Fanfiction: Faithless

CHAPTER THREE: TRAGIC

The afternoon slowly receded into a warm spring evening. From a curb across the street from her motel, Faith watched the sun serenely dip towards the horizon, unable to stop its own tragic descent into nothingness. Like her, the sun was a creature of habit, following predictable patterns of action and reaction; everyday it climbed as high as it could possibly go, only to lose its grip and plunge to the depths of darkness. Like her, it could shine brilliantly or simply hide its face. Like her, it was slowly falling.

She sighed and let the last somber, orange rays wash over her. It felt good just to sit and do absolutely nothing for once. No anger, no depression, no subversive thoughts about Buffy. Just...free. So much of her time was spent fighting and trying to get through life that the reprieve was an unexpected relief. Her mind was blank, concerned only with observing how the last light of day sparkled along the neon lights that framed the gaudy sign proclaiming, "Vacancy". Then the sun completely vanished, traveling onward, an uncontrollable ball of flame scorching the sky of some far-off land, leaving the pristine, star-studded night to Faith. The light breeze gliding in from the nearby ocean slightly ruffled her hair, causing a few strands to blow in front of her eyes. She absentmindedly pushed them aside and continued to observe the world that didn't seem quite so terrible on this particular night.

The streets were oddly unpopulated, and even the cars passed only in sparse intervals. Looking first one way and then the other, she noticed that she was one of the only people outside. One couple walked out of the motel and down the street. An old man clutching a brown paper bag stumbled into an alley and promptly disappeared from view. Otherwise, the night was her only company, and she didn't reject its embrace, preferring to wrap herself around it instead of feeling completely alone. Neon blue came in waves from the motel sign, bathing her side of the street in a surreal sapphire glow. Her black clothes seemed to capture the light instead of repelling it, turning a color that she'd never seen before and never would again. Taking one last, thoughtful look at the sky, she stood up and started walking towards her rendezvous with Buffy and the Scooby gang.

Under the artificial streetlight phosphorescence, she wandered the streets, a nomad in the world's most evil city, her path only loosely mapped within her head. Color had disappeared entirely from her outfit, leaving only blackness. Dependable boots, worn-in pants, a tight, long-sleeved shirt; hair loose, uncoiled; dark lipstick. Insecurities in, confidence out. The night was hers. She followed the streetlights until her somewhat random wandering led her to the cemetery. She had always thought it strange how the cemetery separated the so-called good side of town from the bad side. To get to the main avenue, she always had to cross this place of death. It was like some twisted reminder for the rich folks that only the degenerate and downtrodden could be found on the side where Faith lived.

Heedless of any possible danger, she walked right into the darkness, immediately noticing the strangely comforting feeling that the cemetery offered her. Stepping over fresh graves and around tombstones, the darkness called to her, and she answered it. The forgotten streetlights, casting their feeble glow only meek feet into the graveyard, were left behind. Faith had no stake on this night; she had no money, and subsequently had no purse, and thus she had no place to conceal a twelve-inch-long wooden instrument of death, but she was not afraid. Society, friends, dirty looks; these things caused fear and pain, but danger did not. Danger was a constant. It was dependable, always waiting for her. She recognized its timeless loyalty and welcomed it.

However, she wasn't particularly inclined to get involved in a battle tonight. What she wanted was to get to the coffee shop, and a fight would only make her late, or perhaps even ruin her chances of meeting the group. She'd already planned to get there around ten minutes later than the time that Buffy had given her, just so she didn't seem overly wanting, but that didn't mean she wanted to miss the gathering entirely. This was her big chance, and she was determined not to let it slip through her fingers as so many of her past opportunities had. Anxiety had plagued her initially because she had never been particularly adept at intimate social gatherings, but this unwelcome feeling eventually subsided into a nearly giddy mood that was extremely out of the ordinary for Faith. It was interesting to be able to look forward to something instead of always dreading the encounters that were so commonplace for everyone else.

