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Chapter Five: School's In Session

"So, one of the first things you gotta keep in mind," I start. "Is that you don't wanna choose a weapon that's gonna be too awkward for you. Now, can anyone tell me why that's a bad idea?"

The girls shift uncomfortably, glancin' around at each other. We should be on our way to the cemetery all ready, but a couple of girls decided to bring some artillery they ain't gonna be able to handle comfortably. I thought it was as good a time as any to start the demonstrations.

"C'mon," I cajole 'em. "Somebody here's gotta have half a brain at least."

"Um," One of the girls, a kid with a shaved head and a Michigan accent, clears her throat and mutters, "Because it'll make it easier for opponents to take it away and use it against us."

"Exactly," I say, clappin' briefly and givin' 'em a fake smile. "What's your name, kid?"

"Daria Jane," She replies. "But I prefer DJ."

"Now," I say flatly, barely acknowledgin' her reply as I let the smile drop. "Get back in there and pick somethin' you know you can use. If you wanna get comfortable with somethin' new, get Ken or one of the other instructors to train you. But patrol is not the time to do it."

Several of the girls turn to go back to the armory, and I snap my fingers to regain their attention. The girls all pause on the steps, turnin' to see what the problem is. Their expressions vary from annoyance to anxiety. Jesus, I've forgotten how annoyin' it is to deal with newbies 'til now.

"Ahhhnh," I make a loud buzzer sound, "Not you five. You're fine with what you're packin'."

I point at five of 'em and jerk my thumb over at the main group. They trudge back, leavin' one standin' on the academy's steps. Then I glance back at the main group, crookin' a finger at a girl near the center. She gives me a look like, 'who, me', and I nod, givin' another fake smile.

"Yeah, you, kid."

"Why?" She asks belligerently, Aussie accent thickenin' her words. "My weapon's fine."

I eye the long sword the kid's got strapped to her back. My mouth curls into a derisive smirk as I give her the once over before returnin' my gaze to hers. Christ, she's a blonde version of me as a kid, leather pants, tight tank top, and all. Except this kid's maybe five feet in her combat boots.

"If you're that fine, Ash," I say, figurin' Trouble has to be the one Red warned me about. "You won't mind joinin' me in a little demonstration, then, yeah?"

"All right," She says, shakin' out her gloved hands as she steps forward.

"Draw your sword."

"What?" She asks, eyes widenin'. "But you're unarmed."

"Thanks, captain kangaroo. But I'll worry about me," I say cuttingly. "Draw it."

She has to angle the scabbard to the side, but still. She manages to draw without hurtin' herself or havin' to contort to do it. Sadly for her, that doesn't authorize her to use the damn thing. She has to be able to fight with it, and keep me from takin' it, and I just don't see that happenin'.

I fall into a defensive stance and make a 'come get it' gesture with both hands. She darts a look around at her friends, who're givin' her nervous looks. Then she shakes her head as her shoulders slump and then comes at me, feintin' a punch with one hand to distract me as she prepares to strike. Instead of takin' her obvious bait, I set about makin' an example of her.

The next little while, I stay on the defense as she comes at me with everything she has. It's obvious that the length of the sword keeps the maneuvers from bein' as tight as they should be. It also leaves her wide open in areas that would be protected if she wasn't overreachin'. I can see in my peripheral vision that the rest have realized what I mean, so I decide it's time to end this.

I catch the fist she swings out and then bend backwards, lettin' the blade go over my body. Then I move into the openin' left to me in the few seconds I have before she recovers. I release her fist and grab the elbow of her sword arm, holdin' it aside. Then I hook my right leg behind her knees and catch her gaze, givin' her a vicious smile as I jerk her legs out from under her.

I pivot, swipe the sword, and whirl to face her, twirlin' the blade around me. She hits the ground as I come to a standstill, sword restin' diagonally along my torso and chest. I hook the thumb of my free hand on my belt, tilt my head, and glance down at her, tappin' my fingernails on the hilt. I gently—well, as gently as a Slayer can—nudge her leg with my boot, gettin' her attention.

"I think you can all guess where she went wrong," I say, addressin' the entire group. "You never, ever choose a weapon you're not well-versed in. We may have the ability to adapt to any weapon we get our hands on, but we don't get time to do that in the field. Bringin' a weapon to a fight that you can't use doesn't just endanger you; it endangers your entire team."

"I'm one of the top swordswomen in my class," Ashley grouses as she slowly gets to her feet.

"Yeah, you might be," I snap. "But one sword isn't the same as the next, 'cause each one has its' differences; balance, fit, length, density. You gotta give your body time to memorize and adjust to the type of blade you're holdin' before you can apply what you know. It just comes off as awkward otherwise, which will get you and your team nowhere but dead."

"Then how did you manage to do what you just did?" She retorts, flushin' from embarrassment.

"Because," I drawl, givin' her a dangerous smile. "I don't train in just one weapon. One day I might use a scimitar, and the next I might play with my crossbow. Familiarity breeds comfort, which leads to an inability to adapt to the situation you're in. And that's a death wish."

"Oh," She mutters, unable to meet my gaze.

"Yeah, 'oh'," I quip. "So, you wanna go trade that in for somethin' different?"

"Sure," She mutters again, and then chances a glance up, a questionin' look in her expression.

"What?"

I consciously try to gentle my voice. I may be a bitch most of the time, but there's no reason to be now. They all got what I meant. What problem will come next is the real question, though.

"I get what you said about mine, and it even makes sense," She says, gesturin' back at the other kid I singled out. "But what's wrong with Becca's choice?"

"She looks about as comfortable holdin' that crossbow as I would be tryin' to pin a werewolf."

I recall that feelin' all too well. It ain't so much fun. God love Oz, but, Christ, that was unnervin'. 'Cause damn, the fuckin' 'gators in Louisiana had nothin' on him.

"Um," Ashley blinks. "Okay."

 


 

We're hidden in the shadows of a huge crypt just inside the boundaries of Emerson Cemetery, one of the sixteen cemeteries of this small town. It could almost put Sunnydale to shame, except the 'Dale had almost twice that many graveyards. It's just more noticeable here 'cause the town is so small, and the fact that most of it looks like suburbia Hell doesn't help.

The reason we're hidin' is that we saw a couple of wicked lookin' demons lurkin' about. Their breed looked familiar, so I wanted to see what's goin' down. Chances are, if they're hangin' around a graveyard at night, they ain't up to any good. They disappeared inside the crypt a while ago, and I wanna know what they're doin' in there, so I've been tryin' to come up with a plan.

I glance up to gage the time, and somethin' out of the corner of my eye grabs my attention. The sight of a window about seven feet up the crypt wall a little further away causes me to smile. I check to see if any of the girls have caught on to what I've seen, and I'm not disappointed. Most of them have, with the exception of Ashley, which causes me to frown briefly.

"Aight, ladies," I whisper, gesturin' them closer. "This is what we'll do. I need someone I—"

"I'll do it," Ashley hisses.

"School is in session, kid," I growl. "And it ain't nice to interrupt teacher when she's talkin'."

"Okay," She whispers. "Jeez, I'm sorry."

"Now," I continue, irritated. "As I was sayin'; I need someone I can lift up to that window. There should be a clear view of the interior and it'll let us do some simple recon without blowin' our cover. But the rest of you gotta keep a lookout to make sure our hairy friends don't have any buddies hangin' around to interrupt us."

DJ cracks softly, "Yeah, you aren't kidding about them being hairy, dude. Looks like Bigfoot and Chewy had a love child and it coughed up a hairball."

Several of us have to clamp our hands over our mouths to keep from laughin'. I shoot the kid an appreciative grin. It wasn't the most appropriate timin', but the joke relaxed the tension a bit. Some of them are a little nervous, havin' only fought in a controlled environment 'til recently.

