Chapter Text
“I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone / Trying to find the one where I went wrong.”
— Taylor Swift, evermore
Buffy thought her ears were ringing as Shannon’s mouth slowed its movements. She was stumbling over the end of her story, the last beer she’d accepted that had kept her body heavy and pliant as she drifted away on a couch, the sharp pressure splitting her open and back into consciousness, the startling weight of a boy she’d thought she knew pinning her in place. Her eyes were frantic as they flitted across the room, searching for answers Buffy didn’t have—did anyone have those answers? Was Buffy supposed to now that she was an adult? The First Evil might be behind them, but she was still responsible for the baby Slayers—and Dawn. Would Dawn ever have these questions, need these answers? Buffy felt sick just considering it all.
Shannon’s neck had rounded, her head sinking towards her chest. “I—I’m sorry. I know it’s gross, I just—”
“It’s not. Gross, I mean,” Willow said.
Buffy felt some of the pressure alleviate in the base of her skull. That was good, wasn’t it? Willow at least had an idea of what Shannon needed to hear, even if she didn’t have the answers either. But Buffy was still responsible for Shannon and everybody else. She had to help too. She always did, even now that she wasn’t the one and only chosen. She wasn’t even the last one chosen, but it had still always come down to her. Maybe it always would.
“But wasn’t it…?” Shannon said, trailing off.
And that Buffy understood. The inability to say it. If you don’t name the boogeyman, then he has no power. “Willow is right. What you… what happened to you, Shannon. That’s… you’re not gross.”
“I feel gross,” Shannon said. Her voice sounded as small as she looked, all folded in on herself.
Buffy felt a sting of guilt for not having really gotten to know her or any of the other baby Slayers. Maybe if she had, she’d know what to do right now.
“Nah, not gross,” Faith said. If she was at all as panicked as Buffy was, she wasn’t showing it. And she’d never been a very good liar, so Buffy was inclined to buy her poker face. “Ya got nothing to worry about, kid.”
Buffy was less sure about that. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“I mean, look on the bright side. You barely remember your first,” Faith said. She gave a shrug and flashed her dimples like she hadn’t just said something downright inhumane.
It was the most Faith had looked like the girl who killed a man and said she didn’t care and who held Buffy’s mother hostage and stole her body in years. Even more than she had in that church or in Angel’s arms. It was too horrible to look at, so Buffy tore her gaze away from Faith.
“Um, what?” Kennedy said, her eyebrows twisted up.
“Uh, well what Faith means to say… Come to think of it, what do you mean to say?” Xander said. He was trying to make it a joke, the way he always did, but something looked pinched in his eyes. Buffy remembered that he’d gone to Faith once, after sleeping with her, after she’d drawn her first blood, and she’d almost killed him.
Faith shuffled. She shrugged half-heartedly. “Just that nobody’s first is worth remembering. The first time always sucks.” She looked at her feet, and Buffy wondered if that was shame.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Buffy said. She had a list in her head, one she’d started writing the minute Faith had plucked her stake from her hands and run it through that grody disco vamp in the alley behind The Bronze. It was still a work in progress, even when Faith had been in her coma, where Buffy had placed her almost gently on the phallus of her knife like Faith was hers to break, it had been active, ongoing. Even when Faith had been away in prison, serving 25 to life far, far away from Buffy where she belonged. Even when Buffy had been dead, tucked away in heaven or something like it. Whatever lived between them had its own pulse, separate from Faith’s and Buffy’s alike.
Faith blinked with rapid hurt. “Huh? I’m just saying, B—popping your cherry is no fun. Don’t know if you noticed, but it hurts to have your hymen all—shredded. Look, that sucks, Shannon, but it’s not weird or gross or nothin’. It’s just blood. We’ve all got it.”
“Um, what?” Kennedy said again, her face pinched up in confusion or agitation or something grating in Buffy’s distant peripheral.
“That’s it. You’ve said enough. Ladies—and Xander… and Andrew, Faith and I are gonna go have a girl talk. Alone. Now,” Buffy said. She locked her arm with Faith’s, handcuffing them together like all those years ago on Faith’s rooftop, and dragged her up and away from the group, away from the shitty motel pool and to the parking lot, by their magically-disguised school bus. It left her cold and hard when she practically threw Faith off her arm and onto the empty parking space by the bus, sending her stumbling.