The half-full moon placidly filled the cemetery with its subdued luminance. Shadows flickered behind headstones and danced around crypts that had been collecting dust, or worse, for nearly a century. Faith's eyes darted back and forth, always looking to pinpoint potential signs of trouble, but she couldn't see anything even remotely dangerous. She picked up her pace and moved, wraithlike, amongst the silent obstacles, an unreal playground conquered by a fleeting, evanescent girl that even the night failed to capture.

After passing uneventfully by the deathly peaceful graves, Faith came to the edge of the better area of town, a place inhabited by upper-middle class families, respectable stores, and an encompassing feeling of prosperity that was alien to her dust- and death-filled world. She didn't know which she loathed more: the unforgiving, windblown desolation common to her own existence or the nearly intolerable suburban teenage wasteland that constituted the "official" portion of Sunnydale. Deciding that neither was ideal, she wandered down the street in the general direction of the coffee shop. Everything was much busier in this part of town. Smiling figures roamed the streets in search of peace, excitement, or something to eat. Faith paid special attention to the couples, the intimate partnerships that she had never personally enjoyed. Everyone who had someone special to hold always seemed so happy. In the past, she had tried to grasp that same sense of completeness and companionship, but things had never turned out well. Disappointment upon disappointment had jaded her view of relationships and life in general. Happiness had eluded her so many times that she no longer sought it out.

Slightly disturbed by all the sheer satisfaction on the faces of those around her, she wrapped her arms around herself and walked onwards. A few more minutes of urban wandering and her objective came into sight. She stopped, poked her head around the corner of a building, and tried to surmise if she'd arrived at a good time.

Strategically placed on the corner of a busy avenue, Sunnydale's half-indoor, half-outdoor coffee shop was a model of relaxation compared to the Bronze, whose atmosphere was always filled with a certain social tension that Faith had grown to dislike. It was fine for dancing, or for picking up guys, but the expectations to be perfect at all times had grown rather tiresome of late. Here, no one paid much attention to anyone else; people were more concerned with talking with their friends and drinking cappuccinos than pulling dates or trying to impress the crowd. Some customers could be seen lounging about on the numerous tables and couches that lined the sidewalks, while others were hanging out under the awning that substituted for a real ceiling, and still others were simply standing. Strings of softly radiating light bulbs cast the entire place in a dim, soothing glow. Muted conversations, steaming cups, grinning faces. The twinkling stars above, coupled with the cool ocean breeze, made the night almost perfect.

And there, seated at one of the outdoor tables, were Buffy and her friends. Faith's heart shrank just a bit when she saw how many friends Buffy had gathered together. There was the darkly handsome vampire Angel, clothed in a long black overcoat and looking uncomfortably out of place amongst so many humans. Willow, the Wicca-in-training, was animatedly trying to goad her taciturn boyfriend Oz into muttering more than his usual noncommittal phrases. Xander, in a red button-down shirt, tried to crack one of his infamous one-liners and got rolled eyes in response. Rounding out the group was Buffy herself, the center of conversation and unofficial leader, decked out in a dark green blouse that was accented by a short black skirt. Faith sighed. More people meant more possibility for failure. But she steeled her will, stepped out from behind the building, checked to make sure her clothes were in order, and walked towards the table.

The distance rapidly diminished, barely leaving her enough time to rehearse the line she'd prepared: Hey. Party thing kinda fell through. Not the most profound greeting she could've conjured up, but it was better than, Hey, I had no other place to be, so here I am! She almost laughed out loud at the faces she imagined everyone would make if greeted with this statement, and she was still smiling when Buffy interrupted her daydreaming.

"Faith!" she called out, causing the rest of the group to subsequently turn their heads in Faith's direction. Snapped from her pleasant reverie and finding herself at her destination, Faith's hazel eyes immediately regained a harder tint, capturing and casting the glow of the lights outward. She would have opened her mouth to deliver her stellar greeting had not Buffy chosen that exact moment to continue her previous thought. "Party thing fall through?"

