Fanfiction: Faithless

PROLOGUE: FURY

"Please. You don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way!" he was pleading. "You're right," she said. "It doesn't have to be this way. But this is how I want it to be, and if you don't like that, well too fucking bad."

Silent resignation on his part. He had stopped struggling against the cords that bound him to the uncomfortable wooden chair, in what could only be described as a dungeon, but was more or less just a basement. How long he'd been sitting tied up was unknown to him; he'd become conscious in this state, bloodied and bruised at the hands of this maniac. The room was small, and very dark, the only illumination being the moonlight trying to peek its way through the small, rectangular slits high up on the walls. Probably ventilation shafts not meant to let any real light through.

"Don't try to sweet-talk your way out of this," Faith said from across the room, where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one leg crooked over the other. Shrouded in darkness, he could only just make out her dark auburn hair, slightly disheveled, that framed her beautiful face, with its wide hazel eyes and full, red lips. Beautiful to be sure, but she kept to the shadows, preferring to be seen only partially or not at all. "You can't escape justice, no matter how hard you try."

He snorted his disapproval of this statement. "Oh, and you must be Justice Incarnate, right?" But as soon as it had left his lips, he regretted ever saying it. He watched as Faith's confident demeanor slowly turned into one of smoldering rage. She was almost trembling in her effort to control herself, but finally after a few long, long moments, she regained her composure and simply smiled.

"Yes," was all she had to offer in reply.

"And you've passed your judgment on me already, haven't you? You don't even care about what I have to say, what I have to tell you." He really didn't have anything useful to tell her, but it was worth a shot anyhow.

"I'll be honest with you for a minute here, and don't take this the wrong way, but I couldn't give a shit about you, your past, your little lies, or your worthless existence." Faith paused for a moment to consider what she had said, and then continued, but in one of the highly sarcastic tones that she was so good at. "No, I take that back. I do care about your past. It might lead to me to others like you who need to be disposed of. Still care to share?"

"Fuck you," he said, knowing he couldn't win against her, consumed as she was with her lust for violence and revenge.

"That's wishful thinking on your part. I don't fuck vampires. So keep it in your pants," she teased, moving away from the wall and coming to crouch on the floor only a few feet from where he was tied up. From inside her dusty, black jacket she withdrew a serrated knife with a seven-inch blade. It caught even the feeble, gray light pouring in through the shutters up above, and it showed him a quick glimpse of the chair, where his reflection should have been, before Faith moved it back into her jacket. "Or it might get misplaced."

"Look, you don't understand. What you're trying to do to my kind is genocide! That can't be justified," he implored through gritted teeth.

"No," Faith retorted, "it's you who doesn't understand. Because I don't care. Call it genocide if you want, or call it murder. It's all the same to me. The very existence of vampires is ridiculous: you take life in order to keep living. And you're asking me to justify my intentions?" She laughed, standing up to her full height and dusting herself off.

"We didn't ask for this kind of life. We had no choice either way."

"And neither do I. I didn't ask to become a Slayer, I didn't ask to be the one that has to defend humanity from you, and I sure as hell didn't ask for all the blood that's on my hands."

"Then stop. You don't have to be a Slayer forever. Unlike us, you do have a choice, Faith." This was a big gamble on his part. If this argument couldn't get through to her, nothing could. His life was on the line. But perhaps if he could stall her for a few more minutes, his friends, other creatures of the night, might have time to locate him and come to his aid. They would definitely be looking for him after what had happened at the club. He remembered trying to fight Faith off as she burst through the entrance and attacked him, but apparently he'd been unsuccessful. Quite unsuccessful. Surely his friends had heard the news and would be on their way.

"Maybe you're right." Faith turned away from him, sorting through her feelings. This was a good sign! But as soon as he'd had this thought, she turned back around, all signs of indecision gone from her face, replaced by the most menacing smile he'd ever seen. Definitely not good. "But I have something to tell you, and you're probably not going to like it," she said softly, as she came and sat down on his legs, straddling him, playfully running her fingers through his hair. For just a moment he saw an amused, little-girl grin, but it was gone so fast he couldn't even be sure that he had really seen it. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, quite prepared for more verbal taunts. But what he wasn't prepared for was the knife flashing silently in the twilight and plunging straight into his left thigh. He was so shocked that for a moment, nothing even registered; not Faith staring unflinchingly into his eyes, not the room and its murky bleakness, not the blood spurting from the wound, nothing. And then there was pain, pain like he'd never felt before. It consumed his very being, flowing along every nerve straight to his mind. He could feel that his muscles had been ripped in half by the blade that was still embedded in his thigh. His veins, torn and shredded?

Blinded by this feeling, eyes shut, grimacing, he tried to rein in the pain so that he could vanquish it. Slowly, slowly, it ebbed and was nearly gone, when Faith snapped out of her reverie and whispered close to his ear, her breath hot on his skin, "Oops, looks like I forgot something."

Not comprehending this somewhat cryptic statement, he could only watch helplessly, arms bound to the chair, as Faith took her right hand and waved it in front of his face, getting his full attention. Then she trailed her fingernails down the side of his face, caressing his chest, finally coming to rest inches from the hilt of the knife. His eyes widened suddenly, realizing what she intended to do.

"You know, serrated edges are so very amusing," Faith was telling him, as her hand circled the knife again and again. There was blood everywhere, all over her clothes and skin, but she didn't seem to notice. In fact, she seemed to be immersing herself in it. This was beyond belief. "It's rather like a double-edged sword, don't you think? Cuts one way, and then cuts the other way, too?"

"Why can't you just kill me?" he asked, his body preparing itself for the pain surely to arrive any second.

"Aw, poor baby! Want your mommy?" And with that, she twisted the knife, doing irreparable damage to his leg, before savagely ripping it free. And this time he screamed. He screamed until he thought his throat would bleed. The wound had been extended by the twisting action, and there was now a gaping hole where part of his leg had once been. It was weeping red like a waterfall all over Faith's already bloodstained hand as she grinned and laughed a little to herself, watching the dark crimson liquid jet from his thigh.

"I'll never get tired of that color," she cooed, admiring the terrible spectacle that she'd created. He started to shudder and then began to cry. The pain was just too great, and this torture was killing his spirit, a spirit he had once thought to be unconquerable. Faith ignored him, and got up from her straddling position to gaze upon her work from a higher viewpoint. She tossed the knife aside, its purpose fulfilled.

"You'll pay for this, you bitch!" he suddenly cried, in between the tears and blood. Where were his friends, damn it? Suddenly he felt a terrible blow to his jaw as Faith punched him with all of her power. His head snapped to the side, recoiling from the tremendous force. He could feel fragments of his teeth awash in a sea of blood within his mouth. Coughing, he spit it out all over the floor.

Having no more willpower left, reduced to a bloody, beaten animal, the vampire closed his eyes and waited for the killing strike, the wooden stake to be driven straight into his motionless heart. But it never came. He opened one eye, cautiously, lest Faith decide to pummel him once more, but he spied her on the other side of the room, back against the wall, that same, confident smirk back on her face, arms crossed, one leg crooked across the other. Except her hands were no longer those of an angel, no longer white and innocent. Now they were the hands of something malicious and evil. The hands of a devil.

The two just stared at each other for a few silent minutes, Slayer and Vampire, beater and beaten. The night was quiet outside of the room, no sound but the whisper of the wind, and no smell but the moist, humid odor of an impending storm. How far away was it? The vampire couldn't tell. Faith's rock-steady gaze was unsettling, and the vampire could feel himself growing weak from the loss of blood that he'd sustained. He was leaning forward limply against his bonds. Seeing this sad state of affairs, Faith reacquired her knife and, with a glint of red, moonlit steel, cut him free. He fell in a heap, sprawled out facedown on the stone floor, blood still pumping from his leg and trickling from his mouth.

His whole world was red: red from the pain and red from the blood, a red haze of inescapable death. Faith knelt down by his limp form and flipped him onto his back so that he was staring at the black ceiling. And sure enough, there was Death looking right back at him, smug in its certainty that out of all the creatures on the planet, he was going to be next to die. Straddling his chest this time, Faith reached one of her blood-soaked hands into the darkness, groped around for a bit, smiled when she came in contact with what she was searching for, and then suddenly there was a sharpened, wooden stake in her possession.

Again taking on a soothing, pleasant voice, if such a thing were possible, she began to speak as she admired her weapon. "I bet you're wondering where your friends are. Aren't you?"

The vampire's eyes widened. His pale countenance, twisted with surprise and horrid understanding, was almost fading into translucence now.

"You didn't think I was just sitting idly by while you were unconscious, did you? I took the small liberty of depositing you here, doubling back to catch your friends in pursuit, and killing each and every one of them. And not quickly, either. You think what I've done to you tonight is bad? You don't know the meaning of pain if you think this is unbearable. How do you think it would feel to have your knees and elbows shattered so that you couldn't walk or crawl? How would it be to be able to feel your crushed bones within your skin? Can you imagine?"

She laughed a little to herself. "No, of course you can't. No one can. Not unless it's happened to you. So you better thank God, Satan, Yahweh, Buddha, whatever trite little deity you pray to, that that's not what I'm going to do to you. But you know what? Right now, there is no God in Heaven. Because right now, at this moment, I am God."

Lightning flashed through the shutters up above, blinding him and illuminating Faith's eyes for one terrifying instant. Thunder followed a few seconds later, rumbling through the sky as if heralding the arrival of the apocalypse. He could hear the rain begin to fall outside, the steady, staccato drumbeat rhythm that it made against the damp earth unmistakable. He mustered his energy together for just one last sentence, one thing that he had to ask before Faith destroyed him.

Through the pain, blood, and tears, he managed to say, very quietly, "Don't you feel any guilt?" His mouth could barely pronounce the syllables correctly around the broken teeth and blood. His sharp, vampire teeth were now little more than jagged stumps.

"You're asking if I feel any connection to those I kill?" she asked, raising her voice just a bit to be heard over the rain. He nodded, convinced that her calm demeanor was simply a charade for some inescapable feeling of inner torment due to her violent lifestyle. Outside, the moon had been covered by the black, raging clouds, and the room had been plunged into almost total darkness. The vampire could just barely make out Faith's silhouette, stake in her right hand. "You want a connection? It's just skin. I see, I want, I take, I forget. I could do anything to you right now, and not feel anything. I can make you scream. I can make you die." He saw lightning again, instant brightness, a glimpse of the stake slowly, ever so slowly, being lowered to his chest, until the point was resting right above his heart.

"You see, I can't let myself feel anything, or I couldn't do what I do," she said, her voice taking on a melancholy tone. She sounded tired of being a Slayer. Maybe all she'd ever wanted was a normal life. "Believe me, I think about just ending everything all the time. I think it might be nicer to be surrounded by oblivion and nothingness than all the shit that comes with being alive." Her voice began to quaver. "And I've had to deal with more shit that most people; being entrusted to protect humanity and being forced into the role of a killer isn't all fun and games, and sometimes I wish it would just disappear."

Faith sighed. The stake began to exert a greater pressure on the vampire's chest. He could feel it begin to puncture his skin, and a thin stream of blood began to crawl out of his heart, absorbed by the weapon that would end his life in mere moments.

"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep,'" she was whispering. The stake entered his chest. He closed his eyes. "'And miles to go before I sleep...'" The rain's intensity increased, and then with one, sudden downward movement, Faith drove the stake right through the vampire's heart. She began to cry. "'And miles to go before I sleep.'" The vampire died and was gone forever; the only sign that he'd ever been there was some dust collecting in Faith's spilt tears. Thunder crashed, drowning out the sounds of her sobbing, and then it was gone, leaving her curled up on the floor, alone in the darkness with her tortured soul.

Lightning came once more. The rain continued to fall. The vampire was forgotten as if he had never lived. And Faith was gone.

CHAPTER ONE: ALONE

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-b-

"Jesus Christ, will you shut the hell up?" Faith exclaimed as she hurled the alarm clock across her tiny room, where it exploded against the wall in a shower of circuits and plastic. How can it be noon already? she thought, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. It seemed like she'd just fallen asleep a few minutes ago, but apparently she'd been out for at least seven hours. And now she had a new day to deal with, another in a long string that she could just as well do without.