The harsh white lights of the parking lot illuminated something in her that Buffy resented as she steadied herself on her feet. She didn't look for help to find her balance. She never did. She looked smaller and paler and bigger-eyed if it was possible. The last time Buffy had looked at her and been unable to think of anything but a deer caught in headlights was when Buffy had plunged inside of her and made her bleed. “B, I don’t get what’s got you so—”
Buffy couldn’t help it. It was reflex that had her fist swinging through the air and kissing Faith’s cheekbone, the knuckles just catching her eyes. And Faith groaned so nice on her way down to the asphalt. It felt right. “You think you get to make shitty jokes? About Shannon asking us if that counted? About how you hurt Xander?”
Faith shuddered in beat with Buffy’s pulse in her knuckles and wrist and throat. She didn't move to get up. She just cradled her cheek like it was something tender.
“God, and right when I was starting to think you were okay. That maybe you’d learned your lesson for once,” Buffy said. She was shaking her head and pacing, cross-armed in front of Faith who was still low beneath her, hip pressed to a worn parking line of paint.
“I wasn’t joking.” Faith sounded hoarse in a way Buffy had only heard her on top of her in a church, not even in her own body.
Buffy threw her arms up in exasperation, grunting with white-hot anger. “Oh! Of course you weren’t! You just forgot people have feelings!”
Faith grimaced and braced her whole body like she was anticipating another hit.
It made Buffy feel as sick as it did dizzy.
“B, it’s just—it’s true. Not everybody gets Prince Charming. Guys pull that shit when you’re—y’know, all the time. Shannon really is lucky she doesn’t gotta remember getting her cherry popped. Okay, Buff?” Faith had one hand still holding her face where Buffy had struck her and the other was stretched out as if to calm a wild animal.
Buffy used to think Faith was like a feral cat. And then—then the cat wasn’t just a street cat. Then it had the kind of teeth that could hurt someone, and it used them too.
Now, Buffy stared at this roadkilled girl who didn’t realize what she was saying was wrong, and all she could think was this: What are you telling me? Don’t you see that it’s too late? I can’t go back. I can’t save us.
“What? Faith, what are you—what are you even talking about?” She sounded strained and stretched even to her own ears.
Faith rolled her eyes. They looked wet and shiny.
Buffy had the strangest urge to blind them, as fleeting as dangly earrings in the wind.
“Look, all I’m sayin’ is if I could forget, I would. Hands down,” Faith said. She was avoiding eye contact now, looking at her bare feet. Neither of them had grabbed their shoes on their way out of the gated pool.
Buffy didn’t say anything. She didn’t reach out to touch Faith and bring her back to now, to 2003, to the parking lot with her, to everything she’d done since she was a girl. She just stared, wide-eyed and horrible at this girl she thought she’d had in her grasp so many times before. This girl who seemed suddenly further away than ever.
“It hurt, that’s all.” Faith gave a little shrug and gripped the string of her bikini to toy with it.
Watching Faith’s hand, Buffy could feel a distant pressure between her legs, a faint heat as familiar as a shadow in smoke. The feeling of horses stampeding over her heart was stronger, louder, shooting through her like lightning.
Faith’s anxiety was growing teeth, breaking the surface to gnaw over the tingling patches of flesh across the back of Buffy’s neck as much as it must have been gnawing at Faith. She was needling her bottom lip between her actual teeth before she spoke once more. “Okay, it really hurt. I mean… I didn’t really get what was happening yet. I dunno. He kinda grossed me out too. Not exactly my first choice for doin’ the nasty if you catch my drift.”
“How gross?” Buffy didn’t mean to ask, but how could she not?
The hand playing with the string stilled. Faith’s whole body went still. Like she’d been caught stealing money from her mom’s wallet. Only Buffy didn’t think it was Faith’s mother in the memories, even with the things Faith had laughed off about the woman. “… He was, uh, seeing my mom.”
Buffy sucked in a breath, sharp and short. Her head throbbed with pain, and her stomach lurched terribly.
Faith had finally looked back up and at Buffy. She looked offended by whatever she was finding in Buffy. She always did. “Y’know, B, you’re not exactly riding a very high horse here. I mean, Angel went and killed people after you two did the deed.” Her sneer was audible as she rose to her feet and squared her shoulders like she was willing to shove past Buffy if need be.
Buffy grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her roughly backwards without easing her grip.
Faith let out a high-pitched moan of pain as Buffy slammed Faith into the body of the bus.