Buffy hadn't said it mockingly, so Faith dropped the defenses she'd built up inside. "Yeah," she replied, moving her hands about as if unsure where to put them. "People are so flaky nowadays. Can't really depend on anyone."

Sunnydale's blonde-haired Slayer looked as if she was about to disagree, but she only said, "I agree," and with a smile, offered Faith a chair between herself and Willow. Faith graciously accepted, muttering quiet thanks in return. Observing that the chairs were black metal with no armrests, she quickly flipped hers around, straddled it, and rested her hands on the back. Buffy made a motion with her head towards the cashier, busily attending to numerous demands inside. "Want something to drink? Coffee? Cappuccino? More caffeine than should be humanly tolerable?"

"I'm sort of strapped for cash at the moment, B.," Faith responded, "but thanks anyways." If she was going to have any shot at getting a new jacket, she would have to save the precious few dollars that belonged to her. Fancy drinks were an extravagance she couldn't afford.

Xander piped up. "I could spot you," he said from across the table, showing his most ridiculous debonair grin. Faith thought Xander was a bit goofy, but he also seemed genuinely friendly and open about taking her into the group. "Shall I get a cappuccino for the pretty lady?" he said, imitating a French accent.

Faith blushed in spite of herself. "Uh, sure. That'd be great," she said, not wanting to reject his kind-hearted proposal. Xander made a look to suggest that he needed more detail about his forthcoming purchase, so she quickly added, "Whatever's cheapest." He made a little sound that hinted at more grandiose plans and got up to place the order.

"So what did you do all afternoon?" asked Buffy in a decidedly animated tone.

"Nothing," Faith replied, but suddenly remembering her previous story, she quickly snuck in, "Just that party thing earlier."

"What party?" Oz asked, in one of his typically short sentences. Remembering that Oz was in a band, and thus inclined to know about the major parties in Sunnydale at any given time, Faith inwardly cursed herself for bringing it up again. Her mind raced, struggling for a name that he wouldn't recognize.

"I think it was being thrown by some guy called-"

"Look!" Willow exclaimed, taking her arm from around Oz so she could point to this new object of excitement. Everyone immediately looked towards the indicated direction, except Angel, who was unfortunately turned the wrong way. He took slightly longer to turn completely in the opposite direction so he could see what was happening. Just as he did so, a battered blue pickup truck careened through the intersection, carrying what looked to be members of Sunnydale High's football team, all decked out in their letterman's jackets. About four were squashed inside the tiny cab with perhaps the same number in the bed. Faith detected the faint smell of booze, probably coming from the open cans that some of the players were holding, and she scrunched up her nose. Buffy did likewise. No one else noticed.

One of the players, the only one brave or retarded enough to be standing, drunkenly yelled, "Yeeaaahhhhh, Sunnydale High rules!" He started to add something else, but right then the truck hit a small pothole and Sunnydale's nominee for the Darwin Awards was tossed onto a number of his friends amidst a profusion of cursing and flying cans.

Everyone both inside and outside the coffee shop burst into laughter as the truck skidded around a corner and was gone, on to terrorize another portion of the city with its mental midgets.

"Oh.my.god!" Faith laughed, completely forgetting her embarrassment about her made-up party. This was by far the funniest thing she'd seen in months, perhaps years. "That was wicked stupid!"

Willow and Oz, a true couple, were both grinning and simultaneously shaking their heads in shame. Buffy nearly knocked over her cup due to her hysterics, barely missing it at the last second. Everyone had another good laugh when Angel, looking perplexed, got up and turned completely back around to his previous position, as if he didn't understand the hilarity of what had just occurred.

Looking over his shoulder, searching for this unknown source of amusement and unable to find it, he asked, "What?" His pale face, offset by his dark hair, registered a complete lack of comprehension. This, naturally, caused another round of laughter. "What?" he asked again.

Eventually everybody at the table calmed down, but the football fiasco had lightened their spirits. While Buffy was trying to explain the situation to Angel, Willow shook her head again, throwing her red hair from side to side. "Male high school machismo," she said in mock disapproval. Then, more seriously: "I should really try to find a spell to fix that before the football team kills itself through sheer stupidity."

