Chapter Text
Being back in Sunnydale was trippy. Hell, being on the outside in general was trippy.
It was Wesley who had been sent to tell Faith the news of Buffy’s death. He offered to help her break out right then and there, but she told him to come back in two days.
She went back to her cell and cried for 24 hours.
She wasn’t confident enough to say that she had known, but something had been off for weeks. She’d jerked awake in the middle of the night on a Tuesday in a cold sweat after having a dream that she’d jumped off of the edge of the earth, or something like that – it was from wicked high up, anyway. The dream had been all dark blues and black skies and twinkling lights that were too harsh to be stars. When she woke up, her heart was beating out of her chest, lungs tight and ears ringing like she’d just swam to the bottom of a pool. She chalked it up to a prison nightmare – she’d had plenty of those since getting to California Women’s – but couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling it gave her. For weeks she walked around feeling slightly less tethered to the ground, vaguely empty inside. It was a feeling akin to hunger, but she had no appetite.
After a couple weeks the dreams got lighter and warmer. Golden waves framed the periphery of her sight; gray and green fractals of light flickered through cloudlike shapes. Faith would wake up remarkably calm and well-rested. She hated these dreams more than the nightmares: the harsh reality of prison felt much more bleak and monochrome on those mornings.
Prison was mostly of the bad, but there had been decent moments too. There were a few girls who got it; a couple social workers that made her feel not-crazy for the first time in her life; this one cook who made a passable imitation of New England clam chowder. And knowing that she was stuck in one place for a while had given her time to reflect on what she’d done. Faith wasn’t exactly “healed,” in her shrink’s words, but she was starting to be able to sit with those memories – of her crimes, her wrongdoings, the damage she had caused – and believe that maybe one day, she could repent.
Sure, she didn’t expect that she’d get a chance this soon, but no time like the present, right?
Two days after his visit, Wesley picked her up and took her to Angel’s place in L.A. She spent her time adjusting to real life again – crazy stuff, like wearing shoes with laces and showering alone. When she walked into the kitchen on the morning of her fourth day there, Angel’s uncomfortable look from the table told her all she needed to know.
“When?” she asked.
“Willow’s driving down now,” he replied, finally making eye contact.
“Thanks for everything.”
She got a nod from Angel on her way out, his hands clasped in front of him, which was basically a hug if he were a normal person. Or a person at all, really.
She mostly let Willow talk on the way to Sunnydale. She gave Faith a rundown on everything that had happened: Glory, The Key, the platform. Some of it sounded familiar to Faith, and a shiver ran down her spine when she realized she might have dreamed it.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
Willow hesitated. “A little over two months.”
When Faith said nothing, Willow carried on nervously, glancing over at between stuttering words. It was the first time she’d seemed scared of Faith since she’d gotten in the car. “We just needed… time. T-to figure stuff out.”
Faith slowly unclenched her jaw and took a deep breath. “I get it,” she said after a moment.
They were supposed to work together now, so she needed to play nice. Needed to step it up, like Buffy would have. For too long, the rage in her belly, that white-hot pilot light of anger, had been her north star. She’d strike a match on it without hesitation, let it consume her. She liked to think that she knew better now. That she might be able to tamp it down; maybe one day, she’d even put it out. For Buffy, and for herself.
When they finally arrived in Sunnydale, there were re-introductions to be made: Dawn, older and moodier; Tara, kind but awkward as she acknowledged the last, and only, time that she and Faith had met, when Faith had been in Buffy’s body. There was probably some irony to be found there now, but in that moment, the memory only made Faith grimace.
She was offered Buffy’s room, but opted for a cot in the basement. She couldn’t bear to see anything of Buffy’s just yet. It was bad enough that the house still smelled the same as the last time she was there, standing in Joyce’s room, preparing to torture her, praying that Buffy would come and find them first. Potpourri and fresh laundry.
Learning about Joyce’s death was nearly as bad as Buffy’s. Faith was thankful when no one asked why she’d hidden away in the basement for the rest of the night.
—
She breathed deeply, enveloped in silence. Light reflected lazily off of golden waves. She was warm.
Then she woke up, gasping lungfuls of air, and it was dark and damp and quiet. She remembered that she was in Buffy’s basement, and stared at the ceiling tiles until her muscles twitched, anxious to move.
So Faith tiptoed upstairs. The house was still dark and eerily quiet as its usual residents slept. She had gotten used to constant noise in prison, and eventually learned to tune out incessant talking, screaming, snoring. It had been unbearable at first, then slowly became the norm. Now the silence of the outside world felt worse.