The kid's definitely got a sense of humor. 'Course, it doesn't surprise me much. The ones with a lot of character like she has usually do. I'd expect nothin' more from a fifteen year old girl that shaves her head, wears fatigues, a studded dog collar with dog tags on it, and combat boots.

I eye DJ. If anything, she may actually be a little smaller than Ash. The top of her black stubble covered head reaches about to the rise of my breasts, if not a little lower. The only thing that worries me is her balance with those damn baggy assed drab olive cargo pants she's got on.

"Come here, kid," I mutter, wavin' her closer.

"What's shaking?" She asks, gaze dartin' to the window. "Want me to hop up?"

"Yeah," I reply. "But first, how's your balance in those pants? We've only got one chance to get this right before any noise we might make brings Chewy JR. one and two down on our heads."

"It'll be fine," She returns confidently. "I board all the time like this. I'd do PE and train in them too if it didn't send Ms. Kennedy into a freaking hissy every time I've tried."

My mouth quirks at that thought. I kneel down, ignorin' the grumbles from a couple of the other Slayers. I'll deal with Ashley and whoever else that was as soon as we're finished here. I brace my hand on the ground, and jerk my head to the side.

"Hop up, kid. But try not to pull my hair too much, yeah?"

She doesn't reply. She just places a hand on top of my head for balance and leapfrogs onto my shoulders expertly. I imagine it ain't too different from maneuverin' her skateboard over a short skate ramp. I grip her calves, steadyin' her as she straightens up to stand.

Now it's my turn. It ain't so difficult. She's lighter than B was back in the 'Dale, and I did this a few times with her back then for similar reasons. I feel DJ's legs flex as she instinctively shifts to keep her balance centered with mine as I rise straight up, bringin' a grin to my lips.

I love it when my choices are validated. I think I just found a new project. Teachin' this kid everything I know could be interestin'. I think she could end up teachin' me just as much.

 


 

I'm about to lower myself back to my knee when I hear it. A loud, very deliberate cough comes from behind me. I recognize the sound of the owner's voice and I wanna kill her. 'Cause I know she did it 'cause she was too fuckin' impatient to wait any longer for a fight.

"DJ, get down," I bark.

She does a back flip off my shoulders and I hear her land just as I see two blurs comin' at us from around the corner of the crypt. I should've taken the girls back and gone to HQ for some research and backup before confrontin' these guys. They're movin' too fast for any of us to get our bearings. They're in our midst before I can react, before I can even get turned around.

Huge hands grab a fistful of my hair and my left forearm, jerkin' me back towards its owner, nails diggin' into my skin painfully. Usin' an old tried and true method, I clench my fist and slam it into his groin, knuckle first, with all my strength. He lets out a howl that makes my ears ring and shoves me away, makin' me stumble as I turn to face him. I see movement behind him, and I smile, confusin' him just long enough for whatever the girls are plannin' to work.

The smell hits me first, followed in rapid succession by a sloshin' sound, then the gulp of liquid gushin' from a bottle. A split second later, glass shatters on gravel, a lighter flares to life, and then I hear the whoosh as the demon goes up in flames. I ain't given a chance to appreciate the smell of burnin' fur and whiskey before I'm violently reminded that there was a second one.

Its' hand wraps around my throat from behind, cuttin' off my oxygen. I reach up to pry its' fingers away, but it's too strong, leavin' my nails to claw at its' rough skin. The demon ignores my attempts at escape, slammin' me back against the crypt with a bellow of rage echoin' the other one's screams of pain. My head hits the cement with a sodden crack, one that causes an explosion of color in my head, makin' my eyes burn from tears and my sight blur at the pain.

I'm stunned for just a sec. Then, distantly, I hear the girls callin' for me and a few sounds of pain as they try to get Chewy Jr. to let go only to be batted away like flies. I can feel pressure buildin' up in my head, makin' it throb even more painfully. My chest burns as I struggle for air, makin' me fight harder, but the angle I'm at makes gettin' any kicks in pretty much impossible.

On the verge of panickin', I force one of my hands to let go of the demon. Then, hopin' it don't notice, I slip my hand down between us to grab the knife at my belt. The demon pulls me to it with another angry scream, and then slams me into the crypt again. The blast of pain leaves me reelin' on the verge of unconsciousness, unable to see, unable to breathe, nearly unable to think.

It takes everything I have to keep my grip on the hilt of the Bowie knife. Keepin' my movements steady and subtle 'til I'm in position, I struggle not to give into the queasiness rumblin' my gut. Then, at last, I strike, just as it slams me back again. I bury the twelve inch blade in past fur, past skin, past muscle, just as my skull cracks against the crypt again, sendin' out a spray of stone.

Somethin' pops in my head. I feel it give way with a rush of ice cold and fiery heat that radiates out from my skull to the rest of my body. My every breath is labored, as my gaze catches the pained huge coal black eyes starin' back at me. My lips curl into a snarl and I drag the blade from one side of his gut to the other, hot blood and somethin' slimy spillin' out over my hand.

The demon falls backwards, fingers finally releasin' me, nails scrapin' my throat as it does. I twist so that I land away from it. I hit the hard packed ground on my back, blinkin' once, twice, twitchin' as the conflictin' sensations of hot pain and cold numbness spear my skull behind my eyes. Then I look up, seein' several pairs of concerned eyes gazin' down at me, and then one last spasm of pain sends a brighter kaleidoscope of colors through my head, robbin' me of it all.

 


 

Chapter Six: Cluster Code Red

"Trauma alert, STAT; trauma admitting. Trauma alert, STAT; trauma admitting. Cluster Code Red."

There were several sets of codes that the ISDAC used, some more often than others. And there were a few codes they always hoped to never hear again. The one that had just been broadcast over the intercom system wired throughout the clinic was one such code. If anything, it was one of the ones they would give almost anything they had to avoid hearing.

A Cluster Code Red meant that, 1: a leader was down, 2: condition was critical, 3: hasn't regained consciousness, and 4: the patient needed restrained. There was a line of procedure to follow in the case of any Cluster Code. All medical personnel would respond to the page, a call would be placed to page all board members of the ISDA, and a team would be sent out to finish off the responsible party if it was deemed necessary. If these steps weren't followed, they all shuddered to think of the consequences once their bosses got a hold of them.

At the front desk of the clinic, a nurse glanced up as she heard the announcement. She felt her heart slam against her ribcage and then it resumed beating at a rapid pace. Even as she heard doors opening up and down the corridors to her right and left, she was reaching for the phone. Punching a short sequence of numbers into the black cordless phone, she brought it to her ear.

The moment the ringtone stopped, she barked, "Cluster Code Red."

 


 

Somewhere inside the ISDA headquarters, an ISDA dispatcher clicked a program open on his computer. He searched the files for the corresponding menu, and then selected it. Another program popped up, this one displaying a list of ISDA board members. He guided the Trackball so that the pointer was over the send button, hesitated a moment, then clicked.

Then he slumped back in his seat, eyes closed. Turning his face toward the ceiling, Jonas Norton did something he hadn't done since he was a young man. He'd given up his faith in God the day his father had told him that his Slayer, the girl Jonas had been raised with, had died in action. For the first time since, Jonas' heart told him that it was the right thing to do.

 


 

Six pagers went off, startling five of their owners. The sixth was clipped to the owner's belt, the vibration not even registering to the EMT as she kept track of Faith's vitals. For her, it was more startling to see someone usually teeming with life so deathly still. She tried not to recall the sight of the ISDA director sprawled on the ground by that crypt, blood pooling around her head.

It wasn't much easier to see her the way she was now. Blood stained the side of her face where it had been smeared, whether it was hers or the demon's was debatable. Her dark hair was matted with cemetery rubble and drying blood, and bloodstained white bandages stood out in stark relief over her throat. Her arms lay at her sides, left forearm bound in more bloody bandages, right hand stained with dark red blood and a sticky, deep purple fluid.