"Agreed," announced Xander, returning from his errand. Faith, though half expecting that her request for the cheapest possible item had been totally ignored, was still stunned when the absolute end-all of the cappuccino world was placed in front of her. At least eight inches tall, she'd been unaware that coffee even existed in this size. Surely the amount of caffeine it contained would kill at least half of all the woodland creatures that lived in the nearby forest. She stared at it. Buffy and Angel ended their conversation simply to marvel at the caffeinated monstrosity. Oz's mouth was slightly open in disbelief. Willow, not sure if she was seeing correctly, blinked her eyes a few times. Everyone might have kept gawking at it indefinitely had not Xander blurted, "So, is it a keeper?"

"I think you win the prize for largest catch of the evening," Faith said, struggling to tear her gaze away from the cup. She looked up at Xander, who was still standing. "I'll get you the money back as soon as I can, all right?"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he responded, playfully slapping her on the shoulders before going to his vacant seat. "It's on the house."

Feeling that it would be polite to take a sip of the present she'd been given, she used both hands to grab the cup and took a tentative drink. Ignoring the pain that erupted in her mouth from the burning liquid, she smiled offered thanks to Xander, who looked pleased with himself. She could tell that she probably shouldn't drink the entire thing; if she did, she felt certain that she would never be able to sleep again.

Buffy restarted the conversation. "Did you guys see Snyder go off the deep end today at lunch? I thought he'd have an aneurism for sure," she said, warming her hands on her cup.

"I was going for heart attack," offered Oz, looking serious as usual.

Xander disagreed. "No, I think it was more like the buildup to the next Apocalypse," he said. "Vampires and demons be damned; Snyder gives me a wiggins."

"Wouldn't it be weird if we found out that he was in league with some all-powerful baddie?" Willow asked, giggling to herself.

There was a moment of silence while everyone contemplated this notion. Looks were exchanged amongst the Sunnydale High students. Faith and Angel, unsure of how they fit into the conversation, just waited for an answer.

"No," chorused Buffy, Xander, and Oz.

Willow thought for a second and said, "You're right. In fact, it's so not-weird that it's probably even likely, right?" She looked around from person to person, searching for acknowledgement.

Nobody answered. They all had enough problems as it was; Principal Snyder joining the dark side of the Force was a bit too much to handle at the moment. Xander brought up some other school-related topic that got the rest of the group riled up, but Faith had tuned out of the exchange completely by this time. She was automatically excluded from any conversations about Sunnydale High due to the fact that she wasn't a student. School in general had never really interested her much, one of the main reasons she'd dropped out of her high school back in Boston. Not that she wasn't intelligent or couldn't handle the work; on the contrary, she was actually fairly bright, but she just didn't see the point of learning American History or Trigonometry. What good would they do against vampires? None. And there were other reasons, too. Remembrances of her childhood and early teenage years in Boston floated unimpeded along her consciousness, though she tried to keep them from surfacing. Images and feelings formed scars on her memory: a belt-a fist-empty beer bottles-graffiti on the walls-loneliness-fear-pain- Pain. PAIN. Oh, no.

She cowered in the corner of the apartment, a frightened girl, only nine years old, trying to hide her eyes from the vicious reality that was her life. Words being used as weapons, coming and going, crashing into the walls, falling to the ground. Mom in another fight with dad-think of something happy, gotta be happy, gotta get away. This is all your fault, bitch! Don't use that language around Faith. Oh, that's right, "Be careful of Faith, don't touch Faith, she's so little. So precious." If you want to yell at me, fine, but leave her out of this. Why was mom so nice when she fought with dad? She never seemed to care at any other time. Don't tell me what to do! Just shut your fucking mouth! Sharp noise; whimper of pain; laughter. Footsteps coming closer, closer, stopping. Your turn, Faith. She looked up at her father through eyes glassy with tears. Please don't-please not again. I'll be good. I promise. Too late for that. Then there was the pain, again and again and again. Mom's screaming. I must be dreaming, this can't be real. Explosions of blood, bruises flaring. Look him in the face, never look away, never let him see that it hurts you. Never look away. Never-look-away. You like that, Faith? Do you? Faith, such a pretty, stupid little name. Faith! Faith!