Lately her life hadn't been what most people would call "ideal". Not that anything that Faith had ever had could be considered ideal: a drunken, unloving mother who had died years earlier; a Watcher murdered right before her eyes; nightly violence and bloodshed due to her duty as a Slayer; no family; no friends. A life of loneliness, neglect, and alienation was all that Faith knew. So she did what anyone would do under those circumstances: she hid the pain behind a façade that she was forced to carry out from day to day just to get by. Don't let them see your pain; they'll think you're weak. Show them strength, recklessness, attitude, anything, just don't let them inside or they'll hurt you in the end.

Everything depressed her, and nothing she did could alleviate the feeling that life was just one disaster after another, a pointless struggle against everyone and everything. Faith's only real emotional outlet was in slaughtering vampires and the occasional random demon, but even that was growing wearisome; was there a point if you could never win? Every night and every day were the same, the hours of the former spent doing nothing but killing, and the latter consisting of seemingly endless spans of time in which she would either sit in her dingy motel room hating herself and everyone else, or venture out into the world and live the life of someone who's not really breathing. She was not unaware that she wasn't really living her life when she interacted with the outside world; someone else seemed to take over and supply the wit and the sarcasm while the real Faith, always so afraid of rejection and so desperately in need of love and attention, could safely hide under the charade.

Things were worse since she'd come to Sunnydale. Sure, it had been rough before, but at least Faith hadn't had to face the life she could've been living if things were different. Some might think that the life Buffy led was all tears and heartbreak, but it was sunshine and happiness compared to Faith's. Buffy had a house, and a mom, and friends, and a Watcher, and a lover. Faith had nothing. Originally, it seemed that she might be able to fit in with Buffy and her friends, but over time, predictably, she had been pushed away and was now rarely included in anything that the group did. To them, Faith barely existed, and then only as an afterthought.

Rousing herself from these self-defeating thoughts, she rummaged through her meager wardrobe to find something suitable to wear, settled with some faded jeans, a white shirt, and her favorite black jacket, entered the bathroom, showered, and did her makeup using her little compact. Everyone had always said that Faith was pretty, and she had believed the compliments early on, but over time, after dealing with betrayal and neglect for years, she eventually didn't see anything special in herself anymore. If she was truly beautiful, why did no one bother to love her? Forced into this line of thinking, Faith's relationships now consisted of one-night stands with random men whom she used and then tossed away. She simply couldn't bring herself to trust her emotions with anyone in any kind of long-term relationship for fear that she would end up torn and hurt in the end, like she always had before.

Sighing, she looked with shame out of the bathroom towards her bed. Her belongings in the dilapidated motel room consisted of an ancient, unreliable black-and-white television set that stood against the wall opposite her bed, a smallish stereo sitting on the dresser a few feet away, a few magazines, and her clothes. She owned nothing else. The alarm clock had belonged to her, too, but now it wasn't ever going to do much good again, shattered as it was on the floor. It was still attempting to make some sort of utterly pathetic beeping sound, interspersed with electric crackles and the artificially unpleasant smell of burnt plastic. After cleaning it off the ground and throwing its remains under the bed, she gathered what little money she had and walked out the door, not bothering to lock it behind her. Nothing inside was worth stealing.

Outside, Sunnydale was suffering from an extreme lack of sunlight. The clouds from the storm on the previous night had yet to be blown away, and though they weren't pouring rain at the moment, they hung over the California coast like a bad omen, encasing the town in a cold, almost black grip. Faith didn't mind the rain or the cold; actually, she didn't really pay much attention to weather in general. If it couldn't beat, maim, or kill you, then why bother worrying? Wandering through the town somewhat aimlessly, she was barely aware of the biting cold through her jacket and her tumultuous thoughts.

What day is it? A school day? The weekend? Damn it...I really need to get a calendar or something. If I had more money, I might get one, but it can wait. I hope Buffy's in school today...then I won't accidentally run into her and be forced into false pleasantries. "Hi, Faith. How's your little slice of misery going? Uh-huh, that's good to hear." Well I don't need your sympathy, B. Mind your own business.

Ironically, her destination ended up being Sunnydale High, probably due to some unconscious need for companionship, however fleeting. On the way it had begun to drizzle, foreshadowing a continuation of last night's storm, so she pulled up her jacket collar a bit higher, wrapped her arms around herself, and sat down on the curb across the street, waiting to see if Buffy would show. Maybe they could get lunch together. That wouldn't be so bad, she thought.

She passed the time watching the rain stream down in a heavy mist from the sky. It was beautiful, if not a little solemn and depressing at the same time. The way each individual drop was so weak, and also so very powerful, intrigued her; alone, they could accomplish nothing, but combined, the drops had the power to shift the landscape, creating little rivulets in the gutters and puddles in the streets. Trees that lined the sidewalk sagged under the weight of their collective oppression; oil, previously trapped within the ground, was freed and ran in rainbow colors towards unknown terrain; the transient creations of small animals were washed away.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Faith, shivering from the drops of water clinging to her hair and skin, thinking that perhaps it really was the weekend, was about to give up when Buffy, umbrella firmly in hand, came striding out. As usual, her blonde hair was perfectly done up, accenting her dark blue turtleneck sweater and black pants. Just as Faith was about to wave a greeting, her friendly gesture was blocked from view by a dark blue SUV that came skidding around the corner. Amidst a small torrent of spray from the wheels, it came to a stop directly in front of the school. From across the street, Faith recognized Joyce, Buffy's mother, as the driver.

She watched as Buffy closed her umbrella and quickly hopped into the passenger seat only an instant before the sky opened up and turned the drizzle into a downpour. Mother and daughter embraced for a moment and then drove off, neither bothering to glance across the street where a forlorn, brown-haired girl sat by herself in the pouring rain. Hopes crushed and teeth chattering, soaked to the skin with breath coming out in little clouds, Faith stood up, shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, and began the long, desolate walk home.

Vampires fell into step some yards behind her when she was halfway between the school and the motel. With the dark clouds in the sky, the sun ceased to exist, and so the creatures of the night, usually forced underground or inside during the afternoon, were out en masse for lunch. Naturally, Faith was aware of them even before they began trailing her, even though their footfalls were drowned into oblivion by the rain, which would not give up its relentless attack upon Sunnydale. Though she was mostly consumed with her bitter, depressed thoughts, a small part of her mind was always on alert for any sign of trouble, and whatever was behind her right now constituted trouble in a big way.

The only question was: how many were there? Faith, being relatively fearless, usually wouldn't have cared about the odds, but this was different: now she was suicidal. All her rage, all her hate, all her desire to just flat-out destroy had been repressed all day, and now the vampires, probably thinking they were creeping up on a helpless girl, were about to receive a very rude awakening. Having no weapon, no idea of the odds, and not giving a fuck, Faith turned around to face her sworn enemies...And laughed in spite of herself. For there on the sidewalk not ten feet from her, amidst the torrential downpour, stood three male vampires dressed sharply in black outfits. Holding umbrellas.

"What's this?" she asked, the first smile she'd shown in days immediately transforming her unhappy face into something radiant and beautiful. "Could it be'Singin' in the Rain: the Undead'"

This statement caused much confusion amongst the trio, who turned to look at each other in a questioning, perplexed way instead of attacking. The only thing that identified them as vampires were their yellow-hued eyes, nearly inhuman facial expressions, and razor-sharp teeth, but none were smiling at the moment, all still attempting to figure out the insult. Spoiling for a fight, Faith decided to goad them on.

"I didn't know that vampires were afraid of getting wet," she said in a sarcastic tone while taking off her jacket. Already soaked beyond all hope of staying dry, there was no need for it, and it would only impede her movement. Jeans and a short t-shirt weren't the most intimidating items of clothing, but she didn't care. The black tattoo on her right arm stood in stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin, which was exaggerated under the unfriendly sky. "Now are you ready to throw down, or what? Otherwise get the hell out of my sight."

The vampires, able to comprehend this basic insult, snarled and tossed their umbrellas on the grass. It looked as though the fight was to take place in a residential neighborhood, which was not really to Faith's liking. There were no weapons lying about, and the chance that someone might see the battle and subsequently call the cops irritated her, but she'd have to make do. Perhaps directing the carnage towards the middle of the street would diminish the chance of collateral damage to houses, cars, and other private property. Not that she really cared; it was just simpler if she didn't have to explain to anyone why she threw a vampire head-first through a plate-glass window.

The trio, now in full attack mode, encircled the lone girl, who had entered into a fighting stance and was processing all the information as it came to her heightened senses, always prioritizing, judging, and weighing different plans of attack. Just as she sensed that the vampire behind her was about to jump and try for a tackle, Faith smirked and quietly whispered, "Give us a kiss."

Suddenly she was everywhere and nowhere. The vamp who tried for the tackle caught nothing by air as he sailed past and collided with one of his friends. Faith had darted to the left at the last second, avoiding one attack and starting her own upon the third of the trio. She faked a jab, and when the vamp tried to scoot out of the way, he misplaced his footing on the slippery concrete and fell flat on his face. Not one for pity, or to laugh at the ridiculous situation, Faith used the opportunity to kick his head as hard as she could just as he looked up. The tip of her boot connected with his face amidst a spray of red, and he was literally flipped backwards from the sidewalk into the street, where he landed in a crumpled heap. He was going to be down for at least a few moments, enough time for her to engage the other two, who had, in the six seconds that had elapsed since the fight began, recovered from Vamp One's clumsy attack and were now charging straight for her.

Lashing out with a standing side kick to one's chest, she connected and then immediately went on the defensive as the other one came at her with a flurry of punches. Using instinct and fighting prowess honed by hundreds of similar encounters, she succeeded in using her forearms to block all of his attempts. Except one. As she split off a small portion of her awareness to check on the vamp she'd kicked just a second before, the one she was currently engaged with did a feint with his left leg, but threw a right hook instead, catching her directly on the chin.

Faith's head rocked violently backward; she immediately knew that the salty, not-altogether-unpleasant taste in her mouth was her own blood. She staggered back a few feet on the sidewalk, partially because the blow was powerful, but also because she needed to buy some room to breathe. A bit of her blood escaped her mouth and had barely started to run over her lips before the rain swept down and erased the outward signs of her injury. But it couldn't take away the pain. She focused on it, wielding it like a weapon. Pain was a state of mind. Just as with anything worthwhile, it took practice to control, but once Faith had learned to harness its dark energy, she found she could direct it outward with a violence few could survive.

"Mmm, you like it rough, huh?" she taunted, intending to lure him in.

The vampire, completely forgetting the theory of greater numbers, played into Faith's trap and left his friends behind, intending to finish the fight himself. Remaining motionless until the very last moment, she narrowly avoided his punch, and he hit nothing but the ever-present rain. Caught up with his own momentum, he couldn't retract his right arm in time to prevent Faith from grabbing it with both hands, and faster than he could comprehend, she had him on his knees. Standing behind him, she stepped on the back of one of his knees to prevent him from getting up, and wrenched his arm to increase the pain. His friends, seeing that their comrade was in desperate trouble, started to move in, but Faith stopped them with a single word.

"Wait!" she cried. They halted, confused that this girl, soaking wet and bleeding from the mouth, would dare to give them commands. Noting that they had temporarily halted their advance, she used one hand to wipe her hair away from her face while she leaned over the grounded vamp's shoulder. Lowering her voice, she whispered in his ear, "I play rough, too."

And with that, she went into action so fast that none of the vampires knew what was happening until it was too late. Drawing on all her pain, frustration, and hatred, she moved with a speed and power that bespoke of intent not just to injure, but to cripple. Whilst simultaneously using her right hand to pull the vampire's arm backwards, she shot her left palm forward with all of her Slayer strength and connected directly with his elbow, immediately shattering his arm nearly in two.

Time stopped.

Mind ablaze with the pain of an irreparable injury, the vampire couldn't even muster the energy to scream. The seconds ticked by like hours, each one lasting an eternity. Not an eternity of bliss, but one of pure, unmitigated agony. Faith released his mangled arm, and he simply fell forward onto the cold, wet sidewalk. Heavy raindrops, unfeeling and uncaring, relentlessly pelted his prone form from above. But not even the water could drown out his suffering now.