An IV led from the top of her left hand to the bag of fluid swinging with the movement of the MED van from a metal pole attached to the gurney. A white plastic vitals monitor had been attached to her middle finger on the same hand. A small red patch had been applied to the top of her right hand, a magically enhanced item courtesy of Willow. It prevented the patient from going into shock caused by sepsis and slowed the effects of any type of poison.

Every so often, the EMT's eyes darted to that oh so pale face. She'd been an EMT for years, well before she'd been Awakened by Willow's spell. She wasn't numb to her job, but she hadn't ever felt as heavyhearted as she did now. It was one thing to work on a complete stranger, and yet another to have one of your bosses depending on your abilities to keep them stabilized.

Their ETA was less than three minutes when the spasms began. It was things like this that had led to the ISDA's mandate for magically reinforced materials. Standard metal would've buckled as her partners practically had to climb onto the gurney to hold Faith still. Her own hands shook as she worked to apply the reinforced black leather restraints to Faith's wrists, waist, and legs.

 


 

Willow and Kennedy shared a long look before they began to dress. The Cluster Code could've only been for one person; Faith. The branch director was the only one of the board members scheduled to be out tonight. The regular patrol had been taken out by Rona and Vi.

Willow felt the guilt heavy in her stomach. She had been the one to convince Kennedy that she should take the night off to give her back more time to heal. And there was a part of her that was grateful that it hadn't been Kennedy out there tonight. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

Most of their differences had been settled on the ride to Sunnydale way back when. Anything that might've been left was settled as she saw how hard Faith had worked to help them get to where they were now. She had come to not just trust and respect Faith, but to regard her as a true friend. In her eyes, Faith had become as much a part of their family as any one of them were.

As for Kennedy, she couldn't stop the self-disgust and anger that flooded her as she hurried around their bedroom getting dressed. It was her weakness, her lack of concentration in her class the previous day that had landed Faith in the clinic. She'd have been with her class for the night's demonstration and Faith would be safe at Buffy's tonight if it hadn't happened. Instead, she'd been having sex while one of her best friends was going through God knew what.

It was five minutes after the pager had gone off that found them making their way out the door. Willow locked and shut the door behind them, and then turned to walk down the porch steps. She froze on the bottom step, causing Kennedy to bump into her back as a thought occurred to her. She glanced back over her shoulder at her lover, eyes wide with a mix of fear and pain.

"What's wrong, baby?" Kennedy asked, placing a calming hand on Willow's shoulder.

Then Willow uttered five words that put both their hearts in a vice-grip, "We need to call Buffy."

 


 

"Oh bloody Hell," Rupert Giles spat, shoving the pager back into the pocket of his tweed blazer.

"Is there a problem, Rupert?"

Giles had to bite his tongue to withhold the scalding torrent of invectives begging to be let loose. It wasn't his old friend's fault that it had happened. It was merely the nature of the beast. They all knew the dangers of their lives, Faith and Buffy more so than he and his other children.

"One of the children is being taken to the clinic," He muttered, gathering his belongings.

"Oh dear," Everett Benton replied. "Is there anything I can do?"

Giles paused, considering the slightly younger man. They'd gone through Oxford together upon Giles' return to his academic studies. They'd been close friends, Everett having been one of the first watchers he'd come across who hadn't scorned him due to his past. He'd also been the one that had helped him keep on the path to redemption, oft times having to help rein in his temper.

"Perhaps you could come along with me to the clinic," He muttered tightly, and then added in a hiss, "And keep me from tearing the girls that were with Faith a new one."

 


 

"I'm sorry," Xander said, tossing his napkin on the table as he stood. "I need to respond to that."

"Oh," Emily, his date for the night, responded. "The telephone is near the front desk."

"Ah," Xander winced. "That's not quite what I meant. One of my business partners, and a personal friend of mine, has been injured and it's pretty serious. I need to go see her."

"Her?"

Xander recognized that tone. He didn't like that tone. That tone meant he wouldn't be getting any for the foreseeable future, or ever, depending on his response. But he hated jealousy.

He didn't want a relationship. He was just lonely and she was a beautiful woman that didn't work with him. That was the only reason he'd agreed to the date after she'd asked him out. Well, there was that, and the fact that she came up negative for Willow's demonic detection spell.

"The majority of my friends are female," He answered simply, pulling his black leather coat on. "And they always come first. If you have a problem with that, I'm sorry."

He left her sputtering in outrage and tossed a tip at their waiter as he passed him on his way out. The nasty looks he received from a few of Dante's Bar & Grill's other patrons as he went by didn't even register. He was too busy imagining what they'd do to the demon community if Faith didn't make it. Nobody fucked with any of Xander's girls and got away with it.

 


 

Procedure dictated that when the MED van was dispatched, the patrol leader was to accompany them to the clinic. The 2IC was to be left in command of patrol. It was assurance that someone was focused on possible ambushes, leaving the EMTs to focus solely on the patient. In the event that the patient was somewhere else, an EMT would contact the leader to meet them at the scene.

The only escape clause to the procedure was if a class from the academy was involved. If that were the case, then the patrol leader was required to escort them to where they were supposed to be. There was always at least one Slayer on the MED van team, and all EMTs were required to at least take a self-defense course at the academy during their initial hire-by-trial period. They were perfectly capable of protecting themselves if it were required, it just wasn't preferable.

That was how Rona found herself leading a group of sophomores to the ISDAC. She'd left Vi in command of their team once she'd gotten off the phone with Ellen, one of the MED van drivers. She and her team were initially scheduled for patrol the following night but she'd switched with Faith so that the branch director could help Kennedy out. She couldn't help but wish she hadn't.

She'd learned to deal with being a Slayer. Hell, she was even proud of it now. But that didn't mean she wanted to be a babysitter for a bunch of kids, even if they were Slayers. She'd become fairly happy with the fact that she was an only child since they'd started the ISDA.

It was a little harder to control her instincts when she was around them. It wasn't that she didn't like them, some of them were cool. Their lack of control just rubbed her the wrong way. She'd have to find out how Kennedy and Faith dealt with it, because she couldn't let it continue.

She flinched at the reminder. She'd caught a glimpse of Faith as the EMTs had worked to stabilize her at the scene; Faith might not have the chance to answer her questions. The thought of her boss and friend losing her life made Rona's heart clench painfully. She shook her head roughly and tried to push the thought from her mind; it was safer to focus on the sophomores.

They really had her on edge. They'd been silent since she'd arrived at the cemetery, but the atmosphere was so heavy with aggression that she could taste it. It burned like peppers sitting on the back of her tongue, letting the juices drain down her throat. It freaked her out a little.

She'd caught a few looks that had left her wary. They weren't directed at her, so it wasn't that she was worried the girls were going to pull something on her or anything. She just suspected that whatever had happened to Faith tonight, one of them had been the cause. It took everything in her not to turn around and beat that little smug looking blonde bitch until she spilled it all.

If looks could kill, she'd be dead all ready as it was. Rona smirked faintly. The enraged promises in the little butch girl's gaze every time she looked at the other girl said more than anything else. It was enough to make her profoundly relieved when they reached the ISDAC.

 


 

 

Chapter Seven: The Waiting Room

Willow and Kennedy were the first to arrive. They showed their IDs to one of the two Slayers on duty in the guardhouse and then the guard pressed a button to buzz open the parking garage gate. They continued on inside, feeling the tingle of the barrier spell in place dance over their skin. It was a protection spell that Willow had fine-tuned to keep out anything or anyone unauthorized.

The garage was well lit, as always, by the halogen lights along the cement walls. The first level was the Visitor and Inpatient Lot. Willow drove the car up the ramp at the back of the garage that led to the last level, labeled the ISDA Staff Lot by the bold yellow lettering above the overhang. With the exception of the fifteen or so vehicles belonging to Staff, the private garage was empty.