She went into the kitchen and ended up fiddling fruitlessly with the coffeemaker while wondering what store sold cigarettes at five in the morning. A knock alerted her to Tara standing at the threshold. She offered a small wave before joining Faith at the counter; gently, she reached around her to flick a small switch on the coffeemaker that Faith hadn’t noticed. It gurgled to life, and Tara gave her a small smile.
“Thanks,” Faith said.
They stood in silence for a moment, observing the sputtering appliance. Faith cleared her throat.
“Been a minute since I’ve been here. Where’s the closest gas station, you think?”
Tara bit her lip and pointed out the window. “Two blocks that way, left on Elm, then it’s a few more blocks.” She looked at Faith, her eyes wide but calm. She spoke simply. “Willow thinks you might try to run. Will you?”
“Tara.”
Faith whipped around. Willow was walking into the kitchen, brow furrowed as she stared at her girlfriend. Tara stood up a little straighter as Willow approached them. Faith suddenly felt like a little kid standing in between her parents fighting – a little too close to home. She fought the urge to retreat, and assumed a casual pose, leaning up against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest.
“We might as well ask, babe,” Tara said, glancing at Faith. Her tone was calm but assertive, and Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly as she dragged her eyes from Tara to Faith.
The flame in her belly flickered lukewarm. It threatened to lick through her veins and give Red a piece of her mind, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them to see both women staring at her and fought the urge to scream. Instead, she said through gritted teeth: “What am I doing here, Red?”
“Buffy –”
“Is dead, I know. But you gotta be pretty desperate to call in enemy number one. What gives?”
“We’re not desperate. But we think the demon population got word that Buffy’s… gone. Anyway, we don’t know what they’d do if –”
“And how do you know they’re all caught up?” Faith scoffed.
Willow fidgeted, looking impatient. “Spike heard something.”
Faith felt her eyebrows meet her hairline. “Spike? That Billy Idol vamp? The – oh, I don’t know – evil one?”
It was Tara who spoke this time, taking a step to position herself between Willow and Faith. “He’s been helping us,” she said slowly, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “He’s kinda… neutered?”
Buffy might have interrogated this explanation, asked for more details or for Giles to research something. But Faith couldn’t bring herself to care, not when it was clear that these fools had been trusting a vamp over her all this time. She gripped the countertop behind her and looked at the floor. “And now the better solution is housing a fugitive.”
Willow’s tone was cold. “I took care of that. Your record’s clean.”
Faith didn’t ask how. When she looked up, Willow was watching her, hawklike. She consciously loosened her grip on the counter and crossed her arms instead.
“And now what? I take orders, do your dirty work?”
Both Willow and Tara visibly bristled. “It’s not orders, Faith –” Tara started.
“So maybe I’m your errand girl then. Got it.”
“Just until we…” Willow started to mumble, but Tara shot her a glare. Faith laughed, more out of surprise than humor.
“'Til you what? Grow Slayer powers of your own? You got a Chosen One Chia Pet somewhere?”
Willow didn’t respond. Tara was still staring at her, brow furrowed, and the tension in the room ballooned. Faith figured would press that question again later. She still had more to get through right now.
“Who else knows that I’m here?” she asked Tara.
Tara bit her lip. “Xander, um, and Giles. And Anya?”
Faith nodded as she took this in.
Xander. She regretted all of it. The kid didn’t deserve the way she had treated him – violated him, really. The shame hadn’t faded after all these years.
Giles. Who’d chosen Buffy over her, made it clear that there was only one Slayer that he’d ever give a shit about. Who’d ragged her time and again, from the moment she got to Sunny D. A man she swore she’d never forgive. Yet here she was, serving him.
Anya. A familiar name, but she couldn’t place her. Safe to assume that Faith’s reputation had preceded her, so Anya would be another check in the enemy column.
Tara interrupted the silence. “So we… we usually patrol every night. With Spike. He helps with the demons. The strong ones, at least.”
When Faith didn’t respond, Willow spoke up. “You remember the route?”
Oh course she did. She remembered every single one.
Restview, the first place she and Buffy had patrolled together. The way it felt when they clicked immediately, moving in tandem and complementing each other’s fighting styles. The thrill in her chest when they staked their final vamps of the night and looked at each other, stakes held high, on top of the world.