“I don’t know who you think you are or why the hell you would tell me something so—so vulgar—”
“Right, ‘cause I’m such a dirty skank. Newsflash, Buffy: loads of guys wanna fuck a girl awake. You think none of them have ever wanted to do that to you? Guess again,” Faith said. She was practically snarling like a rabid guard dog, ready to be put down.
Buffy’s eyes had rarely ever stung so heavily before. She couldn’t cry. Not in front of Faith. Not like this. “You are seriously screwed up if you don’t get how wrong that is.”
Faith’s expression dropped. The anger withered away. All that was left was raw, plain hurt. “You’ve had sex with two separate vamps. You know all about wrong too.” Buffy knew she wasn’t saying it to twist the knife, knew that Faith had never plunged a knife in her to start with, but it still felt that way.
She didn’t remember even wanting to smack Faith with the back of her hand, but she knew she had from the way she was holding her arm, chest heaving. And from the way that Faith was shrinking in on herself against the bus, her mouth twitching from smile to grimace to shame to want.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes. “It was different, Faith.”
She hoped to God that Faith hadn’t heard her voice crack. She left before she could look back to check.
Angel was the one who called to tell her that it was done. Faith had pleaded guilty and been sentenced—25 to life—and it was in the rear view now. Buffy would never have to worry about Faith again. Angel hadn’t said that part. He’d sounded somber and heavy when he’d told Buffy that Faith was being carted off to prison a full four hours away from Sunnydale all the way in Stockton. Like he’d been telling her someone they loved was dead. That had made it worse.
Faith being locked up wasn’t like when Buffy had lost Kendra. It was nothing like the sudden silence where there had been buzzing under her skin—a buzzing she hadn’t placed until its absence had washed over her. She could still feel Faith’s presence, even hours away, the way she’d been able to feel Kendra’s before she’d even known it was there.
Kendra would never have walked away from Buffy like that. If she’d ever slipped the way Faith had, she would’ve taken Buffy’s hand, would’ve let herself be pulled back where she belonged at Buffy’s side.
Faith had chosen to abandon Buffy. None of it had meant anything to her in the end. She’d looked at Buffy and said she saw her—herself, Buffy, both. But the second something better came along, she’d bailed. Get some, get gone. Maybe Buffy hadn’t been another notch in Faith’s belt, but the end result had been the same, hadn’t it? Faith was gone, and Buffy was alone again.
She’d experienced this before. This was an old ache. This was a new ache. What was she doing before—
She hated Faith. She hated that Faith had won. That she didn’t even care enough to let Buffy punish her. Buffy whose life she’d ruined. Buffy who she’d shut out at every turn. Buffy who she’d turned away and rejected. The least Faith owed Buffy was herself. They were supposed to be sisters. They were supposed to be the same. Shouldn’t that mean that Faith loved Buffy back?
So. Buffy was waiting in their dorm for Willow to get back from “casting spells” with Tara. Willow was the only person who would be able to give Buffy what she wanted if Faith wasn’t willing to hand it over.
Finally, the door creaked open.
“Willow!” Buffy said, jumping up to her feet.
“Ah! B—Buffy! Uh, I mean, you’re up!” Willow said. Her face was a dark red, and she had a hickey peeking out from under the collar of her shirt.
That couldn’t be right. Or those hickeys couldn’t be from Tara at least. Tara was gone. Dead. Killed. The fact slipped through Buffy’s hands like sand until it was a distant memory. The foggiest idea that something was wrong here.
“I need you to do a spell. Or some casual state government level hacking. Please.”
“Wh—state government level hacking? Not local government hacking?” Willow’s eyebrows were knitted together now. She was creeping further into their dorm, but she looked hesitant to be there.
“It’s Faith.”
“Faith escaped!?”
Buffy blanched. “What? No, no… Faith is in prison.”
“Oh… I thought we knew that.” Willow scratched her wrist.
“Well, we knew Faith was going to prison. But now she is. They transported her today. Angel told me,” Buffy said. She was shifting her weight nervously. Would Willow understand what Buffy wanted? Would anyone? Would Faith? “I just… I want to know.”
“Which prison she’s going to? I mean, doesn’t Angel—”
“No. She’s going to one in Stockton. I know that already.”
Willow was staring at Buffy, trying to piece it together.
It had been one thing after Faith had tried to frame her and after she put Faith in a coma and after Faith woke up from that coma, but Buffy knew she had long outgrown any reasonable care for Faith. But Buffy wasn’t reasonable. It was like Spike had told her and Angel. Love wasn’t brains; it was blood.
“What do you wanna know, Buffy?” Willow said.