The MED van garage was on the opposite side of the clinic, making exits easier for the EMTs. They'd kept the original design when they'd bought the clinic building. It had seemed easier to buy the clinic that had been closed due to lack of funding than to build their own. What made it even more appealing to them at the time was that the old clinic saved them from more research.

If they'd built their own, it would've been a very involved process. There were requirements that had to be met to bring a hospital or a clinic up to spec, even if it was private. Add in that they'd have had to research even more than they did, plus the extra time it would've taken to acquire building permits, and then building it and it would've taken too long. They'd needed something immediately, because the Cleveland medical personnel weren't as oblivious as Sunnydale's.

Willow parked the small car in the last space near the elevator. It would provide a faster escape route if necessary. Then she shut the engine off, pulled the key from the ignition, and slumped back against the seat. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

Her eyes burned from the tears that had been threatening to fall for the last half hour. Telling Buffy had to have been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. It had been a long time since she'd heard that cold hard tone in Buffy's voice. She'd almost forgotten what it was like, how deep it cut, when Buffy closed herself off like that.

The redhead understood why her friend found it necessary, though. Buffy felt everything too intensely most of the time. And when her emotions got the better of her, she was incapable of rational thought. It was what had made her hesitate with Angelus, what made her go after Faith with so much determination, what had rendered her catatonic when Glory took Dawn.

In the last six years, she'd watched as Buffy grew closer to Faith. She'd watched as Buffy lost some of the defeated resignation that had weighted her down since even before Glory. She'd watched as genuine smiles and laughs took the place of forced grins and chuckles. She'd watched as an indefinable spark took the place of the pain and regret in her eyes.

She'd seen as Faith finally opened herself up to them. She'd seen as some of those defensive rough edges of hers smoothed out just a little. She'd seen as resentment was replaced by respect and trust. She'd seen as haunted longing was replaced by resigned acceptance and contentment.

Kennedy's hand gently squeezing hers drew her out of her thoughts. Her eyes went to where their fingers were intertwined on the gearstick. She knew what, or rather who, it was that had made Faith feel like that, and she wished like anything that Faith would be all right so that she could get what she wanted. Willow sighed silently and glanced sideways at her lover.

"I guess it's time to go in, huh?"

"Yeah," Kennedy murmured. "We need to check on the girls and get an update on Faith."

It didn't surprise her at all that there was a part of her that wanted to say to Hell with the girls. She had long since realized that she could hold some nasty grudges. You didn't do some of the things that she'd done in her life without coming to that conclusion. Willow could sympathize with Buffy for the rage she felt that had made her go to that cold hard place earlier.

 


 

Xander pulled his F150 into a parking space two spots down from where Willow's car was parked just as Giles' Aston Martin was coming up the ramp. He threw his truck into park and then turned off the ignition, slipping the key out in the same motion. He opened the door and stepped out, slamming the door as Giles slung his car into the parking space behind the truck.

He paused, arms coming up to cross over his broad chest as he waited. His jaw was clenched, teeth grinding in suppressed rage. He didn't pay any attention to the man exiting the passenger side; it wasn't the time for curiosity. His eyes immediately found Giles' as he stepped from the driver's seat, finding the same burning intensity lighting them that he himself felt.

They didn't exchange a word. They merely nodded to each other and then Xander turned to lead the way to the elevator. Once on the elevator, the ride down was equally as silent. The doors slid open and let them out onto the first level and the three men immediately crossed to the metal door that served as a side entrance to the clinic.

They found Willow and Kennedy waiting for them just inside. Xander threw them a quizzical look as he passed, headed down the sterile corridor to the left that led to the waiting room. The two women fell into step on either side of him, Willow bringing an arm up to latch onto his for comfort. He felt her take a deep breath and waited, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

"We called Buffy before we left the house."

His steps, along with what he guessed were Giles', faltered momentarily. Then he unconsciously sped up. As much as he was concerned about Buffy, he knew what her probable state of mind could mean for the younger Slayers that had been with Faith upon her arrival. Then Willow was tugging him back, slowing his steps again, and he glanced back down at her in concern.

"They aren't here," Willow said reassuringly. "Rona has them en route. They were at Emerson."

Xander felt himself relax. Emerson was near the outer city limits, which was close to an hour away on foot for a Slayer. Maybe they could catch Buffy before the girls arrived. It would at least give them a chance to try to keep her from taking out her feelings on the younger Slayers.

They weren't stupid. They knew, from personal experience, that the demon spirit inside each of the Slayers was possessive; not just with territory, but with family and friends as well. They were Buffy's, and they'd all seen what happened when someone endangered them. Faith was Buffy's, and she was lying in the OR in critical condition and someone was responsible for it.

"Good," He managed to choke out, reaching up to loosen his tie anxiously.

"What condition is she in?" Giles asked quietly.

"The nurse wasn't prepared to give us an update yet," Willow grumbled. "The ambulance arrived less than fifteen minutes before we did."

"Mmm," Giles murmured. "Well, I'm sure we'll receive one soon."

Then they reached the waiting room. It was a relief to find that it was empty with the exception of the nurse on duty at the reception desk. As one, the group crossed to a circle of well-padded plastic coated seats at one end of the waiting room. Willow and Kennedy settled into a loveseat, while Giles, Everett, and Xander settled into the seats across from them.

"So," Willow said weakly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "Who's your friend?"

 


 

The relief was palpable as the topic provided them with something to cling to other than the current situation. As Giles gave introductions, and then broke into a brief explanation of his and Everett's somewhat convoluted friendship, it gave them the distance necessary to reclaim some of their self-control. It kept the atmosphere in the waiting room from becoming too tense. However, it went out the window the moment Kennedy felt the approach of the Slayers.

For Kennedy, the low hum she'd felt beneath her skin the moment they'd neared the clinic had been reassuring and comforting more than words ever could. It meant that Faith was still hanging on, and every moment that passed with her still there increased her chances for survival. In the back of her mind, the young Slayer had kept up a continuous plea for Faith to be okay. Then the hum began increasing and she knew what it meant and their approach made her tense in anger.

The part of her that belonged to the demon was outraged. How dare they encroach when Faith was down? How could she concentrate on her connection to her sister if they were there? It was Willow's comforting hand on her thigh that kept her from attacking as Rona entered the clinic.

Kennedy's eyes stayed glued to Rona as she led her sophomore class towards them. If she looked at any of her girls, Kennedy wouldn't care. The demon wouldn't allow her to. They were hers and they'd pay for letting Faith get hurt, and as far as she was concerned, that was Buffy's job.

Then she felt the tension and anger radiating off the girls. Her left hand balled into a fist, nails digging crescents into her palms as her other hand clenched on the seat arm. Then Willow's hand fastened on her thigh in a vice-grip and she knew her lover felt the same. The plastic cracked.

"Can you give us a report?" She distantly heard Giles ask Rona.

 


 

There wasn't a word for what DJ was feeling, or at least not one she knew of. She'd never been an emotional person until she became a Slayer. Then her world had exploded into a bundle of feelings and color that she'd never experienced in her life. And right now, she was seeing red.

She was connected to the other Slayers in a way she'd never been to her family. She felt them, felt the hum beneath her skin, like the adrenaline she got from boarding. And one of her sisters had just deliberately gotten another hurt. She wanted to teach Ashley a lesson she'd never forget.

She was amazed at the control she'd exerted thus far. But it was thinning and there was little DJ could do about it. Each time she looked at Ashley, the urge to wipe that smug look away in the most violent fashion possible grew. She'd only been a Slayer for a little over a year and her control, though advanced for her training level, was still shaky.

Judging from the expression on Kennedy's face as they entered the ISDAC, DJ wasn't the only one experiencing difficulties in control at the moment. The rest of the ISDA's board members apparently weren't that far behind, either. None of them could hide the rage they felt.