Shady Hill. Faith had asked Buffy to homecoming by the Ellis mausoleum. She hadn’t said no.
Kingman, where they’d spent way too much time taking down an Andiluf demon. They were breathless and sweating by the time they’d buried the body. Buffy had lay down on the grass after she’d dropped her shovel and patted the ground next to her, inviting Faith to look at the stars. They spent the night naming constellations and Faith felt like she could do it forever.
Mission Point. They broke up an entire nest in a crypt there. She’d never forgotten the smile Buffy gave her after she dusted the last vamp: wide and bright and like Faith was her favorite person in the world. Faith had tried everything to get rid of that memory.
In the silence, Willow set a bag on the countertop like a peace offering. Faith had never seen it before: brown leather with gold hardware, clearly well-loved.
“Weapons,” Willow said. “They were…”
Faith knew before she had even spoken, could feel it in the tips of her fingers. “Buffy’s. I got it.”
Willow’s jaw clenched. “Right. We haven’t… we usually just have stakes and crosses. But you’ll probably know what to do with all of these gadgets and whatsits.”
“I patrol alone,” Faith said.
Something dark passed over Willow’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Faith spoke before she could listen to the protest that she felt coming.
“You brought me here, Red. You want me to be Buffy? Ain’t gonna happen. I do what I need to do. Don’t need a babysitter.”
Willow bristled. “I never said that we’d… babysit you.”
“But you expect me to come running to you every night with a report card and permission slip?”
Willow’s face told her that she wasn’t far off.
“I always thought Buffy was out of her mind for letting her friends help her out. Look at you now — slayer middleman, huh? I’m going out. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
She grabbed the bag and left the house without another word. She didn’t know when she’d go back.
—
It took her a week.
Turned out Sunnydale hadn’t changed much since she’d been there last. School was still burnt to a crisp; the theater was still only showing obscure films with French titles.
Her first stop after leaving Revello Drive was her old apartment. She told herself not to get her hopes up, but she’d be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch when she saw that the whole building had been demolished. It was a pit of rubble now, surrounded by a chain-link fence and a sign advertising that condos were being erected in its place.
It felt like heartbreak. For the first home she’d really had and for the man who had given it to her. As evil as he was, as much damage as he had caused, he’d done more for her than anyone else. He’d have given her the world if she’d asked for it. Hell, he kind of tried.
She walked away before she could think about it too much.
The Sunnydale Motor Inn looked identical to the last time she’d been there. She kept a safe distance from the entrance like it was a snarling dog, and made sure that no one was watching as she slid around the rear of the building, running her hand over the decaying siding.
Score. A plastic sandwich bag, shoved between shingles, her last-resort ticket out of Sunnydale that she’d stored there years prior. The stack of twenties was water-damaged and crumpled, but still usable.
Faith considered buying a bus ticket. Hell, a plane ticket. Go to a beach on the other side of the world, maybe.
Instead, she walked across town and got a room at the Oceanside Motel.
It was only when she’d bolted the door and taken her shoes off that she set down the leather bag and dared to look inside. And dammit if Buffy wasn’t everywhere.
The faint smell of vanilla and that shampoo Buffy used to wear.
A loose hair tie with a few blonde strands of hair stuck to the elastic.
Mr. Pointy.
A velvet drawstring bag, unfamiliar but heavy. Faith’s breath caught when she opened it and slid out its contents.
Her knife.
This time without the blood and entrails. Without another girl’s hand on the shaft as Faith dared her to use it.
Buffy had kept it all this time. Faith couldn’t tell if it was a trophy or something else.
She closed her eyes as she gripped the handle. That flame inside of her wanted to bury the knife in her gut right there, deep into the muscle until she screamed. At least then she could see the pain she was feeling. Then she could fix it with stitches and gauze and pretend it never happened once it healed.
(But the flame also knew that she wouldn’t forget. The scar on her abdomen was a daily reminder of that.)
For the next five days she patrolled every mile of Sunnydale from dusk until dawn, telling herself she owed it to Buffy. And maybe her dumb friends, to prove herself to them. Maybe she wanted to prove something to herself.
On the sixth night, Faith discovered some sort of coven. She had started tracking them down two days prior after noticing a mysterious number of bats in the sky flying towards an old factory by the docks. They were all cloaks and orbs and chanting. She had never been one for voodoo, so she walked to Revello Drive and knocked.