"Faith!" Buffy said, a look of concern in her eyes. There was no response, so she raised the volume of her voice just a bit. "Faith!" She reached over and grabbed Faith's shoulder, intending to get her attention through physical contact. Faster than anyone would have thought possible, too fast for anyone to do anything to intervene, Faith's eyes lost their faraway look, and suddenly Buffy was thrown to the ground. Angel and Xander were on their feet immediately after, but they didn't know what to do.

"Nothing's ever good enough for you, is it?!" Faith was on her feet, screaming at Buffy, who was frozen, terrified, on the ground. In that one paralyzing instant, Buffy looked right into Faith's eyes, and she didn't see her friend anymore. What she saw was anger so intense that it turned the night into something that burned. Faith clenched and unclenched her fists, unaware of where she was. Angel and Xander started to slowly move towards her, but she was completely focused on Buffy. "My grades aren't good enough, my name's not good enough, and nothing I do ever makes you happy! But now you will listen to me: lay another hand on me and I will end you!"

"Faith," said Angel in a hushed voice, holding his hand out in front of him like a shield. The other patrons of the shop, unsure of exactly what was transpiring, sat in stunned silence watching the drama unfold. To them, it wasn't one girl's struggle against her past and her present; it was a soap opera, something to laugh and joke about later. An insignificant event in a world full of pettiness. Angel continued in his soft, soothing voice. "Faith, we're your friends. We're not here to hurt you."

She was still breathing heavily, looking rapidly from one face to the next, slowly figuring out the terrible lapse in time she'd experienced. Her eyes finally fell on Buffy, who was now crouched on the pavement, ready to leap into action. Confronted with this vision, Faith's anger instantly drained from her features, leaving only a look of abject horror. She stumbled backwards, trying to get away. Willow, Oz, and Xander struggled to get out of the way, as did the other customers who found themselves outside. The girl of nine had replaced the girl of eighteen. Fear overrode confidence; terror took the place of pleasure; confusion replaced certainty.

Faith looked again at the faces of her friends, searching for a sign of understanding, of sympathy, of anything to let her know that this could be repaired. She didn't find it. But she wouldn't cry this time, not in front of all these people. No tears for them. No tears for anyone ever again.

"I'm-I'm so sorry, Buffy," she managed, looking absolutely miserable. She quickly wiped at her eyes. "So sorry." She slowly backed into the street, and with one last, mournful look at the coffee shop, turned her back and ran down the street into the darkness.

"She's insane!" said Willow some minutes later, after everyone had calmed down and returned to their previous places. "Psycho much?"

"Seriously," Xander agreed, reaching for Faith's forgotten drink and gulping some of it down. "Just a bit too manic-depressive for my liking. She's got the looks, but she's missing a little something upstairs."

Oz chipped in his two cents. "She needs a professional."

Buffy leaned in conspiratorially, as if she had some huge secret to share. "Can you believe she's a Slayer?" she said incredulously. "Is that not the most frightening thought you've ever had? The girl's a wreck, and I think she's probably liable to end up hurting someone. If you think about it, she's more like a living weapon than a person."

Everyone nodded at this remark except Angel, who was looking down the street in the direction that Faith had gone. He didn't understand the criticisms and didn't care to join in the conversation. Luckily, he never said much anyhow, so no one noticed that he was busy paying attention to his thoughts instead of the discussion. He could see that Faith needed help, even if it was only in the form of a single friend that she could depend on to always be there for her, but it wasn't his place to go charging off to be the knight in shining armor. Unless Buffy agreed, his hands were pretty much tied on the issue. Right when he was going to broach the subject, hoping that maybe Buffy would come around to his line of thinking, Xander spoke up.