She almost jumped when Kennedy's chair broke and then Giles began to speak. She wanted to reply. But she was afraid of what she might say. She glared at Ashley again.

"I'm not really sure," Rona replied. "The girls haven't spoken since I picked them up."

Her control gave a little when Ashley began to edge away from the group. A growl rumbled in DJ's chest and she lunged, grabbing the material of Ashley's tank top in her fist and yanking her closer. Their eyes locked, and she could see the terror in the blonde's dark eyes. She didn't care.

"You fucking bitch," DJ hissed. "Where the fucking Hell do you think you're going?"

 


 

It had taken her longer than she'd liked to get there. Unfortunately, she'd been out of town when Willow's call had reached her. She'd sped all the way home. It still hadn't been enough.

It didn't matter that she'd left behind a mess she'd have to clean up later, it didn't matter that she wore someone else's clothes beneath her leather trench coat. She didn't care that she wore no makeup, or any underwear. She didn't care that her family was most likely worried about her.

She was in that cold hard place that she despised. It was the only way she'd been able to keep from breaking down from the moment Willow had murmured the words, 'There's been a Cluster Code Red'. It was the only way she'd been able to keep from taking it out on anyone else. It was the only thing that kept her from going off at the scene she walked in on in the waiting room.

The group was crowded into one of the seating areas of the waiting room. One of the younger Slayers, DJ, Buffy thought, recognizing her, had another girl in a headlock. The blonde's face was turning dark red as her air was cut off, a bruise had formed beneath her left eye, and blood trickled down her chin from a split in her bottom lip. It was obvious that the rest were trying to calm the situation down, but it wasn't working well, seeing as how they were just as upset.

 "DJ," Giles called anxiously. "Perhaps you should let her go and explain what the problem is?"

"She's just going to fucking run if I let her go," The girl spat. "It's all her fault that Faith got hurt, and she's too much of a fucking coward to deal with the consequences of her actions."

"Fuck you," The other girl snarled venomously.

"Not on your life," DJ replied coldly, glaring at her in disgust. "I'm not into trash."

Taking advantage of DJ's brief distraction, the girl hooked a leg around DJ's calf and jerked forward. DJ stumbled, losing her hold on her captive. The girl took off running, not noticing the older Slayer at the entrance. She was too determined to get away as DJ quickly took pursuit.

Buffy noticed the rest of the group's eyes widen as her presence registered. Then she stepped forward, grabbed the girl's shoulder, and using her momentum, flipped her. The girl gasped as she landed on her stomach, all the air rushing out of her. Buffy placed a booted foot on her back, and then tossed her hair back over her shoulders, looking up expectantly as DJ slid to a stop.

"So, someone wanna explain what the Hell is going on here?" Buffy's voice was flat. "Isn't there something you're supposed to be doing other than fighting with one another?"

 


 

Chapter Eight: And the Dam Broke

"You know what?" Buffy interjected as they all began to speak at once. "Don't. Just don't."

"Buffy—" Giles started.

"I...don't...want...to...hear...it," She enunciated precisely, interrupting him. "Whatever any of you have to say may just be what makes me break someone's neck right now. And I won't be picky."

They all fell silent. Giles, Xander, Willow, Kennedy, and Rona knew the viability of her words. None of the others wanted to test her. Not even Ashley, who bit her lip to hold in her protests.

Running a hand through her all ready mussed hair, Buffy asked, "Rona?"

"What do you need me to do?" The younger Slayer asked quietly.

"Take all of them, except for boot prop girl and DJ, to the dorms," She said, gesturing at the sophomores. "They can get the news on Faith with everyone else. They don't need to be here."

"Yes, ma'am," Was the quick reply.

Buffy's lips twitched. Instead of commenting, she watched as the girls reluctantly filed out past her. She ignored the muttered comments questioning who had made her boss. They had a right to be annoyed considering that it was Kennedy who was second in command, not her.

She shared a look of commiseration with Rona as she followed them out. Then she looked down at the young Slayer pinned under her hiking boot. She flinched slightly as the girl's outfit registered. Then she shook her head, exerting a little pressure with her boot to get her attention.

"If I let you get up are you going to stay put?" Buffy asked when her head turned towards her.

"Yes," Came her muttered answer.

"Good," She commented as she stepped back to let the girl scramble to her feet. Then she caught the girl's gaze, adding, "Do not make me regret trusting you. You won't like the results."

Locking eyes with Buffy, Kennedy nodded as she ordered, "Get over here, Ashley."

As Ashley hurried over to their instructor, DJ looked up to find herself the subject of intense scrutiny. She was angry that they'd interrupted, but she was also relieved. She didn't want that loss of control on her conscience. She tried not to squirm under that hazel regard.

"So, DJ," Buffy finally said, tone still disturbingly unemotional. "Tell me a story."

 


 

Much to the nurse's relief, they'd eventually gravitated back to the seating area as DJ had spoke. Now, though, Buffy stood up gracefully. She didn't pace. She just shrugged out of her long red coat and tossed it on the chair she'd just vacated before turning back around.

She hadn't said a word since DJ began to talk. She hadn't taken her eyes off Ashley yet. She'd barely registered anything DJ had said until she got to the part where Faith got hurt. She was too busy trying to work her way out of a dangerous state of mind that was all rage and hate.

Then Ashley looked up through a curtain of thick blonde hair. She met Buffy's eyes and Buffy's heart dropped. She'd seen that fearful, questioning expression once on a rooftop in LA and often before and since. It had taken her a while to answer Faith's, and she'd learned her lesson.

"W—what are you going to do to me?" The girl stammered.

"There are so many ways to answer that question," She said, grinning fiercely. "And so many ways I want to. But the only one I can live with is the way that will probably hurt the most."

"Buffy, maybe you should let—" Kennedy started.

"Shut up, Ken," Buffy interrupted flatly. "I'm not gonna hurt her, though God knows I want to."

"Okay, Buffy," Willow said soothingly. "Just tell us what you're thinking, then."

"I'm going to let Faith deal with her," She said, bringing her gaze back to Ashley's. "She'll make you understand the consequences. She's not going to be gentle about it, either."

No one said anything for a long moment. There was no reason for the adults present to question just why or how it was that Buffy had come to that conclusion. Faith had been there and done that. Then she had torn herself apart and put herself back together to fix it.

Despite the fact that they were watching, no one knew how she managed to move so quickly. One second she'd been by her chair, the next she was looming over Ashley's. Buffy placed her hands on the chair arms and leaned her face close to the younger girl's. She smiled menacingly.

"But, Ashley, let me tell you," Buffy said sweetly. "If she doesn't make it; you're...mine."

The room fell silent again. Ashley found herself unable to look away from Buffy's eyes. She had a brief flashback of Faith's earlier demonstration and knew instinctively that it would be nothing compared to what Buffy was talking about. She nodded slowly, fearfully.

"Good," Buffy muttered darkly, patting the young Slayer's cheek, hard.

 


 

Buffy's head snapped up seconds before the double doors on the left side of the waiting room swung open. The sound of approaching footsteps was loud in the eerie silence. It was the first sign of life any of them had shown since Buffy had resumed her seat after issuing her threat. There were things that needed to be arranged, but they were all too consumed by their worry.

The moment ISDAC's Chief of Surgery Doctor Gregory Ames stepped into the waiting room, his eyes met the intense hazel gaze awaiting him. His steps didn't falter. It wasn't the first time Faith had been on his operating table. It was an unfortunate result of their line of work.

He hated it. Seeing those girls so broken and bruised was hard on him. It took a considerable amount of self-control not to break down and cry each time they came in. It was made even more difficult as each of the Slayers reminded him of his own freshman daughter at the academy.

Buffy could feel her throat and chest tightening from suppressed emotion as Greg approached. It always felt like her heart was in a vice-grip when she had to step foot in a hospital environment. She knew the odds they had every time they rolled the dice, every time they went out at night. There was always a chance that someone wasn't going to come back, and it burned.