It took awhile for someone to answer, and Faith realized that it was just past 5am. Willow finally came to the door, bleary-eyed but seemingly unsurprised by Faith standing on her doorstep. She stepped aside silently and ushered Faith into the kitchen, where she put on a pot of coffee.
“Think I found some witches.”
Willow raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she put on a pot of coffee.
“Of the bad variety,” Faith said impatiently. “You know – evil? That thing we fight?” She pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket where she’d written down the chanting she’d heard. Willow’s eyebrows rose higher and higher as she read it.
“Oh. This is –” She finally looked at Faith. “Thanks for bringing this here.”
Faith shrugged. “That’s the job, right?”
“Uh. Yeah, I guess so.” Willow’s expression took Faith right back to high school: the jilted, unpopular nerd, a shadow of hurt crossing her cheerful facade. Willow was older now, more serious, but the hurt looked the same. Faith felt a perverse sense of pleasure that she’d caused it so easily.
“Well, have fun with that,” she said, heading towards the side door. Willow snorted behind her, and Faith paused with her hand on the doorknob.
“What?” she snapped.
“That’s it? You’re just going to leave?”
“What do you want from me, Red? Song and dance about ‘em?”
Willow rolled her eyes before turning around and opening a cabinet. She pulled two mugs out, slammed them on the counter, and filled them with the freshly-brewed coffee.
“It’ll take me ten minutes to get more information on this coven,” she said brusquely as she slid one of the mugs across the kitchen island towards Faith. “Just wait here and I’ll have you on your merry way before you can think up another insult.”
Faith didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was too early for a quip, but maybe she also felt like Willow wanted her there. So she drank in silence as the sun started to peek through pale pink clouds and watched Willow lean over heavy-looking books on the island in front of her, flipping through yellowed pages that smelled of mothballs and dust.
The silence started to close in on Faith, and her resolve to speak only when spoken to crumbled.
“How’s Little Sis been doing?”
Willow looked surprised by Faith’s interruption. “She’s… hanging in there. Doing okay.”
“You sure about that?”
Willow stood up slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said defensively.
“Okay, okay. Just askin’.”
She earned herself a glare from Willow as her eyes searched Faith’s face. “Just… stay away from her, okay?”
Faith scoffed, furious for thinking that Red had changed at all. She abandoned her half-empty coffee mug on the counter and slammed the door on her way out.
She was mad at Red, sure, for speaking to her that way. But she was even more upset that she was the type of person that someone wouldn’t want to trust around a kid. She knew Willow wasn’t totally off-base and hated her for it.
It was Tara who caught up to her three blocks away from the house, calling Faith’s name. Despite herself, Faith stopped and waited for Tara to speak.
To her credit, Tara didn’t try to apologize for Willow, or offer up a truce. She just told her that Willow had figured out what the coven was doing and how to stop them.
“We can meet back here at sundown with the supplies.”
“Fine,” Faith said coldly.
The atmosphere was tense when Faith returned twelve hours later. She pretended not to notice Tara’s uncomfortable glances and Willow’s icy tone as she explained the plan: a spell done by her and Tara outside the factory to strip the coven of its powers, and Faith on the inside to take care of the demon that they were thought to be summoning from the underworld.
Dawn hovered on the staircase as they got ready to go, asking about the spells and how long they’d be gone.
“If you need anything, just call Xander, okay? We’ll only be gone for an hour or two, Dawnie,” Willow said soothingly. Dawn nodded as her eyes darted between the three women. Her forehead creased when she waved goodbye.
Faith stared at her, not bothering to give Dawn a placating smile like Willow and Tara did as they left. Dawn’s disposition was all-too-familiar, or so Faith guessed: loneliness, persistent and stubborn, just to be left alone again and again.
The demon had already been summoned by the time they got there. It was spindly and long-limbed and slimy, and it took Faith longer than she’d liked to get close enough to do any damage. She was halfway through severing its limbs, witches screaming in her periphery, when she noticed a familiar face peeking around the back door of the factory.
“Dawn,” she breathed, and in her moment of surprise, the demon knocked her to the floor. She looked over at Dawn again as she stood up, and the demon’s eyes followed hers.
“A girl,” it hissed. “Delicious.”
“Dawn!” Faith screamed. “Run!”
She ended up climbing the demon’s back as he slithered rapidly towards Dawn, using her knife to slit its throat just as one of its viscous limbs wrapped around Dawn’s neck. As it blubbered in death, Dawn choked from the pressure of the tentacle on her throat, hands fumbling to pull it off of her. Faith leaped down and batted Dawn’s hand away so that she could carefully cut it off. Once she was free, Dawn gasped for air and collapsed onto Faith, her back slamming onto the damp concrete under Dawn’s weight.