"So, are we still going to the movies, or what?" he asked, adjusting his red shirt. "We're not getting any younger, except for Angel. Actually, you don't really get younger either, do you?" he said, looking at Angel, who was not amused. "You're just kind of in Age Limbo, right?"

"Let's go," Buffy said, pushing back her chair and standing up, the signal for everyone else to do the same. Drinks were emptied or thrown away. Willow and Oz, hand in hand, led the way to the nearby theater, with Xander following closely behind, talking a mile a minute. Buffy reached out for Angel's hand, and they started off, trailing a bit.

Angel couldn't help but glance back at the little table where Faith's social life had come crumbling down around her. He sympathized with her plight, but she had already been forgotten by the rest of the group, pushed to the back of their minds where she wouldn't cause any more problems. They believed it was better to ignore the trouble and hope it would go away on its own. As they rounded the corner, he caught one last glimpse of Faith's drink, standing silently and pathetically by itself, forgotten and alone.

Faith ran because running was simple. She knew that it would never solve anything in and of itself, but it felt good, like a freedom that she'd never known. Startled pedestrians did their best to avoid her frantic form. Some succeeded; others didn't. These sidewalk casualties were shoved aside, paper walls against a wrecking ball of teen angst. The night had collapsed, smothering her under its all too tangible weight, and she couldn't breathe. But still she ran, until the one place certain to offer a certain degree of solitude, the cemetery, came into sight. Looking up at the clear night sky, cursing the moon, the stars, and all the gods she didn't believe in, she swore to herself and walked inside, beckoning to danger, tempting fate.

She could tell that she'd overexerted herself by running flat-out for so long, but she would recover quickly. Her breathing quieted down with every passing second, her body regulating its systems and performing status checks. This time, there was no search for vampires. She didn't care. Mastering immortal demons was nothing to her, but tonight she'd taken a beating that was infinitely worse than physical pain.

Looking at the ground, trying to keep from screaming at the world, she nearly walked right into a large tomb. Illuminated by the moonlight, it had a morbid serenity when compared with the other haphazardly organized graves. Seeing no point in continuing a journey that would only end in fury, Faith swept her hair away from her austere face and climbed to the top of the crypt, where she laid flat on her back and looked up at the canopy of stars.

They're so far away-and I have to be here. What the hell is wrong with me? Is even one moment of happiness too much to ask for? This world sucks. My life sucks. It's Friday night, I've got no friends, and I'm in a god damn graveyard. She closed her sad eyes and let out a little sigh. At least things can't get much worse. And with that, she forced her mind to go blank, curled up on top of the tomb, and let the faint evening breeze twirl and play around her.

She must have fallen asleep at some point because she later awoke to the sound of hushed voices just below her elevated position. Faith was never one to shy away from a physical confrontation, but tonight she just didn't feel like it. The anger resulting from the disappointing display she'd given earlier had left her feeling hollow and tired, two emotions that were especially dangerous to harbor during a fight, so she just flattened her body and got ready to listen instead of act.

"I don't see what the debate is," a male voice was saying. It sounded vaguely familiar, but whoever it was spoke so quietly that Faith had trouble associating it with anyone in particular.

A female voice tiredly responded to the male's challenge. "That's easy for you to say; you're not the one that's going to be dealing with the problem every day, are you?" A pause. "No, of course not. All the responsibility will fall on my shoulders."

"That's irrelevant. The point is that you could at least try to help," the male said, his voice becoming slightly more audible. Faith watched the night sky drift peacefully into eternity and tried to pay attention to the conversation. She stared at the moon, trying to figure out exactly what sort of expression its funny little face was making.

"It's beyond a matter of help now," said the female voice. "I did my best to fix the situation, but can't you see that it's out of control? It's a lost cause."

"When did you turn into the Queen of the Pessimists?"

"I'm not being pessimistic, I'm being realistic! Try it sometime." The voices were getting a bit heated, so Faith decided that the moon's face was a waste of time and tuned in more closely to the exchange.

"So being realistic automatically means giving up on your friends?" the male asked, sounding exasperated. "She needs a friend, Buffy."