The thought that Faith might not be okay burned. There was so much left unsaid. There were so many opportunities that she'd missed, and so many that she might never get. She could feel herself slipping out of that cold hard place even as her eyes blurred, burning from her tears.

"Ms. Summers," Greg said gently as he stopped in front of her. "Would you like to take this somewhere private or would you like your friends to hear Faith's status as well?"

She didn't know why he bothered asking. Her answer would be the same as it was the first time and then again the last time he'd asked her that particular question. Except the first time Faith had to threaten to leave to get Greg to tell Buffy whatever she'd wanted to know. By the time the last visit had rolled around, Faith had set Buffy up as her medical proxy long before then.

"Just tell us," Buffy choked out, holding a hand up to stem any of his protests. "They're going to find out anyway, and I don't know if I can...if I'll be able to repeat it for them."

"All right, Ms. Summers," Greg said easily as he moved to sit down in a chair to her right.

"Faith suffered minor blood loss from lacerations to her arms, throat, and scalp, four of which required three hundred and seventy-five stitches altogether," He began. "The more worrisome injury is the internal damage from the blunt force trauma to her head. Her pupils react sluggishly, suggesting a severe concussion. The CT scans show signs of an epidural hematoma; however, the swelling and blood buildup are preventing us from diagnosing any further injuries."

None of this was really registering for Buffy. She'd heard the terms often enough, knew what they meant, but it just wasn't making sense to her right then. It was all just too much; Greg's words, Faith, Buffy's emotions, her thoughts, it was overloading her senses. She didn't even notice the violent tremor in her hand as she agitatedly brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"If the tissue doesn't begin to absorb the blood within the next three hours, the blood will have to be surgically aspirated. Typically we would prefer Faith to regain consciousness for a better prognosis before resorting to surgery, but that doesn't appear to be an option for her injury."

Willow took a shuddering breath and asked, "What do you need us to do to get that done?"

"I need Ms. Summers to sign the consent forms."

A few seconds of silence went by and the redhead looked at her best friend in concern. She flinched. Buffy was about five seconds away from losing it, and not in anger. Her complexion had paled, she was trembling uncontrollably, and her eyes shined unnaturally bright with tears.

"Buffy?" She called hesitantly, reaching out to gently clasp Buffy's shoulder.

"W—what do you need?" Buffy stammered, blinking rapidly as she glanced at Willow.

"They need you to sign consent forms for Faith's surgery," She replied quietly.

Her breathing hitched as she struggled not to burst into tears. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere else but there; she wanted to scream, she wanted a chance to tease Faith about being careless, again, she wanted to do anything but cry. She wanted to tell Faith that she loved her and have her be cocky and irritating about it and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. Then she made the mistake of looking up again, seeing her family surrounding her, and the dam broke.

"Oh, God," She sobbed as the tears spilled from her eyes to cascade over her face.

 


 

Chapter Nine: The More Things Change...

Xander wasn't surprised when he returned a half hour later with coffee cups in a cardboard carrier to find Buffy still staring at a spot on the wall. Earlier, she'd given Willow a warning glare to ward off any attempts at comfort, signed the consent forms, and then curled up in her seat as she was now. Tears were steadily streaming down her cheeks now in a silent torrent of grief and fear. She gave no sign that she even noticed her own emotional state or his approach.

He was a little shaken by her earlier demeanor. He wasn't as used to it as he once was since their interaction with her and Dawn of late was restricted mostly to their personal lives. The few times she'd come to the hospital in the past had been in the role of support for Faith. Seeing her take the role of a leader was a painful reminder of the direness of the situation and of the past.

He paused to let Willow retrieve hers and Kennedy's coffees, and then Giles stood up to accept a couple of the Styrofoam cups. As Ashley and DJ had turned down his offer of beverages, there were only two more cups left in the carrier. He glanced over at Buffy who had yet to move and wished that there was something more he could do. In lieu of any other options, he simply set the carrier down and removed a cup before tentatively approaching her.

She still gave no response. He sighed and crouched down in front of her. Xander waited. Then finally, as if unwilling, her gaze slowly trekked to his and he flinched inwardly.

So much misery and regret dwelled in her expression that Xander could almost feel it. He was at a loss for what to say to make it better for Buffy, for any of them. So instead, he just placed the gently steaming cup in the hand propped limply on her thigh and kept his grip on the cup until her fingers finally closed around it. He gave her a pained smile and stood to claim his own cup.

 


 

Giles had long since given up any pretence at professional distance from the young adults that he worked and fought with. It did nothing but harm to their relationships. Each of them had worked their way into his heart from moment one. They were his children in every way but blood.

That was why this hurt so much. Faith hadn't been the only one that had been given second chances upon their arrival in Cleveland. It had been his second chance to give Faith the positive father figure she'd never known. It had been his second chance at making amends with Buffy.

His ignorance of Faith during her initial stay in Sunnydale had been such an utter mistake. She was a young girl, no matter that she was a Slayer. How could he have expected her to survive on her own, to always know how to differentiate between right and wrong? He knew that he hadn't thought it through, that he'd been too involved in being Buffy's watcher to realize the dangers.

He'd fallen into the trap of being the man he'd been before he'd gone to Sunnydale. He'd allowed himself to forget that Faith was just a girl. He'd judged her when he'd had no right to. He himself wasn't without his own imperfections and he deeply regretted his actions to this day.

Faith wasn't the only one he'd failed, and he sometimes wondered how any of them had ever forgiven him. He'd unintentionally allowed Willow to walk the same path he himself had at one point in his life. He'd turned a blind eye to Xander's internal struggles. And he'd abandoned Buffy and Dawn, time and time again, both in the roles of Watcher, father, and friend.

Buffy's withdrawal from their lifestyle had initially worried him. His biggest fear had been that they would lose her from their lives. Then, gradually, as she showed that they were still first and foremost family, it had given way to relief. She'd taken herself and Dawn out of the frontlines of their battle and it meant that two less of his children were flirting with death on a regular basis.

It was easy to forget what she was. On Sundays when they sat around her dining table eating whatever she'd provided, teasing as only family could, relishing in laughter and contentment, it was impossible to imagine anything else. The woman they'd gotten to know over the last few years was so far removed from the girl that sent her first lover to Hell, from the vessel that tore Adam's core from his chest, from the woman that sacrificed herself to save her sister, from the General that led a ragtag group of people into and then out of a Hellmouth. Tonight was a painful reminder that she wasn't just a hardworking security guard supporting her college-bound sister.

Buffy's arrival tonight had brought all that back to the surface. It had reminded him of everything he had to be grateful for. It had reminded him of every transgression that had ever passed between them. It had reminded him that she would never truly be out of the frontlines.

She was one of the only two women in existence that could effortlessly take command of young girls and women partially governed by a demonic spirit. She was soul-bound to the matured Alpha of their line. And as much as Buffy, as a woman, was soul-bound to the Slayer's essence, she was equally bound to Faith in every way. But even as she was taking charge of the situation, Giles hurt inside because he could see how hard she was fighting to stay strong.

He suspected it didn't come as naturally for her as it once had. That wasn't to say he thought she'd gone soft. She handed Faith and Kennedy their backsides in training on a regular basis. She had just finally learned how to let her guard down again and just be the woman, not the Slayer.

He hated to see any of his children in pain or upset. But he was relieved to see the tears when they finally came. The cold veneer that she'd taken on wasn't something he had ever wanted to see again. The last thing he wanted was for her to revert to the broken woman she'd once been.

He himself had cringed as Gregory had given them Faith's prognosis. He knew why Buffy had lost control at that moment. The situation was eerily reminiscent of the past. But this time, Buffy was now only too aware of the outcome and that she had failed to prevent Faith's injuries.