“I just wanted to help,” Dawn cried, and then she was sobbing on top of Faith, her breaths staccato and wet. The witches fled around them now that their master was gone, and Faith heard their screams as they met their fate outside, courtesy of Tara and Willow.
Dawn’s breathing calmed, but she made no attempt to move, and Faith fumbled before bringing a hand to awkwardly pat her on the back. Dawn looked up.
“You’re bad at that,” she said bluntly.
“Hey, you picked my shoulder to cry on. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
She was relieved to see Dawn’s mouth curl into the tiniest smile. Slowly, she extricated herself from underneath her before helping Dawn up.
“You good, kid?”
Dawn nodded as she wiped her eyes, which widened as she looked at the door leading outside. “I… didn’t want to be alone. Don’t tell Willow and Tara, okay?”
“Okay.”
She kept her promise, mostly. But Faith couldn’t help but stick around in the living room until Willow and Tara had finished tucking Dawn in.
“She’s not okay, Red,” she said once they’d come down the stairs.
Willow narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know her like we do. You don’t get it.”
Anger coursed through Faith’s gut, and she let it build. “I lost Buffy too, you know,” she growled.
Willow, to her credit, paled slightly. Faith continued before Willow could twist the knife any deeper.
“You think I don’t care. That I threw a party when she died, huh? Fuck you for that. You don’t understand anything – anything – about my life, about being a Slayer, about us. Me and Buffy.”
“I know that,” Willow said. Her voice shook slightly, her doe eyes shifting nervously.
Faith took a step towards her and smiled at the way Willow flinched. “I don’t think you do, Red. Cause it seems you keep tellin’ me what to think or how everyone else is feeling. Doesn’t occur to you that every single one of us lost Buffy and we’re all hurting. It hurts. So fuck you.”
Tara wrapped her arm around Willow’s and tilted her head to get Faith’s attention. “Thank you for saving Dawn.”
Faith’s heart was beating out of her chest. “I’d do anything to keep her safe.”
“I believe you… I think,” Willow said quietly.
Faith didn’t look behind her as she left. “You work on that.”
—
She woke up the next day to her phone ringing, and was surprised when it was Willow on the other line.
“How’d you find me here?”
“Don’t worry about it. Giles called with a rumor about a demon arriving here last night.”
“Way ahead of you, Red. Killed it last night, remember?”
“Giles thinks that he’s back. Sounds like it might be a nine lives type of thing. He wants us to come by the Magic Box to do some research.”
“I’m not much for the books, Red.”
She heard Willow sigh. “Just… come. Please.” A beat, then: “You can’t avoid Giles forever.”
It was straight out of the Buffy Summers guilt trip book. Faith almost smiled at the familiarity, almost made a joke about it to Willow. But she hung up instead and got up to get dressed.
—
The bell on the door tinkled as she walked into the unfamiliar space. A woman she didn’t know looked up from the counter.
“Welcome to the Magic Box,” she said. “All crystal balls are twenty percent off with a purchase of $100 or more. Please buy things!”
Giles appeared behind the woman from a back door. “Anya, this is Faith.”
“Oh!” Anya said cheerfully. “You’re the evil slayer.”
Giles slid his glasses off of his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Ahn,” said a familiar voice. Xander walked out from behind a bookshelf, carrying a box. He shot Anya a glare before turning slowly towards Faith, his expression inscrutable.
“It’s fine,” Faith told him. “At least one person around here says what they’re thinking.” She looked back at the counter, past Anya.
“Giles.”
He cleared his throat. “Faith. Let me show you around.”
Their conversation was limited to logistics: entrances, shelves of supplies, the loft filled with research books. Xander mostly stayed on the opposite side of the room, but Faith could feel him staring through the shelves. After he’d taken her through the sales floor, Giles led Faith into a back hallway and opened a door into a large, light-filled room.
“Here’s the training area. We set it up once I purchased the building.”
The space was filled with gym mats, weights, and other exercise equipment; on the walls hung weapons and supplies. Faith didn’t miss how Giles’ eyes flicked between her and the knives on the back wall.
She nodded in response, not trusting herself to come up with a reply that he wouldn’t read into. He closed the door behind them softly.