Locking her eyes onto the other two vampires, who were looking with disbelief at the thing that had been their friend just a moment before, she put on her sweetest smile and said, "That must've been wicked painful, don't you think?"

Consumed with hunger and vengeance, they snarled and commenced their attack, but their number advantage had been diminished, and they were now just cattle lined up for Faith's slaughter. Keeping collateral damage in mind, she moved backwards through the perpetual deluge into the middle of the street, which was pitch-black with wetness. The houses on either side of the road stood at mute attention, their blank countenances washed clean by the all-powerful storm.

The first of the two remaining vamps didn't even bother to formulate a strategy; he simply ran full-tilt in the direction of his little brown-eyed enemy. Faith, seeing a clear opportunity to do an immense amount of damage with a few simple maneuvers, waited for the vamp to come within striking distance, and just as he was about to reach out and grab her, she shrugged off his feeble attempt and punched him directly in the solar plexus. He doubled over immediately in response, and Faith took the opportunity to ram her knee straight into his nose, destroying its delicate bone structure. For an instant, a shower of blood joined the rain in its freefall towards the earth, and then it was gone. The vampire, clutching his broken face, stumbled away and fell onto the pavement.

Reaching into his black cloak, the last vampire, in an act of desperation, unsheathed a knife. It shone dully as the rain rebounded from its hardness, seemingly afraid that it would get injured if it came too close. Faith, who had seen much more impressive weapons in her time, wasn't phased.

"Think about what's happened to your friends so far," she told the last vampire as he moved closer, moving the knife as an extension of his own arm. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

Apparently he did, for he lunged for her stomach as soon as she'd finished talking. Darting quickly to the side, she got in a glancing blow to his arm as he passed, intending to make him drop the knife, which, for all her bravado, was not really something she wanted to get to know any better. The vamp held on and spun around, cutting Faith on her upper left arm before she could prevent it. She was familiar with knife cuts; the pain was intense for a moment, but they receded into dull aches soon after. This wasn't a serious cut, but now her blood was flowing freely from the wound, which only heightened the vampire's blood lust. The vividly red current streaming down her arm was interrupted by the omnipresent torrent from the sky so that it traveled not in a neat path, but in a crooked, distorted way that made the wound appear worse than it really was.

The vampire, bolstered by his success on his first pass, came at Faith again, but this time he stayed farther away and just made a stabbing motion instead of a full-on lunge. With too little time to escape the thrust, she was forced to block the knife with her right forearm, which was mostly bone and therefore well-suited to the task, but she still received a nasty laceration several inches long for her troubles. Luckily the top of the forearm contained no arteries, but it was still incredibly painful to have her skin torn in two by the steel.

Furious and bloodied from being stabbed, she decided that it was time to end this fight. Not because she was in danger of passing out from blood loss, but prolonging the fight would only weaken her. The vampire made another thrusting motion, but this time Faith was ready for it, anticipating that he would go for the same attack that had worked so well the first time around. She grabbed his right hand in her left as the knife came again, bringing it to a halt only centimeters away from her chest. With her free right hand, she made a fist and drove it into the side of the vamp's head, causing him to finally release the knife. It fell to the street with a faint, muted clinking sound caused by the abundance of water that had collected there, and Faith kicked it into the gutter, where it was sure to do no more damage. Now the odds were in her favor once more.

Driven back by the punch to his head, the vamp recovered and began to step forward towards Faith once more. In her relaxed fighter's stance, she watched as he swung his left fist in the direction of her face. With a reaction time that put the storm's lightning to shame, she didn't attempt to block the attack, but shot her right arm out instead, where her fist collided with the vampire's. Angry that she'd let the fight go on for so long, angry that she'd been stabbed, and angry that she hadn't even killed anyone yet, she put all of her energy into the punch, and she was rewarded with a satisfying snapping sound that came from the vamp's hand as some of his fingers were crushed. He made a sound like a wounded animal, immediately retracting his arm so that it was safely out of Faith's reach. Her hand recoiled from the impact as well, but she didn't sustain any broken bones.

Pushing her advantage, she gave herself fully over to her dark, violent desires and charged ahead recklessly, knowing that her opponent now only had one good arm to fight back with. Easily brushing aside the initial punch that the vampire threw at her out of sheer desperation, she snap-kicked his face with her boot. A small explosion of blood accompanied this impact, and he fell and rolled into the gutter, which was overflowing with rain water.

The vamp attempted to get up, but Faith was on him before he could even make it to his knees. After delivering a swift kick to his ribcage to ensure that he stayed down for a moment, she went in search of the knife that she had previously kicked somewhere in the area. She found it drowning in the gutter beneath a swift little stream of water that was quickly running towards the ocean, being sustained by constant additions to its minute power from up above, where the sky, unhappily looking down with regret at the battle below, was pouring out its lamentations with a fury.

Knife firmly in hand, Faith walked purposefully over to the last remaining vampire's shuddering form and roughly hauled him to his feet, swinging her free arm around his neck to keep him from attacking. Standing behind him, in a position of total control, she took the knife and positioned it directly in the center of his back. Before delivering the final, ending strike, she thought she should at least utter a few parting words.

"Game over," she said, and with that, she shoved the knife deep into the vampire's back, where it severed his spinal cord cleanly in two. He went slack in her grip immediately after, all commands from his brain to his limbs unable to find access to the correct pathway. The impalement wouldn't kill him, as it wasn't sunlight, or a stake through the heart, but even vampires needed a spinal column, and this vampire was now sorely lacking one. Yanking the knife free, a fountain of blood erupted from the wound, coating Faith's white shirt in dark, scarlet gore.

Two minutes had passed since the fight began. Breathing heavily from all the exertion she'd just put herself through, she was letting the rain- and blood-spattered body fall to the ground just as a pair of headlights entered her field of view. The vehicle was still perhaps a quarter of a mile away, but it looked as though it was heading right for her. Looking around helplessly for a place to temporarily stash her abnormal enemies, lest the driver want to get a closer look at the three bodies that littered the drenched street and sidewalks, she was disappointed to find that the plain, suburban neighborhood held yards that were all subject to such a cookie-cutter similarity that none offered anything in the way of a decent hiding place.

Resigned that there was nothing she could possibly do, she tossed the knife onto a lawn and awaited the vehicle's approach. There was blood everywhere: it ran in rivulets in the street and on the sidewalks, it dripped off of Faith's arms, and her t-shirt and jeans were completely covered in it. The vampire with the shattered arm lay on the opposing sidewalk, curled up in a fetal position. The second one, with the broken nose, was more or less right in the middle of the street, still holding his face in his hands as if afraid that the rain might wash it away if he removed them. And the third, permanently immobile, was on his back right at Faith's feet, a pool of blood so large collecting underneath him that even the rain was having a hard time sweeping it away.

Her hair was matted to her head from the amount of water it had absorbed. She absentmindedly pulled it back, away from her face. The punch she'd taken to her jaw had left no visible mark; she healed abnormally fast with her Slayer gifts. Her arms, however, were another story. They were still bleeding profusely, and the rain wasn't helping any by keeping the cuts eternally wet. She tried to wipe them clean on her shirt, but the blood, not to be denied, rose up and went dribbling down her arms a moment later.

Lightning flashed somewhere along the horizon, but its brilliance was overwhelmed by the headlights that were now shining directly into Faith's eyes. The vehicle had come to a screeching halt about fifteen feet from where the carnage began. She couldn't tell what kind it was because the headlights were so bright that everything behind them seemed bizarrely dark. Roundly projecting their beams, they illuminated the rain, which was coming down in heavy sheets, and they made the blood on Faith's white shirt appear that much more inflamed.

For a tense, drawn out moment, no one got out to ask why a waterlogged, bloodstained, wounded girl was standing on the side of the road with three bodies strewn about, but finally, a door opened and a figure stepped out of the passenger side. Still having a hard time seeing past the headlights and the rain, all she saw was an umbrella open before the unknown figure identified itself by its voice.

"Faith? Is that you?"

Buffy Summers.

Completely relieved that it was only Buffy and not some nosy, do-right citizen out to fill her life with meaningless questions, Faith let out the breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Maybe Buffy could spare a second to help her finish off the vamps, and then, if she was lucky, she could hitch a ride in Joyce's SUV back to the motel, where she would definitely need a hot shower and some bandages for her arms.

"Buffy, I'm so glad that you---" she began.

"What do you think you're doing?" interrupted Buffy, moving to stand in front of the headlights. Illuminated from behind, her outline nearly glowed, almost as if she were something divine and not merely a human being. The little black umbrella easily shunted away the rain, keeping her nice and dry while Faith stood soaking and bleeding in the street. "Did you even think about how many people could've seen you?"

Faith, confused as to why Buffy was so displeased with her, didn't know how to respond to this. "Look, B.," she started again, "these guys pretty much jumped me, but I tried my best to---"

"I don't care," Buffy broke in again. Her mouth, able to give such a charming smile, was turned down in a frown of disappointment and condemnation. "Maybe you should try to take some responsibility for your actions once in a while. For a Slayer you're far too reckless."

In disbelief that Buffy was not offering help and comfort, but criticisms and condescending looks instead, Faith tried once more to dispel the animosity that was coming her way.

"I know I probably could've handled the situation better, and I'm sorry, but---"

"Sorry doesn't cut it."

Unable to take any more abuse, Faith's willpower snapped and she screamed, "What the fuck do you want from me!?" Why was this happening to her? Had she really done something wrong? On the verge of tears, shaking from the cold, exhaustion, and blood loss, she didn't know what to say that could make the situation any better. "I tried my best to do what you would've done! I tried to make sure that no one saw us!" Her mouth began to quiver and tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. She wrapped her bloody arms around herself for the minimal warmth they would provide against the pitiless rain, which suddenly seemed much harsher than it ever had before. Close to a complete breakdown, her voice lost its angry edge and became subdued to such an extent that it could barely be heard over the downpour. "What more could I have done?"

Buffy, unmoved by this display of emotion, locked her eyes with Faith's and said in a remorseless tone, "I just guess you can never be what I thought you could be."

A single, solitary tear fell from Faith's eyes as she heard this cruel remark. It was immediately swept away to join the billions of other drops of water that were falling to the ground. Amidst the others, it was insignificant. Worthless. Wretched.

"And what can't I be?" she asked, purposefully setting herself up for even more pain. The sky, almost completely raven-colored due to the hellish clouds above, reflected the inner depths of her being, black and twisted from the torture she was enduring at the hands of the one person in the world that she had considered to be her friend.

"You want to know what you can never be?" Buffy asked, secure under the protection of her umbrella. "A friend I can have faith in." She paused a moment to let these vicious words sink in. "Now clean up this mess." And with that, she started to walk towards the still-open passenger door.

Her body racked with sobs, Faith made one final attempt, a last act of desperation. Reaching out her arm towards the girl that had just renounced their friendship, hoping against hope that this was just some terrible dream, she fought to raise her voice above the deafening sound of the rain striking the pavement. "Buffy!" she cried.

The door slammed.

Faith caught one last glimpse of Buffy's stoic face as it flashed by in the window, and then there was only the dull glow of taillights fading into the distance. Full of despair beyond the telling of it, unbidden tears streaming with abandon down her pretty face, her eyes flashed to the knife that was still sitting complacently on the lawn. Slowly picking it up from the saturated grass, she went and drove it into the first vampire her gaze fell upon. She didn't intend to keep stabbing, but all she saw in the vampire's pained expression was Buffy. On her knees, no longer able to stand, she drove the knife again and again and again into him until the face she associated with Buffy was so mangled and deformed that she had no more strength to lift her arm.

Overcome with a pain that she never knew she could feel, Faith grabbed the vampire's hair with one hand and severed its head from its neck with the knife that she clutched in the other. The body turned to dust instantly and the rain quickly pounded it into oblivion. Her injured arms forgotten amidst the anger seething in her mind, she moved onto the next vampire and stabbed it just as she had done to the first. Over and over the knife entered and exited its body, slicing the flesh into ragged, bloody ribbons, until she decapitated it and moved on to the final one, where she repeated this process for the last time.