Or at least that was how Buffy would most likely be looking at it. No matter that she couldn't have known that this would happen. She would blame herself for not being at Faith's side when the attack came. She would blame herself for not having been in Faith's place instead.

 


 

There had been a time when Kennedy would've resented Buffy for her interference. She'd have taken offense at it. As a Potential, she'd been far too jealous of the power Buffy possessed to see anything else. She hadn't truly understood what it meant to be a Slayer until much later.

It wasn't until she'd suffered her own losses that she finally got it, finally got her. Then, for a brief moment, she'd wished that she hadn't got it. It was one thing to ride the high of being the victorious hero. And it was another to come under fire as a leader and be found wanting.

She hadn't ever said the words. But she suspected Buffy knew. There had been a moment when their eyes had met in a clash of sorrow and apology and grief the night Kennedy lost her naiveté. Since then, she'd taken the time to get to know her lover's best friend, to become close to her.

Whereas once she'd thought Buffy an uncaring bitch, Kennedy knew better now. She knew the truth. Buffy felt things possibly more intensely than was healthy for her. And what she felt for Faith was indefinable, bordering on obsessive, jealous, violent, and desperate.

That was why Kennedy couldn't begrudge Buffy's actions tonight. That wasn't Buffy taking over as 2IC. It was Buffy handling her grief. It was Buffy taking care of the woman she loved.

She'd felt her heart break a little every time she'd seen Faith and Buffy interact for the last few years. It was so obvious to anyone who wasn't them what they felt for each other. And to her, it was more painful to see Buffy shut herself down than to see her cry now. Because the tears meant that Buffy was at least letting herself feel the emotions Faith inspired in her for once.

Kennedy knew that Ashley's only saving grace right now was that Buffy was too wrapped up in guilt and regret. She was well aware from Willow's comments that Ashley was Faith waiting to happen. That was the only reason Kennedy could think of that could possibly have stayed Buffy's hand after DJ had given her report. And Kennedy was going to respect that.

That didn't mean Kennedy wouldn't pass down her own form of punishment in the meantime. She wasn't known for going easy on her students. And she wouldn't be able to rest until she'd sated her own demon's need to retaliate. The tension would become dangerous if she didn't.

Kennedy let her eyes drift to where Ashley was curled up in the chair between her and Xander. The girl looked miserable and Kennedy couldn't bring herself to mind much. But a glance at DJ who was seated across from them beside Giles showed a similar state. Kennedy sighed inwardly.

 


 

Buffy wasn't nearly as oblivious as she might like to be. She was very much aware of her family around her, their brief discussion of coffee, and Xander's exit and his eventual return. She was very much aware of the ocean of pain welling up inside of her. It was just too hard to fight it.

There was a time when she'd have been able to do it with frightening ease. Those memories always left Buffy uneasy and disgusted with herself. She wouldn't go back to any of those stages of her life for anything. She wouldn't give up the last six years of her life for anything.

She just wasn't that person now. She wasn't deluding herself. She knew she wasn't just a glorified rent-a-cop, as Faith liked to phrase it. But she wasn't the Slayer anymore either.

Buffy knew there were things that needed done. But she wasn't in the right frame of mind to think of those details just yet. She was clinging desperately to the ghost of Faith beneath her skin. Their connection was pulsing as a reminder that Faith was alive and oh so close.

Then someone was approaching and the doors that led to the OR suite swung open again. And Buffy had to remind herself that it was too soon for any news. And she felt her heart squeeze just a bit more at that. She watched Greg's approach with all the rapt attention of a predator.

"Ms. Summers?" Greg called gently as he stopped near their area. "Faith has been prepped for surgery. We have just enough time for you to visit for a couple of minutes if you'd like."

"Yeah," She choked out as she stood, finishing off her coffee. "I'd like."

 


 

Buffy's nails were digging into the palms of her hands. Because those bruises stood out far too vividly against that too pale skin that she knew felt like silk and Faith surrounded by so much white was so disturbingly out of place. And the beep of the STAT monitor made a fresh flow of scalding tears trickle down her cheeks. It made her angry and it was bone deep agony.

Greg had pulled his team from the room to give her two minutes of privacy. It was two minutes she had to tell Faith why she absolutely could not die. It was two minutes she was certain she would go insane from once they came to an end. It was two minutes that would have to last.

She wasn't certain how she got to the side of the operating table. One moment she was standing just inside the doorway, the next, she was standing at Faith's side. Her eyes darted across the dark pink scratches and the stitches along Faith's arm as her own hand reached out for Faith's. The moment their skin touched, their connection throbbed hard and Buffy let out a harsh sob.

She took a seat on the stool at the head of the table, struggling not to look at the wounds on Faith's throat that were too bright against Faith's skin. It was almost too much. It was hard not to sink into guilt and regret when Faith wasn't awake to smack her for it tonight. There were too many parallels, one of them sitting out in the waiting room, and too many memories.

With a ragged intake of air, Buffy leaned forward and pressed her lips to Faith's temple. She ignored the overpowering scents of sanitizer, medicine, and other hospital odors. Instead, she focused in on the smells that were all Faith and Slayer and it made it easier to breathe again. A bittersweet smile creased her lips and she let her eyes drift shut as she spoke from her heart.

"I love you, you stubborn bitch. You better wake up. I want to get laid in the most spectacular fashion in the moonlight and I want a wakeup call to remember on my f—fiftieth by—" Her voice broke and she had to take several deep breaths before she could finish, "By someone who knows how."

It was a subtle hint at Faith's affinity for classic romance films. That was a revelation for Buffy the first time she'd caught Faith watching one. Faith's ability to repeat the entire script of several very old movies was an endearing trait. But the memories proved to be too much right then.

Trembling violently, Buffy released Faith's hand, her heart immediately sinking at the loss of that physical connection. She jumped from the stool to leave, ignoring it as it clattered to the ground. Glancing over her shoulder for one last glimpse of Faith, Buffy felt her breath catch. Faith's left hand, the one Buffy had been holding not long ago, had moved just slightly.

 


 

Chapter Ten: What was I Saying?

Giles was a little relieved when the doctor came to retrieve Buffy. He felt that a few minutes alone with Faith, unconscious or not, would be the best for her. He also hoped that it would perhaps give him a moment to gather his thoughts. It was something he desperately needed.

His anger had cooled greatly. Instead, he felt sadness. That they hadn't realized what was going on before it was too late. That Ashley gaining their attention had come at the price that it had.

She wasn't the first 'problem child' that they had come across in the years since they'd come to Cleveland. She wasn't even the first to be missed until she had truly become a problem. It was a sad fact of life when you crossed a demonic spirit with teenage hormones. But acts of rebellion from a Slayer always resulted in much darker consequences than those of a teenage human.

He wouldn't get any further involved than he all ready was. It was protocol for the senior Slayers and team leaders to maintain discipline over the younger Slayers and their teams. The only exception to that rule was if one of the Slayers in question broke the Cardinal Rule. If they killed a human then the entire ISDA board had to evaluate the situation and proceed as voted.

His gaze fell on Ashley's huddled form. Giles truly hoped this situation didn't come to that. He didn't envy her if it did. She would be hard pressed to find a sympathetic member in that case.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Perhaps one of us should escort DJ and Ashley to their dormitories? I believe both of the young ladies need their rest."

"What?" DJ protested. "Why can't we stay here?"

"As far as I am aware, the two of you still have duties to tend to," Giles answered firmly.

"That's not fair," DJ stood up.

"Classes haven't been canceled for tomorrow," Kennedy interjected. "And even if I have to have you escorted to the academy by dorm guards, both of you will be in class come eight AM."

It was the unyielding look Kennedy shot DJ that curtailed any further objection. Then it was silent for a long moment until Ashley snorted softly. Everyone shot a look at her, warning her that it would be best to keep any and all comments to her self. Wisely, she did.

