every bad act, the total opposite of all she ever was. Chasing her down, murder in mind.



It made Faith push harder, ducking between gravestones which had always felt like home, trying to outrun the past, the truth which pursued her like ghosts in the night.



It was different here, it wasn’t about making peace; it was about the hurt and the pain. The other side to the coin. Nothing mattering except the life which had always been hers.



“You think you can escape what you’ve done?”



Fuck. Her voice. Echoing out all around her. Not Buffy soft, but slayer hard. Determined. Making Faith’s eyes dart in every direction, wanting to plead with anyone for an escape, a way out of this, this endless cycle of agony.



“The blood keeps on flowing Faith…”



Her hands covered, dripping crimson, her clothes covered, the gash across her top opening with every encumbered step.



“…The pain keeps on growing Faith.”



God. Singsonging it down into her soul. Her knees weak, breaking beneath her, delivering her body to the earth. Laying prone and unprotected as Buffy moved closer to her side, as she lifted up her hand in a final pause.



“What, ya don’t wanna play with the big pretty knife?”



“Please…”



Every bad feeling crawling over her, crawling inside of her. Itching. Making her skin burn with the need to rip it free, to uncover herself, to destroy herself… “Please?”



“I thought you liked playing with knives, F?”



Trying to inch back as the slayer leant over her, the tip of the knife dragging pretty patterns slow across her skin, making tingles of fear slide free with the blood. All of it caressing her, heaven sent, hell sent, Buffy sent. Remembered caresses, forgotten ones…



The final one.



“Welcome back Faith.”



Plunging deep. Killing her.




The machine by Faith’s bed was beeping in frantic urgency, hitting every high note, calling forth help. Designed for this purpose, to signal emergencies, to scream loud when a patients heart sailed off through the roof. Screaming now. No monotony. Until there was silence.



Flatline. Finished.



The wires ripped from Faith’s body as she had ripped herself from sleep. Her whole body was on fire with the memory of the dream, a shared dream? She remembered Buffy there, she remembered the look in her eyes… not the bed, god, the bed was so far from the fear which encased each of her limbs. Eyes darting, eyes fixing, eyes finding their pain.



“Buffy.”



Knowing if she could just, if that voice, if she could just end it now…



Her gaze flitting round not for hope of escape, but to find a weapon, anything, immediately drawn to the chair by Buffy’s bedside. Knowing how much damage she could inflict before the other girl awoke… if she could just…



Her legs flirting with falling, but holding her firm, not encased in a gown this time, but still wrapped in the denim. She felt stronger. She felt…



A sigh from the sleeping caused her to stop. A sound. She couldn’t stop. She had to stop *this*! The fear, all of it, the confusion, no fucking clue anymore as to which god damn way was up, what was down, who the fucking hell she even was anymore.



She lifted the chair high above her head, not thinking, not even trying to enact payback, or revenge. She couldn’t think of that now… she just had to stop the fear, the agony of this endless pursuit through hell…



A door crashing back, a witch with wide eyes.



“I knew it!”



The alarms that Faith’s heart machine had set off at the nurses station had alerted a newly returned Willow to the idea of danger; and she had known, just known that crisis had found them again. Running down the hall to Buffy’s room, the door sent crashing open, and Faith. Stood, same snarl, same twisted sneer residing on her face.



She didn’t even get the chance to say ‘Red’, to annoy Willow with an over friendly, sadistically sarcastic, greeting. Because Red had already taken her down. The mojo returned, the words whispered, and Faith, trapped yet again in a sleep that was neither natural, nor peaceful.


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