WHAT?!

Forgetting stealth altogether, Faith quickly moved took a quick peek over the edge of the tomb. Sure enough, there were Angel and Buffy, sitting against the side of the crypt, in the middle of an argument that was obviously centered on a certain brown-haired Slayer.

Okay, now the night can't get any worse. I wish an airplane would fall on me.

"This may come as a big surprise to you, Angel," Buffy continued, totally unaware of the eavesdropper up above, "but Faith isn't my friend. She's more of a colleague; a coworker, if you'd like. All she does is cause trouble. I tried to be nice to her, and she almost killed me tonight! She's a freak, and a liability!"

Faith couldn't take the abuse, but she was too proud to make herself known. She desperately tried to cover her ears and close her eyes, a vain attempt to protect herself from the razor-sharp words that drove straight into her betrayed heart. Pressed against the cold concrete, her last defenses breeched, she struggled to keep from crying out in anguish. Buffy's words could not be kept out. The more Faith tried to ignore the insults, the less successful she was.

"Stop being so selfish!" Angel retorted, obviously fed up with Buffy. "Take a few minutes of your time and just be there for her! I know how it is to feel unloved and alone. It almost destroyed me, and if all you do is stand back and leave Faith to her own devices, she could end up in the same situation, or worse. Is that what you want?"

Faith waited an eternity for the answer.

"It's not my problem," Buffy finally said. Faith died inside. "Stop being so argumentative. Faith's a big girl; she can take of herself. I'm sure she has her own set of friends anyways." There was no answer from Angel. "Come on, have a little faith in her!" Buffy laughed at her own joke, amused at making fun of the alienated, defenseless girl up above.

"It is your problem. Faith came to Sunnydale looking for something, and all she's gotten in return is nothing. Are you willing to have her self-destruction on your conscience?"

"You're exaggerating."

"Buffy, I'm trying to tell you-"

"I've heard enough. Now, you can either stay here and contemplate this oh-so-important issue until the sun comes up, or you can walk me home. Which will it be?"

Angel let out a sigh, defeated by a girl who lacked the centuries of experience that he could attest to. "Fine," he said, his voice weary with disappointment in Buffy.

Their footsteps eventually disappeared, but their words remained, haunting Faith, refusing to leave her alone. Every misgiving had been right. Every fear had come true. In all her life, she had never felt as abandoned and betrayed. Not when she'd been beaten as a child, not when her mother had died, not when her Watcher had been killed. Nothing compared to this. She felt like crying, but the tears wouldn't come, so she sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, a pretense of comfort and security in a world that wouldn't give her any.

The night crept by. Seconds turning into minutes turning into hours, an endless string of insignificant moments. Faith sat through them all, staring straight ahead, although she wasn't actually looking at anything. Sometime later, mist from the ocean crept over the cemetery, probing its ethereal fingers in all directions, leaving nothing untouched. It encompassed everything, everything except Faith. Even the fog wouldn't have anything to do with her, so she mutely watched it roll by. It passed by, passed by, passed by, her life was passing by, passing by, passing by, and she was finally aware of her inability to reach out and make contact with it.

Fuck this.

From that moment on, Faith made a decision to consciously control her life. No more hiding behind social masks, no more trying to play nice with Buffy and the Scoobies, no more caring about getting in anyone's good graces. They could either accept her at face value or go screw themselves. She'd find new friends, ones that weren't so self-absorbed; she'd get even; she'd show everyone how badly they'd messed up. Only she'd hide it, hide her hate and contempt. More fun to play them all for fools. Easier to hurt them that way, betray them just as they betrayed her.

From now on, Sunnydale is mine. I'll show them. Get ready, B., she thought. The ball's in my court now. Better get out of the way.

In one fluid motion, she leaped up and jumped over the edge of the crypt, landing easily despite the ten-foot drop to the grass. The mist enfolded her, cloaking her body and her intentions within its murk. Heading off in the direction of her motel, Faith had a new confidence and a new reason to keep living.

She didn't look back.

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