Letting the knife slip from her trembling hand, she let her grief wash over her in a great wave. Lying on the sidewalk, surrounded by the blood from the vampires and from her own body, Faith cried.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, but she didn't hear it. All she heard in her head were Buffy's last words: "You know what you can never be? A friend I can have faith in." Raindrops, not caring about her feelings, hit her over and over from above, while the sky, looking down on this pathetic sight, felt nothing and continued to pummel the poor, sobbing form with all of its relentless power.

Sometime later, in a daze, Faith finally stumbled into her motel room, soaking wet and eyes red from crying. Her arms had finally stopped bleeding; all that was left were two unsightly scarlet gashes that defaced her otherwise perfectly white skin. Unable to stop shivering from her prolonged exposure to the elements, she shut the door and quietly crawled under her covers, wet clothes and all. It wasn't long before she fell into a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep.

Her favorite black jacket, forgotten long ago on the lawns of the residential neighborhood, was eventually picked up and thrown into the garbage by a homeowner.

CHAPTER TWO: INSECURE

Knock-knock-knock

Knock-knock

Knock-knock-knock-knock-kn-

"No, not again," Faith muttered, still half asleep. "Go away." She pulled the pillow over her head in an attempt to make the noise stop, but it was incessant, and it wasn't going to be denied. Getting out from under the covers, shoes on, still dressed in her wet clothes, she made it only a few feet from the bed before she toppled into the wall, nearly dislodging her ancient TV set from its perch on a small table. Shocked awake by this rather unexpected event, she tried to get herself upright, but she couldn't seem to do it. Her eyes were having trouble focusing; the room seemed a complete blur, as if a toddler with spray paint had gone ballistic. A complete lack of light wasn't helping matters any; Faith was amazed that she had even made it as far as the wall without some catastrophe befalling her in the gloom. The temperature also seemed abnormally cold, although she noticed that she was sweating. She wiped her forehead with her arm and gave a little gasp as she was immediately rewarded with a searing flash of pain from one of her still-raw cuts. Was everything going wrong today?

In addition to these other maladies, the knocking was giving her a headache. "Hold on, will you?" she said to the door, which seemed to be an eternity away from her current position. Stretching out her left arm against the wall for stability, she started making her way towards her target, glad that whoever or whatever was on the other side had at least decided to shut up for a moment. She sidestepped around the TV and scooted against the wall for the last few feet until she was finally in range of the handle. But when she reached out to grab it, she missed. She tried again. Miss. Again. Miss. It seemed to be moving, and Faith was in no state to try to catch it, so she concentrated hard on the spot where she thought it to be, caught a quick glimpse of it through the dark haze of her vision, and grabbed it at last. It occurred to her that she might be dreaming, and that everything would be just fine once she woke up. No fight with Buffy, no cuts, no bruises. Gladdened by the small success of catching the fleeing doorknob, but inwardly distressed because she knew that this was no dream, she twisted the handle and opened the door. And there, standing in the twilit mist streaming from the sky, a perfect example of beauty underneath a black umbrella, was Buffy.

"Shit. I was wrong. This really is a dream," Faith said under her breath. Apparently she hadn't slept long because Buffy was dressed in the same clothes that she'd had on earlier. Night was approaching fast, and the storm had tapered off into a half-hearted drizzle. Trying to casually lean against the door so as not to give Buffy any clue of weakness, Faith crossed her arms and opened the conversation with a friendly greeting. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Buffy winced at the bitterness in Faith's tone. "I...uh...look, I'm sorry at the way I snapped at you this afternoon," she said apologetically. "Usually that attitude's reserved for Cordelia, but I've just been having a bad day and---"

"That's hilarious," Faith cut in, her earlier rejection still fresh in her mind. "So Buffy's having a bad day, huh? Somehow I don't think you know the meaning of the phrase, B."

"That's not true. But it's also not the point right now," Buffy responded. "I came by to apologize and to see how you were doing."

"I'm five by five, B. You know me." This response was so automatic for Faith that she barely even registered the fact that it was a terrible lie. How could she possibly explain that her life was falling apart? That everyone and everything seemed to exist solely to hurt her? Easier just to lie, put on a fake smile, and continue the charade. She tried to cover up the cuts on her arms by putting them behind her back. Even though Faith was surrounded by the absolute darkness emanating from the room, Buffy still saw the gesture.

"Are your arms okay?" she asked, knowing that it was in Faith's nature to try to appear hard and untouchable. Faith, for her part, seemed almost confused by this question, as if she couldn't decide how to respond. The cold air from outside was making her shiver, clothed as she was in her wet apparel from earlier. After a few seconds of dead silence, the only sound being the almost inaudible windblown mist hitting the pavement, she mustered her willpower, moved away from the door, and held her arms out in front of her so that Buffy could see the terrible marks the knife had left in her flesh.

"Do they look okay to you?"

"Oh my god, Faith...I'm so sorry."

"Spare me the tears and the apologies, B. I've heard it all before."

Faith's vision was getting progressively worse even as she spoke. There were now two of Buffy. Buffy Number One appeared to be moving, while Buffy Number Two was inexplicably standing still. And standing fully upright was becoming an uphill battle that she wasn't sure she could win. Her legs seemed abnormally weak, and she felt the indescribably pleasant feeling of being on the verge of passing out, but she was too proud to admit her weakness. Conflicting thoughts raced through her mind; could she forgive Buffy's earlier betrayal, or was that too much to ask? Forgiveness had never been a big theme with Faith, especially since she generally felt that the world had a personal vendetta against her. Hate was simpler.

Buffy was about to say something in return when she noticed two things: first, that Faith was actually swaying from side to side, and second, that Faith's eyes, although aimed right at Buffy, were looking through her instead of at her. Concerned that her friend might be both physically and mentally exhausted, Buffy tried to think of something she could say to make everything all right between them.

"Faith, can I please come inside?" she asked, gesturing towards the room. "Then we can talk this over where it's warm. And I think your clothes are wet. You should probably change out of them."

Taking offense to this blatant advice, Faith managed to say, "I don't need..." before she scrunched up her face, closed her eyes hard, and brought her hands to her head. Buffy started to offer assistance, but Faith stretched out one arm to push her back. Blackness was encroaching on the edges of Faith's vision, and when she opened her eyes again, the image of Buffy became so distorted that she just closed her eyes instead of having to look at it. "I don't...I don't need your...need your...your...help..." And with that, she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Dropping her umbrella on the pavement, Buffy rushed forward. Grabbing Faith under the arms, she dragged her friend into the room and laid her down on the bed, and then went and closed the door in an effort to make the room as warm as possible. She had to grope around in the darkness a bit before she found the light switch, but she finally located it and clicked it on, bathing the room in an arid yellow glow that made everything seem even more desolate than it usually appeared in the daylight.

Taking off Faith's boots and socks, Buffy tossed them aside and put the covers over her comatose friend. She then found the thermostat but was surprised to find out that it wasn't even turned on. Clicking it to a warm temperature, Buffy took a moment to look about the room. She'd been in Faith's room before, of course, but had never truly bothered to inspect it closely, partly out of embarrassment, but also partly out of pity. Faith's possessions, many of them close to worthless anyhow, numbered in the single digits, but Buffy would have needed a database to track everything back at her house. Her eyes wandered slowly over the scene: cracked walls, drawers that were falling apart, outdated electronics, a sick girl alone in a bed. Unsure of what else she could do to help and uncomfortable being surrounded by the stark poverty that was Faith's life, Buffy kissed Faith's forehead and turned to leave. She gave one last look over her shoulder, and then she stepped outside into the rain and closed the door.

When Faith woke up the following morning, she was startled to find a small, furry demon sitting on her stomach. She involuntarily gave a little jump of surprise, and the demon lost its balance and fell onto the floor with a muffled thud. It didn't cry out in pain or shock. Breathing heavily from getting such a rude awakening, Faith calmed her nerves enough to peak over the edge of the bed, where the demon was lying face down on the carpet. She shot out her hand and grabbed it by its furry brown neck, eliciting a strange squeal from its mouth.

"GET WELL SOON!" the demon squeaked as Faith brought it closer. After a split second of confusion, she realized that the demon was actually just a small teddy bear, clutching a plush red heart between its little paws. Its beady, black eyes stood in contrast to its disgustingly happy smile. She squeezed it again, and it repeated the only three words it knew: "GET WELL SOON!"

Faith couldn't decide whether she wanted to hug the furry intruder or rip its head off, so she just lay back down, placed the bear on her stomach again, and proceeded to glare at it. Eventually she tired of the staring contest, for the teddy bear was an unbeatable foe due to its blank, unchanging countenance. It was born happy, and would die happy. Must be a nice way to live, she thought. What if I could be happy all the time? But true happiness was so foreign to Faith that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the concept of a life filled with it, so she abandoned this line of thinking and let her mind wander instead. Nice and warm under the covers, she felt better than she had yesterday, when she'd been battered and cold. Remembering the fight with Buffy, Faith felt antagonistic feelings rise to the surface, but then she also remembered how Buffy had come to apologize later.

This contrast between Buffy's actions was distressing for Faith, who wanted the simplicity of one feeling, not two. On one hand, she felt hatred for the way she'd been treated after being attacked by the vampires, but on the other, she felt something akin to gratitude for the help she'd received while sick. Was the bear a testament to the genuine concern Buffy felt, or was it just a way to get back in Faith's good graces? Faith didn't know what to believe. And the bear wasn't offering any assistance.

Scooting up so she could sit with her back against the headboard, she clutched the bear in her hands and placed it on the tiny bedside table, where it promptly lost its balance again and fell over on its face. Paying no heed its plight, Faith yawned and stretched out her arms. They were already looking better; the jagged lines were less visible, and with the rate they were healing, probably wouldn't even leave scars. Additionally, her head no longer ached, and as an added bonus, her vision had returned to its normal, flawless state. Everything the room was sharply outlined; no blurry edges anywhere. And it seemed as though the storm had finally passed during the night because Faith couldn't detect the changeless sound she associated with rain.

She wondered if she had the strength to stand. Figuring that there was only one way to find out, she pushed aside the covers from her legs, swung them over the side of the bed, and prepared herself for the worst case scenario: Faith versus the floor. Her feet touched the carpet, and she slowly rose up to her full height.

"No collapsing this time around," she said to herself. The only explanation for her quick recovery was that her immune system, fueled by her Slayer gifts, had been working overtime all throughout the night. "Time to see if the outside world still sucks." And with that, not wanting to overexert her body, she slowly went to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and blinked her eyes against the brilliant day. The sun, having returned from its gray exile, was shining haughtily in the azure, cloudless sky. She opened the window; a slight, pure breeze was all that remained of the storm. Amazing the difference a single night could make. Her mood improved by this bright revelation, she closed the door and set about making her bed. Even this mundane task was slightly pleasing, a welcome distraction that kept her thoughts from venturing towards the events of yesterday, and she placed the bear on top of the pillows. It seemed to enjoy silently surveying its quilted kingdom.

Grabbing some spare clothes, Faith made her way towards the bathroom, intent on taking a shower and washing away her feelings. As soon as she caught her own reflection in the mirror, however, she dropped the clothes in surprise and revulsion. Leaning closer so as to get a better view, her hands unconsciously traced the contours of the face that seemed unreal: a pale, hollow face that she had trouble recognizing. Never one for spending large amounts of time in the sun, she'd always lacked excess coloring, but this was different. Now the whiteness of her skin only accentuated features that were ugly: the dark circles under her eyes from a lack of sleep that spanned months; the cut on her lip from yesterday's struggle; the unsightly bruise that had developed around her jaw as a result of being punched in the face by a creature with preternatural strength. She let her hands fall away from her face. Her dark brown hair, showing the unmistakable traits of being soaked and then neglected, hung limply down over her shoulders as if it were dead. The white t-shirt she'd never changed out of, stained with blood, was a gruesome testament to violence and a lifestyle that was wearing catastrophically thin.

Faith stared at her reflection, and her wide, sad eyes stared back. Flashes of rain and blood, of mistrust and betrayal, flashed through her mind. In between these thoughts came sporadic images of Buffy; Buffy smiling, Buffy sneering, Buffy condescendingly saying that Faith was neither a good Slayer nor a good friend. This is your fault, Buffy was saying from her position on the mirror, where Faith's reflection had been a moment before. All your fault. You could've done more. You could've done better.