“So,” she said lightly, looking around the room to avoid Giles’ stare. “What’s the over-under on how all of this goes? I mean, you gotta have some bets goin’ on how long you think it’ll take me to snap, right?”
Giles sighed, and Faith finally made eye contact to see his patented disappointed stare. “There are no bets, Faith. But…”
She crossed her arms and stood to her full height. “Cut the crap, Giles. Do you even want me here?”
He seemed to steel himself before responding.
“No.”
It was salt in an open wound; it was a knife to the gut. But there was a sense of relief that came with it, too, knowing where she stood with him after all these years. She nodded.
“Thanks.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “The others… I want you to know that they insisted,” he said carefully. “I’m not sure what they have said to you, but there seemed to be a belief that you had been… rehabilitated.”
“And you disagree,” Faith said. It wasn’t a question.
Giles scoffed. “Faith, I don’t know if you’ll be here for a week, a month, a year, or if you’ll disappear tomorrow. I don’t know if you’ll fight on our side or find a new martyr cause for your own self-interests. Can you blame me?”
Faith shrugged, leaning against the balance beam. She had to appreciate Giles’ honesty, but it still hurt to hear. “Not about blame, G. But they –”
“Asked you here, I know. But there is no implicit trust, to be clear. It must be earned. On both sides,” he added, clearly sensing Faith’s impending outburst.
The distant tinkle of the front door felt like a saving grace. Giles turned around and took a step towards the hall.
“Oh, it’s Willow,” he said. “I’ve got some information for her about our demon. I think I know where it may be hiding out.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Faith, and it felt like a silent invitation to skip that conversation. She looked into the training room and back at Giles.
“I’ll try some of this out. If that’s cool.”
There was relief in his voice. “Yes. Yes, that’s fine.”
She was thankful for something to do. The punching bag was a nice escape from the group of people on the other side of the room. The ones who called her the Evil Slayer, apparently. Who, for all she knew, were plotting how to off her instead of some demon.
Her prison shrink had helped her with the paranoia, but it wasn’t exactly a valve she could shut off. She wailed on the crash test dummy instead until the endorphins flooded her brain and sweat poured from her brow.
It was dark by the time Willow came and got her, saying that they had a lead on how to get the demon.
“Let’s do it,” Faith said.
“Tonight?”
“What, you busy doing something else?”
She decided not to question it when Xander, Anya, and Tara followed along to the demon’s nest, nestled deep in the beachgrass by the ocean. It was Xander who ended up throwing Faith the axe that she needed to sever the demon’s third heart. The act felt like a peace offering. He gave her a tiny nod before helping her climb off of the slippery rocks as the demon’s corpse floated away.
They stopped at Revello Drive before taking Faith home to address everyone’s injuries. Faith bent over elbow-deep in the kitchen sink, struggling to contain a bloody gash she’d sustained in the fight.
Willow appeared at her side. “Here, let me help.”
Expecting a bandage, Faith was surprised when Willow closed her eyes, lowered her hands over Faith’s wound, and whispered unfamiliar words that sent a shiver up her arm. When Willow removed her hands, the gash was gone, and only a pinkish glow was left in its wake.
“Jesus, Red, when’d you get the upgrade?”
Willow shrugged, but there was a small look of pride on her face. “Well, I’ve been doing small stuff since high school, but Tara really helped me lean into my power. I’ve been experimenting more since… um. Well, I figured it would be helpful to know more stuff, you know?”
Faith nodded and flexed her forearm. “Gotcha. Well… neato.”
“Does it feel okay?”
“Five by five.”
Willow flinched at that, almost imperceptibly. It was a reminder that Faith still had power over her – not just of the muscle variety, but something deeper, something like the invisible pain that haunted Faith, too. But she smiled at Willow, pretending that she didn’t notice. Pretending that she wasn’t suddenly remembering how she’d once held a knife to her throat, her grip so tight that she could feel Willow’s pulse under her fingers. How she’d briefly wished that she were brave enough to make the cut after Willow told her that she was too late to be saved – that they’d already given up on Faith.
Had Willow known that that was when Faith had needed them most? Later, in the cafeteria, Faith tried so hard to keep her hand from trembling as she held the knife flat along Willow’s jugular. She wondered if Willow had told Buffy later on how shallow Faith’s breaths were, how she’d almost said Buffy’s name when she saw her walk in.
She wished that she could cry out to Buffy in that moment, ask her to help, to pull Faith out of the hole she’d dug herself. But she was never brave enough for Buffy back then.
So she had to be brave now.