 


 

Kennedy tossed a questioning glance Willow's way. She was reluctant to leave the immediate vicinity. She didn't want to leave her lover there alone, and she didn't want to leave until she knew Faith would pull through. But these two were her responsibility as they were her students.

It's really okay, Ken, Willow responded telepathically. I'd rather you were with me, but it's not like I'll be alone. There's Xan, Giles and Everett. And Buffy needs me so I can't come with you.

All right, Kennedy replied halfheartedly. I'll escort them back to their dorms. Which SIC is on duty at Ashley's tonight? I'll need to know so that I can give them their orders.

SIC was an acronym for Slayer in Charge. It was the official title for the Slayers that headed up the guardhouse rotation teams each shift at all of their properties. But unlike the guard positions, SIC wasn't a temporary one. Guards were light duty work for those who were either injured, or for the ones that didn't want to be in the frontlines of their battle.

It's Ava Mendez.

Kennedy smiled faintly. She was very much aware of the young woman in question. Ava was a single mom to a precocious toddler that had had wrapped both Kennedy and Willow around his pinky at first sight. On the occasions that Ava worked dayshift at the academy, they encouraged Ava to bring Eli with her so that they could watch him for free for her while she worked.

"Sure thing, Giles," Kennedy said aloud, standing abruptly. "I'll take them."

 


 

Buffy looked through the observation window of the OR at Faith for a long moment, the activity around Faith barely registering to her. She wasn't going to stay long because she had no desire to see what was coming. She just needed a moment to adjust to the shift in her emotions. The sight she'd received before leaving the operating room in a daze had flipped a switch inside of her.

Buffy had hated Faith for the longest time. It had been jealousy and prejudice fueled. Faith had had the freedom Buffy had longed for and nobody's expectations had weighed on her. And Faith had been everything Buffy and the friends from her LA life had looked down on and more.

Then there had been the bitter, possessive rage. Faith had hurt Buffy's friends. She'd taken Xander's innocence. But then she'd gone after Angel and that became all Buffy could see.

It was only later after the dust had settled and Angel had left her that Buffy's anger began to fade to regret, to guilt that burned from the inside. Her mind began to shift through could haves, would haves and should haves. Her heart was searching for reasons. Her nights were haunted by the memories of Faith and Buffy's friends had thought it was Angel's absence eating at her.

She'd been content to let them continue to think that. She'd wanted them to believe that she'd forgotten Faith. She hadn't been able to stomach the thought of telling them that Faith's name alone invoked an ache in her chest that took her breath away. She'd just wanted to forget.

She hadn't wanted to believe the things her thoughts were telling her. She hadn't wanted to think of the picture of Faith that her mind had pieced together. She hadn't wanted to even consider the reasons Faith had become the twisted person Buffy had known. Buffy had clung feebly to her anger despite the fact that she could feel it slipping further and further away each day.

Then there had been Riley and he'd been a convenient distraction. Buffy hadn't been looking for love and her friends couldn't have understood that. They wouldn't believe she was capable of being that callous even now. Then the hospital had called her and it all came crashing down.

Buffy's thoughts had been frantic. She hadn't killed Faith. Faith had woken up. Faith was awake and Buffy had needed that second chance even if she didn't want it, even if she'd hated her need.

But Faith had stayed the person Buffy had dreaded. They'd fought and threatened and Buffy was angry again. But that time it was Buffy's body Faith stole instead of her fries. It was Riley Faith slept with instead of Xander and in the end, it was Riley Buffy was angry with and not Faith.

She'd expected Faith to crush her hopes because that was Faith's modus operandi. But Buffy had felt that Riley should have known that it wasn't Buffy that was touching him. And some part of her had hated him for not being Angel because Angel would've known before Faith touched him. Then there was Cordelia's call, telling her that Faith was in LA and there came the familiar rage.

That was when Buffy finally began to let Angel go. She would always love him. But the pain of him turning on her for Faith had been too much. It had been too much like betrayal for her liking.

It wasn't until years later that she understood why she'd bothered to defend Faith from the Council on that rooftop. Buffy had originally passed it off as her inability to stand by and let a human—even if it was Faith—get killed. But Faith was part of her, for better or worse, and the thought of losing that phantom sensation that always lurked beneath her skin was too much to bear. Even worse was the thought of someone else being the presence behind that sensation.

That thought made her choke every time. That feeling of someone else ghosting beneath her skin was always associated with Faith even when Buffy had hated the reminder. Not even Kendra could touch that, even though the feeling had originated with her. It almost made Buffy cry with relief the first time she'd realized that while she felt the Empowered Slayers, it was so different.

It had taken life and death and love and loss for Buffy to finally see what lay behind her hate. She loved Faith. It was obsessive, possessive, violent, desperate, and angry. Faith was her other half by destiny, blood, tears, sweat, and pain, and the reverse was true about Buffy for Faith.

Buffy knew how Faith felt about her. She always had on some level, but Buffy had been a self-involved little girl thrust into an adult's world when she and Faith began. Then after the First, when they'd come to Cleveland, the timing had been all wrong. Faith had had Robin and Buffy had wanted to get to know the woman Faith was and Buffy never had tolerated loneliness well.

Buffy had dated often since settling into her life. There had been a few she'd cared for, but Buffy had always known that none of them would—could—ever be more than relief from being alone. She always broke it off the moment she realized that someone, them or Faith, thought it was more. Buffy hadn't wanted Faith to get the wrong idea and she hadn't wanted to hurt anyone.

There were still things Buffy wanted to know about Faith. She wanted to know what caused that haunted expression that gave way to the remainder of Faith's innocence at times. Buffy wanted to know what sometimes drove Faith to come to her house after midnight looking so, so lost. And she wanted to know why Faith was so terrified of love even after all this time.

She hadn't wanted to push. It had been a couple years since Faith's fight or flight instincts had kicked in around Buffy, but Buffy had refused to risk it. She wasn't afraid for herself. She was afraid of the things Faith put herself through when she fell off the edge she sometimes clung to.

But this was too close. There was too much left unsaid and this had been too close. Buffy had been content to let Faith come to her when she was ready for love, for them. But there was too much that needed to be said and Buffy needed to have Faith in her arms in love and for life.

I am, so, so sorry, Max. But I love her and I can't breathe without her anymore.

 


 

Willow had learned a lot in her young life. One of those lessons was that to say everything would be all right or anything to that effect was just asking for trouble. But there were times when you just knew everything would be all right. And meeting Buffy's gaze as she returned from the OR was one of those moments and it was one Willow Danielle Rosenberg would never, ever forget.

There was a familiar fire in Buffy's eyes that hadn't been there since she'd arrived at the hospital tonight. It was determination and assurance and a little bit of pride. It would have been mistaken for arrogance by anyone who didn't know what made a Slayer who she was. Willow had to look away to keep from bursting into happy tears and that was when she took notice of something.

In the harsh light of the waiting room, it was obvious that the clothes Buffy wore weren't hers. The jeans were longer than she was used to seeing on Buffy and they hung loose around her hips. The un-tucked white button up that she wore was just as ill-fitting. The messily rolled up sleeves told the story of Buffy having shoved the sleeves up above her elbows in her hurry to dress.

It wouldn't have seemed odd if they were men's clothing. But they were obviously female. Willow blinked, realizing that Buffy had reentered their seating area. And though Buffy's expression hadn't really changed, there was now a wry smile of resignation present.

The obvious conclusion just wouldn't be ignored. The 'boyfriend' they hadn't met, the one Buffy rarely talked about, it wasn't a guy. That was why Buffy was uncomfortable discussing him with Faith. Buffy hadn't wanted Faith to know she was dating another woman, essentially cheating.

Oh my Goddess. It was pure willpower that kept Willow from choking the words out. Outwardly, she just blinked at Buffy in astonishment, receiving a shake of the head. Oh, no you don't, missy, this may not be the time for it, but you're not going to get away without an explanation forever.

 


 

 
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