"Shut up," Faith quietly said to the Buffy in the mirror. "Just shut up."

You wish you could be like me...don't you? the Buffy in the mirror asked, as Faith involuntarily took a step back in an attempt to distance herself from this living nightmare. I can see it in your eyes, that pathetic need to be accepted and loved. You aren't like me, and you never will be. You're weak. Unimportant.

Faith shut her eyes and tried to cover her ears. "You're not real," she said. "You're in my head."

Is that what you think?

She reopened her eyes. "It's what I know. The real Buffy helped me last night. She cares about me. She said...she said she was sorry."

Believe what you like, Faith, mirror-Buffy replied. The truth is, I'll never care about you, and I certainly don't want to be your friend. Look at this grand life you've got going here. You think anyone would even bat an eye if you just dropped of the face of the planet?

The bathroom light flickered for an instant, enough time for Faith to reach up and wipe her eyes. Buffy would only make fun of the tears if she saw them. "I...I thought you cared about me. You said..."

What I said was a lie. I'm telling you now, so listen carefully: I don't care about you. I never have, and I never will. And neither will anybody else. Not me, not Angel, not Giles. No one.

It was too much. Faith lashed out and punched Buffy in the face. There was a terrible shattering sound, but Buffy didn't fall. She just stood there, laughing at Faith through her disjointed, fragmented visage.

Sorry, Faith. It doesn't work that way. You can't get rid of me.

"Fuck you!" Faith screamed. "Fuck you!" She punched the glass again. "Just leave me alone!" Tapping into all of her hatred, she struck the mirror again and again until she couldn't see straight, and then she fell to the floor, clutching her bloodied fist in her left hand. Furiously wiping away her tears, she began ripping from her torn knuckles all the glass fragments that had become imbedded there during her assault on Buffy. Paying no heed to the pain, using it only to fuel her anger, she threw the reddened glass against the wall. Her hand was shaking from the blunt trauma it had received, blood seeping out of it and dripping drop by drop onto the tile. She blankly stared at the macabre contrast between her crimson blood and the white floor.

Long after the flow of blood had stopped and the pain had disintegrated into numbness, she stood up. The bathroom was a hopeless wreck. Glass, some shards reflective, others opaque and red, lined the sink and the floor. She didn't look where she was going and stepped on a few pieces. She didn't even flinch. In some places she'd punched the mirror with such force that there were holes in the wall behind it. But Faith only saw herself, looking even worse than before, when she glanced into what remained of the mirror. Buffy was gone.

She turned and walked out the bathroom, heedlessly crunching more glass beneath her bare feet. The teddy bear was sitting right where she'd left it, the same stupid, everlasting smile pasted on its face and the same small red heart clutched in its paws. Faith sat down next to it, struggling through her feelings. Finally she reached out her injured right hand and gently picked the bear up by one of its legs. It grinned at her in its perpetual glee, and she gave it a little squeeze.

"GET WELL SOON!" it said happily.

Faith gave it a miserable, melancholic smile in return. And then she tore it to pieces.

Most of her hatred had abated some hours later through the acts of cleaning the bathroom of the blood-smeared glass, showering, and reading a magazine that she'd leafed through at least eight times before. Not wanting to have anything to do with the world that lurked beyond the door, Faith had shut the window and closed the drapes, effectively blocking the sunlight from entering the room. The remains of Buffy's furry gift and most of the glass shards had been crudely shoved under the bed where they mingled with the cracked circuits and warped plastic of the forgotten alarm clock. She'd combed out her hair, which now fell gracefully down to her shoulders, put on some dark maroon lipstick to offset her fair skin, and given a minimalist effort with her other makeup. With a simple, carefree smile she could have been transformed into the epitome of beauty.

But she had no reason to smile.

Her thoughts kept returning to what had transpired in the bathroom. Faith wasn't entirely clear as to how her mind had played such a lucid trick. She wasn't stupid, and she realized that Buffy had never really been there, but she was still deeply injured by what had been said. Though she'd never admit it to herself or anyone else, her ultimate weakness revolved around the fear that she would go through life alone; that no one would take the time to love her or even to just be her friend. This fear was buried so deep within Faith's unconscious that she wasn't even fully aware that it existed; all she knew was that insults aimed at her perpetual loneliness hurt her more than any physical pain ever could.

Lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, she glanced at the corporeal manifestation of this fear: her wounded right hand, still sore from the needlelike glass that she'd ripped from it. The cuts up and down the knuckles were a sad testament to how hard she'd battled to keep that awful part of her unconscious from surfacing and personifying itself in the form of the only person that Faith couldn't bear to be abandoned by. Naturally, she didn't actually know why she'd felt so utterly betrayed, mostly because to understand that would be to comprehend her most dreaded fear, and her mind simply wouldn't let itself be tortured in that manner. So, even after hours of brooding on the subject, she still felt bewildered and couldn't shake the feeling that she had been unjustly punished. Buffy couldn't really be blamed, but Faith no longer knew whether Buffy's intentions were as honest as they seemed. In reality, Faith's personal insecurities had caused her to doubt the motives of her only friend.

Knock-knock-knock.

She knew who it was before the second knock had even begun. It could only be Buffy, come to see if Faith had "gotten well soon". Pushing her disturbing ruminations to the back of her mind, she rolled off the bed and onto her feet, giving herself a quick once-over as she strode towards the door. She'd dressed in a cute, tomboyish wife beater despite the fact that the cuts on her arms were still plainly discernable. Black pants and her still-damp boots from the day before completed her simple, colorless outfit. Her heart had been broken earlier when she had been unable to find her favorite jacket; she knew that she couldn't afford to purchase another one. Taking a deep breath of preparation, she opened the door.

Buffy looked uncomfortable out of embarrassment or pity, as she usually did when visiting Faith at the motel. The afternoon sun was blazing down upon Sunnydale, and as temperatures rose, Buffy's clothes inevitably tended to disappear bit by bit. Gone was the cold-weather garb of the day before, replaced by a fashionable red dress that was accented by little tan sandals and a black purse. Her blonde hair was artfully put up in direct disparity with Faith's unconstrained brown locks.

"Hi," Buffy said, unsure of how to properly begin the conversation that had ended so terribly the night before.

"Hey," Faith answered, arms crossed over her chest. A small silence ensued, neither girl making much of an effort to keep the exchange flowing. "Just get out of school?"

"Yeah. Uh...how are you?" asked Buffy, slightly afraid that the question was somehow out of line in Faith's eyes.

"Better, actually. And...thanks for helping me last night."

Buffy's face perked up a bit when she heard the gratitude in Faith's tone. Pleased that their friendship had been reaffirmed by this statement, she asked, "Did you like the bear?"

There was an imperceptible darkening in Faith's features. "Yeah, it's wicked cool. I just love it to pieces," she said.

"It is full of cuteness, isn't it?" said Buffy. She looked at the ground for a moment, and then she continued. "I actually wanted to ask you, if you're not busy or anything later, because I know that you've got plans a lot of the time, which is totally fine, too, but um, if you're not doing anything, we were all going to get some cappuccinos later tonight, and I know you might have something planned because it's Friday, but it would be great if you could come. And wow, was that a long sentence."

Faith's mind went into overdrive, thinking of how to respond. This was her chance to be part of the group, to finally belong. It was all she'd ever wanted, and yet she couldn't forget the image of Buffy in the bathroom mirror and what it had said: I don't want to be your friend. Was this just some cruel joke that Buffy was orchestrating? Maybe, but if she turned down the offer, her chances of ever fitting in would be truly dashed, and there would be no hope of gaining the solid friendship that she so desperately wanted. She was about to accept when her thoughts strayed back to the bathroom. I don't care about you. I never have, and I never will. And neither will anyone else. The words echoed within her skull until they drowned out everything else.

"I think there's a party or something going on tonight," Faith said, trying to put confidence into the lie. Buffy's smile started to fade.

"Oh," was all that she said in response, her eyes going to the ground once more.

"But," Faith quickly added, anxious to avoid burning her last bridge, "if it falls through, would it...still be okay if I came?"

The smile on Buffy's face was instantly restored, and Faith inwardly let out a sigh of relief. "Sure, I'll just write down the time and the place," Buffy said, rummaging through her purse until she came up with a pen and a small pad of paper, "and you just make it if you can." She scribbled an address and a time onto the pad, ripped off the top sheet, and handed it to Faith.

"All right, B. No promises, but we'll see," she said, grasping the paper tightly in both hands. Buffy seemed satisfied with this answer and didn't comment on the fresh gashes all over Faith's right hand, revealed when Faith had reached out her arm for the paper.

"Hope to see you there." And with that, Buffy started to walk away, heading in the direction of her house.

"Buffy!" Faith called out from the doorway after her friend had gone a few yards. Buffy stopped and turned around. Faith struggled to find the right word. "Thanks."

Buffy smiled again. "Sure." And then she turned back around and walked off down a side street.

Faith stepped back inside her room and quietly closed the door. She immediately went over to her dresser and put the paper on top, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed from where she'd held it so tightly. When this was done, she sat and stared at it for a long while, lost in her thoughts.

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.

CHAPTER FOUR: HUNGER

The weeks drifted by, and Faith carefully nursed her anger, keeping it alive and hiding it away deep within herself. She gradually stopped pretending that she could fit into the "good girl" persona that Buffy so haughtily adhered to. Naturally, Buffy and the Scoobies suspected nothing; had they given Faith's new demeanor a second thought, they might have found it odd, this transformation from insecurity into confidence. But they took it at face value, thinking that Faith was just trying to cover up her previous social miscalculations by appearing tougher, forcing herself to be less vulnerable to the alienating world around her. In a sense, this was true; build a shell, watch the world struggle and fail to get in. However, Faith's shell wasn't just designed to be a defense. It was created to be a weapon.

From now on, her world wouldn't be the attacker. Her "friends" wouldn't hurt her anymore. Everyone and everything was responsible. Everyone and everything would suffer.

As spring meandered its way towards summer, Faith grew bolder, more reckless. On patrols, she took chances that Buffy found incomprehensible, showing blatant disregard for the odds and for her own life. Buffy, perhaps not wanting to seem scared, perhaps out of some lingering maternal instinct, was subsequently pulled into situations that almost ended in catastrophe on a nightly basis. Faith had turned Buffy into a sidekick, taking charge of the Slaying duties in Buffy's own town. In addition, she began monopolizing Buffy's time, constantly coming up with some vampire- or demon-related incident that need to be attended to, a tactic that made the other Scoobies, and especially Willow, jealous beyond words. Buffy was supposed to be their friend! What gave Faith the right?

It didn't matter. Faith did what she wanted when she wanted, and no one was going to try to tell her otherwise.

She stepped up her training sessions, working longer, harder, faster, pushing her body to its limits and beyond. Hand-to-hand combat techniques were only the beginning: she began studying weapons-based fighting more and more, eager to make herself as proficient as possible in every aspect of battle. Push-ups, sit-ups, long distance runs, and sprints became a daily regimen, all done away from the prying eyes of the Scoobies. They couldn't know about this buildup of knowledge and power, this metamorphosis into something more dangerous than anything Sunnydale had ever known: a Slayer with complete disregard for authority and herself, a girl who could violently explode given the slightest provocation.

The afternoon sun was filtering in through the open window, accompanied by a tranquilly warm California breeze that entered the motel room via the open door. Faith was occupied with a new magazine that she'd found on the sidewalk a few days earlier. It wasn't the most current issue, but at least she hadn't read it before. She sat on the side of the bed, her feet dangling off, flipping through the pages, paying no attention to the world that continued to spin right outside her room. Figures and cars passed by, but she didn't notice, only looking up once or twice to glance at the new alarm clock she'd stolen from the local electronics store. Its digital, green numbers told her that it was almost three o'clock. Time to call Buffy. Today was Saturday, meaning that the entire Scooby gang would most likely be free for a dangerous adventure in the evening, and Faith had the perfect mission in mind. For days, she'd been keeping tabs on a constantly growing group of vampires that were making one of the abandoned warehouses down by the docks their official meeting ground. Numbering somewhere between five and ten vamps, the group was not prone to making indiscreet kills in public, which was most likely why Buffy hadn't discovered them yet. Instead, they usually managed to lure some hapless individual to the warehouse, where that person obviously bought the farm. Even Faith knew that she couldn't take on anything more than four or five vamps by herself, so she needed Buffy's help for this job. But that didn't mean that she couldn't toss the rest of the Scoobies into the mix and watch the fun ensue. Plus, besides being a good spot of violence, this was another perfect opportunity to distance Buffy from her friends; if the Scoobies couldn't defend themselves adequately, Buffy would probably exclude them from dangerous demon-related activities in the future.