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath. “Everything. She… she owes me that.”
“Everything?” Willow sat down at her desk, booting up her computer. She was going to do it. Even if she didn’t understand, she would do it.
“Angel said she had a—a court-mandated psych evaluation. I want to know what she told them. And—anything else. Juvie, CPS, foster care, whatever happened to her. She never told me,” Buffy said.
“DCF,” Willow said softly.
Buffy blinked dazedly. “Huh?”
“They’re called DCF in Boston. I’ll look, Buffy. I’ll find everything.”
“Thank you. Can I—can I sit with you?”
Willow moved to clear her bed of her bag. “Of course! Whatever you need. After everything Faith did to you, it’s the least I can do.”
Buffy sat down on Willow’s bed, and she watched.
Willow’s hands were frozen over the keyboard. She typed in a short word. Then she craned her neck to look at Buffy. “Say, Buffy… What’s Faith’s last name?”
Buffy inhaled, sharp and shallow. Angel had told her today. She’d heard it once before. A few weeks ago, when Faith had woken up. The lady who’d called had asked if she was speaking to Buffy Summers, Faith Lehane’s emergency contact. Buffy had been so shocked to hear Faith’s name that she hadn’t realized until Faith was long gone and she was down low in a church, holding her heart that she’d never thought to ask Faith’s last name before. But Angel had repeated it today.
“Lehane.”
“Th—thanks.” There was more typing then. And then Willow made a little sound like she did whenever she found something distasteful in an article or book about the occult.
“What is it?” Buffy said.
Willow’s cheek was sucked in. Buffy thought she must be chewing its inside. “Well… yeah, she’s got a juvie record. Shoplifting and truancy mostly. Vandalism a few times. Assault and battery once. It sounds like she got in a couple of fights, but they only pursued charges the once.”
Buffy slumped down. “Oh.” It made sense. Faith wouldn’t tell Buffy about any of that. It was the kind of thing that Buffy would’ve judged her for. It didn’t make it sting less that Faith had hidden it.
The room was quiet outside of the clicking of the mouse and keyboard and their breathing.
“Looks like DCF got called on Faith’s mom a few times ‘cause of the truancy and bad behavior at school. The notes aren’t… They’re not very nice. They thought she was hitting Faith. She lost custody twice. Once when Faith was twelve and again when she was fifteen. Then… then she died,” Willow said.
Buffy made a croaking sound that might’ve been another “Oh.” Her eyes burned and blurred. She didn’t want to feel bad for Faith. She was so angry with Faith for not telling her. All she had to do was let Buffy in. That was all Buffy wanted from her. Only everything.
Willow was glancing at her like she might break. “She was in foster care when her mom died. Um, it’s not super clear what happened in-between. She ended up with a new foster mom a while later though. Oh. In—in May. When Kendra…”
Buffy choked on a sob.
“Then her foster mom, um, Diana Dormer—she went missing. And so did Faith. Until Sunnydale, I guess. Then all the crimes. Then the coma. Then more crimes. Now—prison,” Willow said.
Buffy couldn’t even try to fake a smile. “And—the psych evaluation?”
“Right… Let me see if I can access it.”
When Willow accessed it, Buffy knew immediately that something was horribly wrong. She knew what it was before Willow could even say it.
“She was—raped. Wasn’t she? As a girl?” Buffy said. The anxiety was threading through her skin, woven into the fabric of her. Faith had been hurt. Someone had hurt Faith, and Faith had never even thought to mention it to Buffy. Had never said anything or asked for Buffy to be there for her or admitted to being helpless too.
Willow’s breath came out shakily. “Yeah. She was… Her mom’s boyfriends. A—a few times. And… some of the stuff she told the psychiatrist about… about her sex life… Dr. Palmer said that word a lot. ‘Patient describes being raped repeatedly as a girl. Patient doesn’t think it was rape. Patient has dissociative tendencies around sex due to trauma from past rape.’ Like—like get a new word! Don’t… don’t say that. That’s awful.” Her voice shrank the more she spoke.
Buffy felt that distant pulse like something was wrong again, flickering for just a moment before her jaw set and her eyes sharpened to a point. “She should’ve said something. I would’ve helped her. Willow, you know I would’ve helped her, right? I wanted to save her. I wanted…”
Everything ached so much she felt sick. She couldn’t even scream at Faith for not telling her. Not unless she wanted to confess how she’d found out. How she’d squeezed every last drop of Faith out, even after Faith had left.
Buffy woke up dry-heaving.