It was a good, solid plan, and Faith was pleased with herself for thinking of it. It was another opportunity to get even without openly seeming vengeful. Perfect. She still hadn't found any other friends to hang around with, and thus her dependence on the Scooby gang for entertainment, but she felt that there must be at least a few people in Sunnydale who would value her as a friend-or an ally-she just had to find them.

Tossing the magazine aside, she reached over and grabbed the phone, which looked like a leftover from the eighties with its antiquated taupe rotary dial. Faith hated taupe. It wasn't black, white, brown, or any other easily discernible color. It just-was. And what it was was ugly. But at least it worked, unlike her TV set, on the fritz again, the second time in as many weeks. She forgot about the TV as she slowly dialed Buffy's number. Lying back down on her bed, she stared at the blank ceiling as the phone rang. C'mon, Buffy. Pick up the damn phone. It continued to ring. And ring. Pick-up-the-phone!

"Hello?"

I'm psychic!

"Hey, B. It's Faith." There were no pleasantries to discuss; she skipped right to the point. "Still up for a little crash n' kill tonight?"

Slight pause. "Sure."

"Good. Wanna bring the rest of the group, too?" No answer. "It'll be fun." Silence. Faith's voice became slightly harder, irritated with the lack of communication. "Don't forget we've got a job to do; we're Slayers, and it's time we did some slaying. So, what do you say?"

"All right," came Buffy's voice, sounding slightly wary.

"Aaaaaannnnnnnndddd, we're bringing the group, right?"

"Only if you promise that it won't be too dangerous for them."

"I'm sure it'll be pretty tame." Yeah, right. If 'tame' is defined as 'horribly violent.'

"Okay then."

"Good!" So gullible, B. You should watch that. "How does midnight near the Bronze sound?"

"That's fine, we'll be there."

"Sounds like a plan. See ya, B."

Without waiting for Buffy to reply, Faith hung up the phone and pushed it over the edge of the bed, listening to it clatter and rattle as it hit the floor. She didn't care if it broke. If it did, she could always just steal another.

Faith stood silently in the shadows yards away from the Bronze, watching pathetic existences come and go, people looking for a laugh, a drink, a date. This time, she'd wanted to arrive before the Scoobies, and since she had no watch, she didn't know the exact time, but judging from the height of the wan moon, she figured it must be nearly midnight. Purposefully cloaking herself, unseen by others, she kept watch on the ridiculous social charade that was unfolding before her eyes. In the past, she had gained a small measure of satisfaction from visiting Sunnydale's most popular nighttime hangout, but nowadays she only felt revulsion when she thought of the happy, carefree people inside. Their lives, though she knew that they were not without certain complications, were not like hers. They didn't have sacred professions which caused immense solitude and loneliness, and therefore they couldn't understand her pain.

A small group of friends walked within a few feet of Faith's hiding spot, and she shrank back, pressing flat against the wall. No one even noticed that she was there, completely enshrouded in darkness, not unlike her thoughts, which were focused on the impending violence that was sure to come. On this night she hadn't even bothered with typical evening wear. The always-present black boots, some dark blue jeans, and a small, black t-shirt completed the ensemble. She had no one to impress, and besides, dressing to impress was overrated. Trying to stay in a person's good graces depended on something more than a worthless first impression or outward appearance.

Apparently, it depends on lies. But that's why you're so good at it, right, B?

Looking down the alley, she noticed Buffy and the rest of her friends approaching, furtively searching for any sign that Faith had already arrived. There was Buffy, looking almost sinister in some black pants with a black leather coat that came down to her thighs, and Willow, in her bright red overalls-What an appropriate choice to fight vampires. What the hell are you thinking?-and Xander completed the trio in a dark sweater and faded jeans. Wait. One-two-three. Oh, damn it. This was not good. Where were Angel and Oz? Without them, the overall chances of actually coming out of the fight without serious injuries would be drastically reduced. Angel was akin to an additional Slayer, and Oz was usually fairly competent with a crossbow, but Xander and Willow were going to be of almost no help against an entire cadre of vampires. That left Buffy and Faith to not only fend off the vamps, but also to keep Xander and Willow from getting killed.

Because although Faith hated to admit it, the Scoobies were all she had. If some of them died, she would feel at least a little guilty for leading them into a hopeless melee, and besides, they were still quasi-friends of hers, not enemies. Not yet. As they approached, Faith slid out of the shadows into the center of the alley, furious that her plans were ruined.

"What happened to Oz and Angel?" she asked, neglecting to offer a standard greeting.

"Nice to see you, too," Xander said, with just a bit too much sarcasm. Faith recognized and ignored it.

Willow, looking slightly unsure of herself, started to explain: "Oz had a show to play on the other side of town tonight." She glanced over at Buffy, trying to get her to continue by telling of Angel's whereabouts.

Noticing this unsubtle gesture, Buffy said, "Angel was in the mood for some brooding on this fine evening. I've been trying to drag him out of the mansion more often, and I think he's used up his 'Adventure Meter' for a few nights." With this explanation, the Scoobies all turned to look at Faith, waiting for her to lead them to the battle.

She looked at the ground and shuffled her feet for a second. Feeling a bit insecure with putting the two non-Slayers against such terrible odds, she tried to dissuade them from coming. "You know, I think this whole thing might've been a bad idea, especially without Angel and Oz to back us up. It could get ugly if it's only going to be us four."

Xander immediately looked offended, but he quickly masked it. "What are you talking about? We can handle ourselves!" He proceeded to launch into a voice filled with bravado. "In fact, wherever there is injustice, you will find us. Wherever there is suffering, we'll be there. Wherever-"

His spiel was interrupted when Buffy gave him a nudge, nearly knocking him over onto Willow, who was trying to keep from laughing. Faith wasn't amused, trying to work out the logistics of the fight in her head.

"What's the problem?" Buffy asked. "You said it wouldn't be that dangerous."

Caught in her own lie, Faith sought a way out. "Maybe there're more of them now. I could've underestimated or something, you know?" Her voice, slowly losing its authoritative overtones, softened in an effort to persuade, not order. "It might be stupid to just charge in there."

Buffy shrugged her shoulders ambivalently. "That's true, but Willow and Xander wanted to come tonight. No one forced them. And they can handle themselves."

"Are you sure about that?" Faith said, raising one of her eyebrows and casting a discerning eye over the pair, standing close together slightly away from Buffy.

"Hey, what are you implying?" Willow sounded hurt that Faith would suggest such a thing. "Xander and I have seen our fair share of demon-fighting." Her resolve faltered just a bit. "Right?" she asked, looking towards Xander.

"Right, Wil," he added. He shot his gaze towards Faith. "We go where Buffy goes."

"That's original," Faith returned, miffed that they were disagreeing. "Don't forget that you two aren't even-"

"Okay," Buffy interrupted, trying to keep the peace, "I think that everyone needs to calm down." No one said anything else, but the tension hadn't abated. This didn't bother Buffy, who looked like she was trying to make up her mind about the situation. Her lips were pursed, and she kept moving her eyes back and forth from Xander and Willow to Faith. "I think," she slowly started, "that Faith might have a point here." Xander looked like he was about to argue, but Buffy continued before he could get a word in. "I know you guys wanted to come with us tonight, and I appreciate that, but-this isn't your fight."

Willow was staring at the ground, hurt that Buffy was rejecting her help. Likewise, Xander was also hurt, but he was staring directly at Faith, the one who was stealing Buffy away. Faith openly met his gaze, a small smirk upon her face, and she continued to unflinchingly do so until he broke the contest off, defeated. He put his arm around Willow's shoulders, and they started to walk down the dark alley.

"I'll call you guys tomorrow!" Buffy said, trying to bolster their spirits. They didn't respond, sullenly trudging away. Aw, now look at what you've done, B! You made the Scooby gang all sad! Bad, bad girl.

"Don't worry about them," Faith said, turning to Buffy. "I'm sure they'll have fun doing-uh-whatever it is they do when they aren't with you. Scrabble or Monopoly or whatever. In the meantime, we should head over to the docks. Ready?" Without Buffy's tag-a-longs, the odds were once again in the Slayers' favor. Each of them could handle probably four vamps apiece, thus ensuring a victory, though it would most likely be a hard-fought one. The odds weren't the biggest concern anymore; Faith just needed to fight. She'd been looking forward to it all night, and unless she got that release, she would be very upset.

Buffy gave one last look down the alley where her friends were disappearing around a corner. "Yeah, I guess. Let's go." And with that, the two Slayers turned and walked in the opposite direction towards the docks, Buffy thinking about her friends, Faith silently preparing herself for killing anything that awaited them in the warehouse.

"Oh-fuck."

Awaiting Buffy and Faith in the warehouse was a group of twelve vampires, not the smaller amount that Faith had anticipated. Recklessly kicking in the door, Faith had been the first to stumble upon the unwelcome discovery, and she still couldn't believe how many vamps were looking her way, fangs bared and eyes cold. She stood a few feet from the shattered door, unsure of what to do. Looking over her shoulder at Buffy, she forced herself to calm down.

"Well, at least there's more for us to kill, right?" she asked as Buffy tossed her a stake. Faith deftly grabbed it out of the air, and then Buffy was at her side, stake out, ready for action. Neither would retreat, so both would fight. Each would have to face six vamps at once, some of the worst odds they'd ever had. The vamps were organizing themselves into a loose circle that was slowly starting to close around the Slayers.

"It could be worse," Buffy nonchalantly added, eager to give the vamps the impression that she didn't consider them a viable threat. "At least they have a decent fashion sense. Cordelia might even be proud."

At this remark, all the vampires looked down at themselves, apparently trying to discover why their clothing choice warranted such praise, which it didn't; it was just supposed to be a diversion so-

"Screw this!" Faith said, throwing her stake into the heart of the vamp directly across from her. It impaled him cleanly through the heart, and his unhappy grimace quickly disappeared into a pile of dust.

Everything went to hell after that.

Eleven remaining vampires snarled and closed in, almost immediately separating Buffy from Faith, who didn't have a replacement stake for the one she'd thrown. A jungle of metal and wood, the warehouse was an extremely hazardous arena to do battle in. Flickering yellow light bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting the entire interior in a deranged, alien glow. Their weak, pulsating rays didn't do much in the way of illuminating the huge warehouse, one that was nearly two stories high and roughly half a football field long. Areas behind the larger containers were completely covered in shadows, and even the open spaces uncluttered by wooden boxes or steel crates were only vaguely visible. A complete lack of windows didn't help matters; even the decrepit moonlight would've made things easier for the girls, who didn't possess the vampires' ability to see clearly in almost total darkness.

Six vamps went after Faith, herding her away from Buffy and into the depths of the warehouse. Buffy, dealing with five of her own, saw what was happening but couldn't really do anything about it. She decided to stick closer to the door, using the wall to her advantage. One less direction that the vamps could come from.

Faith didn't have even Buffy's rudimentary tactical plan. Forced into playing defense, sidestepping backward while blocking punches and kicks that came in from all sides, she slowly got lost amidst the shipping crates and nearly tripped on two different occasions over the debris lining the floor. She tried to get a bead on the group attacking her, finally discovering that it consisted of four males and two females after she threw one of the males into the others, toppling them all for a short, priceless moment. Quickly taking in her surroundings, her foot brushed up against a thick, metal rod, and she immediately picked it up, feeling its comforting weight. Not a stake, so it wouldn't kill-but it could cripple.

The vampires regrouped and started back in, but they backed off when Faith swung the long staff in a wide arc directly in front of them, creating a loud whoosh sound with the speed at which it was traveling. She reined it in and stood still, poised to attack the first one to come within range of her new weapon, hearing snarls and crashes of bodies against steel from Buffy's fight while she waited. One of the males made his move, and Faith missed him with the staff as he rolled under it, suddenly appearing behind her, in perfect position to trap her between himself and his undead companions.

"We've got a rocket scientist on our hands, huh?" she taunted, gauging the distance to the tall container on her left side. As another male broke off from the main group, Faith made her decision, swinging the rod upward and catching him right beneath the jaw. A sickening crunching accompanied a spray of blood and tooth fragments, and he fell to his knees as his friend, still behind Faith, closed in. Registering the attack, she jumped straight for the container, planted her left foot on its surface, and came around with a vicious right roundhouse kick directly to the side of the vamp's head, flipping him onto the ground. She tried to follow up the successful kick by slamming the rod onto him while he was down, but he somehow maneuvered away on his hands and knees, rejoining the others. Almost no time had elapsed, only a few seconds at most, and the vamp with the broken jaw was still on his knees, clutching at his ravaged mouth. Not in the mood to take prisoners, Faith put all her power into a baseball-like swing and put the metal staff right into his face. Amidst a loud clanging, his head seemed to crumple, and he fell backwards, where he stayed motionless, permanently out of the fight. She backed up slightly, twirling the rod with one hand, motioning to the remaining vampires with the other. "Come on," she smiled, "I just know you can do better than that."

Dispensing with the individual approach, they all came at her at once, intending to overwhelm her with sheer numbers. She ducked a flying kick from one of the females, but this allowed one of the males to land a solid punch to the side of her head. Keeping a firm grasp on her metal weapon, she rolled with the blow, lessening its overall impact and giving her a few extra feet of breathing room. Now the group of four was positioned to her right, with the other female vamp on her left. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw a male vamp come in low for a sweeping kick, and she jumped over it, intending to bring down the rod across his exposed head, but the lone female used Faith's mid-air vulnerability to deliver a powerful standing kick to her midsection, sending her flying into one of the immovable metal crates. As she felt her back crash against the heavy steel, she momentarily lost her grip on the staff, enough time for one of the male vamps to steal it away and bring it down heavily right over Faith's shoulders. Completely unprepared and thus unable to shunt the pain away, Faith made a little cry and fell to her hands and knees. Her entire back was radiating with pain, but she wouldn't give in to it. She raised her head defiantly as she struggled to get up, but all she got was a kick to the face for her efforts, pushing her up against the crate once more.

The five vampires were smiling, amazed that a Slayer had been so easy to injure. Faith brought her hand to her face and wiped away the blood that was trickling from her nose. In the gloom of the warehouse, it looked almost black. She focused her mind on using the pain to fuel her anger, and the vampires stopped grinning as she used the metal container to aid her slow ascent back to her feet. For a moment, the bloodied, brown-haired girl and the five vampires just stared at each other, but it didn't last long. The one vamp with the staff came in, feeling secure that he had a weapon in his hands, aiming a high swing at Faith's head. Barely ducking the attack, Faith rolled forward and put her strength into a single punch to the vamp's midsection, doubling him over. Then she was immediately on her feet, delivering a swift, brutal uppercut to his face, a blow that caused him not only to fall to the ground, but also to release the staff. Faith, seething with rage, just left it on the ground and charged directly towards the four remaining vamps.

For about thirty seconds, she traded punches and blocks with the group, giving just as much pain as she got in return, until the numbers game caught up with her once more. The male who had been leveled by the uppercut, unseen by Faith, busy as she was with the others, grabbed the metal rod and once more connected with her back, sending her sprawling to the ground. As Faith struggled to get up, he jabbed the staff into her ribs, causing her to cry out in pain again as she fell back to the floor. She could feel that another similar strike would probably snap one of her ribs, and as it was, her entire side was aching, laboring her breathing. The other vamps, mercifully without weapons, swept in, snarling and growling out their rage against Faith, who was forced to curl up into a fetal position to minimize the damage. Punches and kicked rained down in a never-ending shower of violence. But then the pain stopped, and Faith looked up, just in time to see one of the females slam a large wooden crate directly onto her head, shattering the box into numerous jagged fragments. Faith's head hit the dusty concrete and blood ran in a little pulsing stream down her forehead and into her eyes, clouding her vision in a demonic red haze. She vaguely heard the vampires laughing as she lay on the ground bleeding. Her blood was everywhere: on her forehead, in her eyes, running out of her nose and over her lips. She closed her eyes, trying to focus, listening to the taunts that the vampires were throwing her way.

Suddenly her eyes opened again, their hazel gaze focusing on the shattered box. Faith reached out and wrenched a jagged piece free. As the vampires watched in awe, she took her stake in one hand and used the other to get to her feet. The laughter died. How could anyone, let alone a teenage girl, be standing after such a terrible beating? It should've been impossible, and even Faith didn't know how she was able to do it. She was so battered that she was beyond thinking; she could only feel. And her feelings were small flashes of hate-pain-death.

One of the males, probably the leader, said, "What are you waiting for? Get her!" None of the other vamps made a motion to do as he requested. They were all staring at the bloody, vengeful Slayer in front of them. Like a wounded animal, they'd only made Faith more visceral, heightening her naturally violent nature to terrible proportions.

"Why don't you come get me yourself?" she asked, spitting some blood on the ground while raising her stake. Every word she spoke flashed pain directly to her brain, but she kept on talking anyway, partially ignoring the pain, partially harnessing it. "That is-if you've got the balls."

Growling, his pride hurt, the leader approached and launched into a complicated series of punches and kicks. Faith blocked the majority of the blows, but some got inside her defenses and connected with her head or midsection. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She saw through the blood that burned her eyes, and she saw her opening as the vamp decided to throw a left hook. She blocked the blow and simultaneously grabbed his arm, and when he swung with his right hand, trying to free himself, Faith caught that arm, too. For an instant, she looked right into his inhuman eyes, and then she delivered a head butt to his nose, shattering the fragile bone structure. He thrashed wildly in pain, and Faith let him go, only to drive the stake into his unbeating heart a second later. A cloud of dust showed the faint outline of his skeletal structure in the murky, yellow light, and then he was gone forever, another casualty of Faith's vendetta against the world.

But she wasn't finished. The others, enraged that their leader had been killed, charged in haphazardly, forgetting to choose any particular tactic. Faith used their carelessness to her advantage, acting totally on instinct and losing herself in the sheer pleasure of destroying her enemies. The female vamp that'd smashed the crate over Faith's head was the quickest to close in, and her opening attack was a standard side kick, intended to cause damage to Faith's already injured ribcage. Faith stepped back in response, just out of reach of the kick, and she grabbed the vamp's foot as it came within reach. Holding it tight in her left hand, Faith winked at the female and drove the stake directly into the vamp's ankle with her right hand, breaking the bones into several pieces as the sharpened wood passed cleanly through them. The female howled in pain, and Faith let her drop to the floor. Without a way to stand, that vamp was useless, and thus out of the fight. Faith knew that she could've easily made a clean kill instead of putting the stake in the vamp's ankle, but she didn't care. Now she was out for blood, and dusting wasn't enough payback for what the vampires had done to her. They had to suffer as she had suffered. They would feel her pain a thousand times over. They would be mangled and torn, ripped to shreds.

There were only three vamps remaining, one female and two males. The trio stayed close together, not wanting to be defeated as individual entities, but as a group. Hovering just outside the range of the pathetically flickering light bulb, they moved in a circle, keeping a safe distance away from Faith, who watched their every move with a contemptuous eye. Faith took a step towards them; they took one step back. Slayer forward. Vampires backward. Realizing the futility of playing cat and mouse, Faith dropped her stake to the ground.

"There," she told the vamps, motioning towards the stake, "now I've got no weapon. So get your undead asses over here and fight." The trio didn't move. Then they started to slowly back away, but Faith stopped them, pointing at their escape route. "Do not make me chase you." They moved unsurely forward, recovering their lost ground.

One of the two remaining males, apparently without any cue whatsoever, suddenly broke free and charged Faith's position. Finally. She watched and waited, noting the ever-decreasing distance between him and her. At the last possible instant, she darted to the side, grabbed the vamp by his jacket, and used his own momentum to toss him face-first into an unforgiving pile of metal tubing. He was only fazed for an instant, and he quickly recovered, hoisting one of the metal pipes in his hands. Making an initial feint, he tricked Faith into blocking a blow that never came, and instead he swung it diagonally downward, where it cracked against Faith's left knee, causing her to fall to the ground. She managed to block his next swing with her forearm, but the metal still ricocheted painfully off her exposed skin. Before the vamp could attack again, Faith swept him off his feet with a low kick. His metal weapon clattered to the ground and rolled away, and instantly Faith was on top of him, punching his face with all the energy she could muster, until the last male vamp interfered, jerking Faith backwards and onto the concrete floor. She hit with a thud that nearly drove the breath out of her, but she didn't stay down for long, scrambling to her knees in order to block a roundhouse kick that was aimed for her head. Though she blocked it successfully, the impact nearly toppled her over, and the vamp pressed his advantage, trying for a spin kick. Faith ducked, watching the vamp spin until his back was facing her, and then she leapt up and caught him in a choke hold. Savagely wrenching her hands to the side, Faith snapped his neck. Immobile, but not dead, he fell to the ground in a pathetic heap.

She heard some commotion behind her and looked up as the two remaining vamps, one female and one male, ran in the general direction of the door where Faith and Buffy had originally come in.

Shit.

Faith, after picking up her stake and dusting the injured vamps on the ground, started after the duo, limping from the damage done to her knee, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, and pissed off beyond belief. After a few minutes of getting lost in between the enormous shipping crates, she finally emerged into the main foyer, where Buffy, stake in hand, was holding off the cowardly duo that was still attempting to run through the open door. Faith watched as the female tried to make a dash for freedom, but she only got a kick to the side of the head for her troubles. The male went around the other side, apparently not caring about his companion's fate, but Buffy stopped him with a series of punches, followed up by a snap kick that flipped the vamp upside down and onto a wooden box, which promptly shattered. Watching Buffy fight with the two vampires, Faith felt like she could never win. Her plan had been a complete failure; Buffy was nearly spotless, so she'd obviously encountered little resistance from her set of five enemies. Faith looked down at herself, at her ripped clothes and bloody hands, and a sense of shame washed over her.

Buffy threw the female vampire in Faith's direction, and Faith halfheartedly staked her in the heart with minimum effort. As Buffy was finishing up with the final vamp, Faith dropped her stake to the ground and started limping for the door, not wanting Buffy to see how badly she'd been hurt. Of course, Buffy noticed where Faith was heading, and she decisively finished off the last vampire, turning to follow Faith out the door and into the warm summer night.

"Faith!" Buffy called, trailing a few steps behind. "Wait up."

Faith didn't stop, limping onward down the docks, head hung low. Buffy picked up the pace and caught up. She tried to make Faith look her in the eye, but Faith would have none of it, staring at the ground, occasionally wiping some blood from her still-raw cuts.

"Hey, are you okay?" Buffy asked as they continued towards town.

Faith shot her a resentful look, but said nothing in return. She hated everything about Buffy and wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Some fight, huh?" said Buffy, still trying to make conversation.

"Yeah. Whatever," was all that Faith muttered in return.

"Looks like you took a pretty bad beating."

"Congratulations, you noticed," Faith sarcastically replied. "Looks like the beating passed you by."

Buffy's temper flared. "That's not fair. Just because I know how to handle myself in a fight-"

"Shut up, B. I'm sick of your shit."

"Is there a reason why you say things like that? What's your problem, Faith?"

Faith stopped in her tracks and finally looked Buffy in the eye. Buffy had to keep from wincing at Faith's appearance. She'd rarely seen anyone get so torn up in a fight. Faith didn't seem to notice, only intent on staring at Buffy.

"My problem is you," she finally answered. There wasn't even a hint of regret in the statement. Buffy, not expecting such brutal honesty, had no reply. "You, Buffy, the perfect Slayer, the one who never fails, the one who gets the little Scooby gang, the one who's the center of attention. You think you're so righteous-but you don't know anything." Faith was still staring straight at Buffy, refusing to let Buffy look away.

"What did I do to deserve that?" Buffy asked, looking somewhat hurt.

Faith made a condescending noise. "That's your problem, Buffy. You should know the answer to that question, but you don't, do you? Well think about it. Think about it really hard." Buffy stared at the ground, refusing to meet Faith's gaze any longer. Faith laughed a little to herself, looked down the street, wiped some more blood from her forehead, and mockingly said, "Have a good night, B." Then she started off down the road, and Buffy watched her limp for a few yards before running up and grabbing her shoulder.

"Faith," she began, "look, I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not." Faith didn't even turn around to acknowledge Buffy's presence. "Now take your hand off me."

"But-"

"Now."

This was said with such finality that Buffy took her hand away instantly, afraid that Faith would go berserk if she didn't comply. Faith resumed her walk back towards her hotel, limping and leaving a little trail of blood in a sporadic pattern on the pavement. Buffy gave up, silently stood alone in the street, and watched Faith disappear into the dark horizon.

EPILOGUE: VILIFICATION

"You don't know what you're doing," Buffy said.

Faith, sitting on a low table within Angel's mansion, peered over at Buffy, who was chained to the wall. "Really? Weird," she replied, getting to her feet, "'cause something about all this just feels so right."

In the short span of a few weeks since the encounter with the vamps in the warehouse, things had gone from bad to much, much worse. Faith, unstable to begin with, had been pushed over the brink when she accidentally murdered Deputy Mayor Finch while on patrol with Buffy. Claiming that she didn't care, that Slayers were above the law, Faith had resisted any help, falling deeper and deeper into her inner darkness as events spiraled out of her control. Building up a wall of lies about her true feelings, she attempted to protect herself from the guilt and anguish that she knew to be inescapable. Wrestling with her conscience day after day took its toll; despite a strong effort from Angel, the only one who could truly understand Faith's psyche, the path of events conspired to lead Faith down the path to self-destruction instead of redemption. A botched attempt by her new Watcher to have her brought to justice only worsened the situation; after being betrayed at this crucial point in her life, she trusted the Scoobies less than ever before, feeling that they were to blame for her troubles.

Out of a need for revenge, or perhaps just a simple need to have someone to cling to, Faith sought out Mayor Wilkins, the head of the official Sunnydale hierarchy. Though he was a demon intent on murdering most of Sunnydale's populace, the mayor cared for Faith as if she were his own daughter, providing everything that Faith had ever wanted: a father figure that would never turn his back, one that showered her with affection and compliments in a cold, cruel world that had only caused her pain in the past. Finally she had found someone that recognized her abilities, a person who would do everything in his power to protect and love her, and she responded in kind by becoming his personal weapon against Buffy and the Scooby gang. The betrayals and pains of the past months still fresh in her mind, Faith became a double agent, playing both sides, reporting Buffy's intentions to the mayor whilst simultaneously hiding behind a friendly face around the Scoobies.

But the time for subterfuge had ended, and Faith and Mayor Wilkins had now moved into a more serious endeavor, attempting to steal Angel's soul through the use of dark magic, a plan that was designed to culminate in Buffy's slow, arduous death. Some small part of Faith was afraid that torturing Buffy to death would be the one act that would irreversibly make her evil, but another, larger part of her still recalled the harsh words, the lies, and the deceit, and this part urged her on, telling her that everything would be fine if only Buffy ceased to exist.

Now the final stages of the plan had begun. Faith, teaming with the newly-liberated Angelus, had cornered Buffy in the mansion, shackling her against the wall. Torture instruments glowed warmly near the fireplace, heated by the flames' malicious fingers. As Faith got up, a smirk on her pretty face, Angel quietly stood and watched the interaction between the two Slayers.

Moving a bit closer to her captive, Faith continued her train of thought. "Maybe it's one of those unhappy childhood things," she told Buffy. Her dark outfit, juxtaposed with the somewhat happy expression on her face, made Faith seem both benevolent and utterly terrible at the same time. "See, when I was a kid, I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind. I just wanted, you know, something to love." Finally having an audience for her pain and enjoying the attention, Faith walked towards Angel, grabbed his shirt, and passionately kissed him only feet from Buffy, who closed her eyes in response, the sight too much for her to bear. Torture without words-torture with actions. After some of the longest seconds of Buffy's life, Faith broke away from Angel and started her story again. "A dog's all I wanted." She shot Buffy one of her meanest smiles. "Well, that and toys."

With that, Faith leaned over and uncovered the huge assortment of torture devices. Sharp, blunt, long, short, it didn't matter; all were deadly under the right conditions, and Faith had the right conditions in mind. Buffy pulled against her restraints to no avail. Faith didn't even notice, busy picking up one instrument that looked like a dentist's tool, and maybe it was. Buffy honestly didn't know, but what she did know was that she didn't want to find out.

"But Mom was so busy, you know," Faith said, straightening up and examining the tool intently, "enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life that I never really got what I wanted." She paused dramatically, staring right at Buffy. "Until now."

Buffy, wary of how close Faith was getting, decided to rejoin the conversation. "Faith, listen to me very closely: Angel's a killer. When he's done with me, he'll turn on you."

"She's right," added Angel, playing with another of the torture instruments. Faith and Buffy both turned their heads in his direction. He looked up at them, a small smile interrupting his otherwise straight-faced features. "I probably will."

"Yeah?" asked Faith, always concerned with abandonment. But she shook off her doubts, returning her attention to her captive. "Huh. Guess we'll just have to keep you around a while, then."

Not really the response that Buffy was going for. She'd just prolonged her own torture. Faith, eager to get inside Buffy's head, moved over and stood face-to-face with her enemy, standing only inches away and still interested in taunting the blonde-haired Slayer.

"Before we get started, I just want you to know: if you're a screamer-feel free." As Faith directed her dentist's device slowly towards Buffy's face, Buffy had no choice but to scoot even tighter against the wall, her eyes wide.

"Why, Faith? What's in it for you?"

"What isn't?" The response had been instant and to the point, but Faith elaborated anyway, finally feeling in control of her life. "You know, I come to Sunnydale; I'm a Slayer; I do my job kicking ass better than anyone. But what do I hear about everywhere I go?" Her face darkened, and she leaned in even closer, her eyes dark and violent. "Buffy. So I slay, I behave, I do the little good girl routine, and who does everybody thank? Buffy."

"That's not my fault," Buffy replied in her own defense, trying to sway Faith from going through with the torture. She tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to her. Faith, on the other hand, had plenty more to say. The honesty of this single evening was liberating, and Faith liked it. So much of her life was played out behind a façade, but for these few minutes, Buffy had to listen. She had no choice. After all this time, Faith could now say what had been on her mind for so long.

"Everyone always asks, 'Why can't you be more like Buffy?' But did anyone ever ask if you could be more like me?" Faith demanded, moving slightly away and pointing her torture device in Buffy's general direction.

"I know I didn't," Angel said, staring at the pliers in his hands and feigning disinterest in the conversation.

Faith, momentarily disturbed from her diatribe, recovered and moved closer to Buffy yet again. The smile had long since disappeared from Faith's features, replaced by a bitter scowl that could only spell disaster for Buffy's situation. "You get the Watcher, you get the mom, you get the little Scooby gang," said Faith, breath hot on Buffy's face. "And what do I get? Jack squat. This was supposed to be my town!" Exasperated and angry, Faith harshly shoved Buffy against the wall and then began walking towards the table with the torture instruments, not wanting to wait any longer.

Buffy tried to buy some more time. "Faith, listen to me-"

"Why?" Faith spun around, cutting Buffy off before she could get another word in. Furious, and getting more riled up by the second, Faith was loosing her self-control. "So you can impart some special Buffy wisdom? That it? Do you think you're better than me? Do you? Say it! You think you're better than me!"

"I am. Always have been." Buffy threw a contemptuous look Faith's way.

"Um, maybe you didn't notice. Angel's with me." The two would-be torturers, hovering near the little table, linked arms.

"And how'd you get him, Faith? Magic? You cast some sort of spell?" Buffy continued talking as Angel handed Faith a wicked knife. "Because in the real world, Angel would never touch you, and we both know it."

Knife clutched tightly in her right hand, Faith stormed over to Buffy and viciously backhanded her across the face. Shut up! Just shut your mouth! Buffy's head recoiled to the side, but she brought it up again, staring into Faith's eyes.

"You had to tie me up to beat me. There's a word for people like you, Faith." Buffy fairly spat it out. "Loser."

Almost before Buffy was finished saying the word, Faith jammed the knife into the wall mere centimeters away from Buffy's face. I hope you die slow, bitch. "Uh-huh," she said, hurt but too proud to show it. "You're just trying to make me mad so I'll kill you. But I'm too smart for that." She grabbed Buffy's jaw with her hand, roughly squeezing it. "Stick around."

"For what? Your boss's lame Ascension? Like I couldn't stop it."

"You can't."

"I will."

"Keep dreaming." Just like you to be so arrogant. 'Oh, I'm Buffy, look at me, I can do anything. I'm good at everything, yippee.' Well I bet you're good at dying, too. "No one can stop the Ascension. Mayor's got it wired, B." Faith was back by Angel, full of rage, hating Buffy and everything she stood for, imagining Buffy's bloody demise and the deaths of all her friends. "He built this town for demons to feed on, and come Graduation Day, he's gettin' paid." I hate you. "I'll be sittin' at his right hand-assuming he has hands after the transformation." I Hate You. "I'm not too clear on that part." I HATE YOU. "And all your little lame-ass friends are gonna be kibbles and bits." I FUCKING HATE YOU. "Think about that when your boyfriend's cutting into you." TIME TO DIE TIME TO DIE TIME TO DIE. THIS IS MY REVENGE. I'M GONNA HAVE FUN RIPPING OUT YOUR THROAT. AND THAT'S JUST THE BEGINNING. SO EVERYTHING COMES DOWN TO THIS. SEE WHERE ALL YOUR GOD DAMN LIES GET YOU, BITCH? TIME TO DIE.

Shocked at the pain and rage radiating off of Faith, Buffy's retort died on her lips. Faith was like an open sore, her feelings pouring out for all to see. Now, only at the end, could Buffy finally understand what Faith had been going through these long months. She'd never given it enough thought to comprehend it before, but now that it was staring her in the face, Buffy knew she was already too late to make a difference.

With sadness in her voice, Buffy said, "I never knew you had so much rage in you."

NO, YOU NEVER KNEW. BECAUSE YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO ASK. SO DIE.

The End

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This story took over four months to construct, from initial concept to the final edition you have just read. I couldn't have possibly written "Faithless" without the aid of a number of different people, whom I feel deserve my thanks for their help:

*First and foremost, my parents and sister, who have always supported my numerous writing endeavors-even if they sucked. Without their constant encouragement, you wouldn't be reading my work because it wouldn't exist.

*My teachers, past and present, who pushed me to be the writer that I am today. And for putting up with all my smart-ass remarks.

*The entire crew from Warm Champagne (www.warmchampagne.com), the first website to accept my work into their fan fiction archives, and especially Nina, who always answered all my ridiculous questions and worked her ass off in the coding of "Faithless".

*Alison and Sasha over at Faith's Solace (http://faithsolace.com), two of the most influential people that had a hand in the story. Their knowledge of Faith's character is second to none, and they always had good comments and criticisms about how I chose to portray the different characters. Plus they're from Ireland, and that's just cool.

*T.S. Eliot, Stevie Smith, Amy Lee, Ben Moody, Trever Keith, Chester Bennington, and Mike Shinoda, the creators of the poems and song lyrics that I used at the beginning of each installment. Thanks for helping to set the mood.

*All the bands that gave me the motivation to write at one in the morning or for hours at a time, but specifically Strung Out, Evanescence, and Linkin Park for their amazing lyrics and energy. Without music, life has no emotion.

*The writers and creators who helped flesh out Faith's character in both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. Without them, Faith wouldn't exist.

*Last, but certainly not least, Eliza Dushku, the very talented actress who did such an amazing job portraying Faith throughout her four-year stint. My job as a writer was made more difficult because I wanted to live up to the character that Eliza built, and I am thankful that she raised the bar so high. Here's hoping for Faith's return someday soon.

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