Je Me SouviensBy queenzulu
Pour un instant, j'ai oublié mon nomÇa m'a permis enfin d'écrire cette chanson
Pour un instant, j'ai retourné mon miroir
Ça m'a permis enfin de mieux me voir
J'ai perdu mon temps à gagner du temps
J'ai besoin de me trouver une histoire à me conter.
Part OneShe had been dreaming.
She was sure of that much. There were still images flashing through her mind. A rainstorm. A knife. Something about falling. She frowned and tried to hold on to the pieces. If she could catch them, then she could force them to make sense. But the dream faded too quickly, and she was blinking at a ceiling so white it hurt.
In fact, everything hurt. She ached. Her body felt like a lead weight. That was wrong. She heard machines beeping and hissing. The ceiling showed only blank tiles. She needed to move. There was somewhere she needed to be. She lifted her arm--God, it was heavy--and stared at it. Pale skin. An I.V. taped to her hand dripped clear fluid into a vein. She turned her head. An I.D. bracelet banded her other wrist. She squinted at it, tried to focus. Finally, the blurred letters cleared.
Faith Wilkins. No allergies. 5/20/99.
She tried to roll over onto her side. All her muscles protested. The I.V. pinched her skin. She bit her lip and pushed herself up with one hand, until she was sitting in the bed. The room was small and bare. One bed, surrounded by machines counting out her pulse, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation. She watched the little spikes travel across the screen, blip blip blip. And thought, I'm supposed to be somewhere.
She turned her head when she heard a rattle outside the door. Her whole body tensed. She wanted to run away. She was trapped, and that was bad, because someone had been chasing her.
Hadn't they?
In her dream?
The door opened. She edged across the bed, as far as she could from the light in the hallway. A woman rolled a cart into the room. She was dressed in white, short and round, with brown hair cut in a bob. She was reading a chart, making notes with her pen, and then she looked up. She jumped nearly a foot in the air, her hand going to her chest, the chart clattering to the floor, the pen rolling under the bed.
"Oh, my dear," she said. "How you startled me!" She smoothed her uniform and picked up the chart. "You're awake," she said. "Well, of course, you already know that! Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Nurse Owens."
She nodded at Nurse Owens. She glanced at the door and wondered if she could reach it before the nurse. Escape. She swallowed.
"Well, well, this is certainly a surprise," Nurse Owens said, bustling to the bed with her cart. She bent down and retrieved her pen. "I'm afraid I was already writing down that there had been no change! Just goes to show, you can't let your assumptions lead the way, not in nursing, anyway. Poor child. Well. I guess you're hungry. I'll have to get the doctor, of course, no sense starting you on solid food and then getting my knuckles rapped for my presumption. But then, I'm not the only one, am I?" Nurse Owens smiled and reached for her wrist.
She yanked her hand away. Her eyes darted to the doorway again.
"There, be easy, I just want to take your pulse. Can't trust the machines forever, can we?" Nurse Owens touched her hand, then clasped her wrist. Her hold felt firm and gentle at the same time. "Hmm, strong, good. I told them so, of course, but doctors are too high and mighty to listen to me." She made a note in the chart. "They said that with a coma of this magnitude, we need never hope for a full recovery! But you were different. Lots of REM activity. I pointed it out on the EEG--most coma patients, you get very little in the delta region, of course. You were more asleep than unconscious. But listen to me go on. How are you feeling?"
She shrugged. "I--" The croak that emerged surprised her, and she cleared her throat. Nurse Owens shook her head and went to the sink, getting her a small paper cup of water. She drank slowly, feeling her fingers tremble around the fragile cone of the cup. Finally, she spoke again. "I'm supposed to be somewhere," she said. Her voice still sounded husky, but far more natural. She licked her lips.
Nurse Owen patted her hand. "No, dear, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you've been in Sunnydale General Hospital--the long term care ward--for eight months."
"What happened?" She looked around again. The room was incredibly clean, even for a hospital. Everything smelled like bleach on top of vomit, like there were some smells that couldn't be washed away. It was all too clean. No one ever visited here. There were no flowers, no get well cards. Shouldn't your friends send you flowers in the hospital? Wasn't that the right thing to do? Maybe not after eight months. Maybe not if they thought you wouldn't wake up.
"Well, dear, I'm not sure. I only transferred here five months ago. Let me see..." Nurse Owens flipped back through the pages of the chart. She looked over the nurse's shoulder and saw line after line of the same quirky handwriting. Patient condition shows no change. No change. No change.
"It says here that you were in a motor vehicle accident. A pedestrian. Hit by a truck...Upper left quadrant wound, possibly impaled on debris...subdural haematoma. That's what's listed as the root cause of the coma." Nurse Owens peered at her. "What is the last thing that you remember?"
"I--" She hunched her shoulders. She twisted the bracelet on her wrist.
Faith Wilkins. No allergies. 5/20/99.
"I remember that--I have to be somewhere. I have to go." She turned her hips. Her legs were tangled in the covers. She pushed at them.
Nurse Owens caught her hands. "Here...Miss Wilkins...or may I call you Faith? Such a pretty name."
She tilted her head. Did she like one or the other? "Whatever."
"Faith," Nurse Owens decided. "There is no possible way I can allow you to leave the hospital." She shifted Faith's legs back onto the bed and freed the covers, then started tucking them in again, properly, with hospital corners. "First, you are still far too ill. We would want to see a substantial recovery before you were released. Second, you appear to be suffering from amnesia. Where would you go? And, finally, you are still a minor. We can contact your next-of-kin for you, but you can't leave all by yourself."
Faith let Nurse Owens raise the bed until she was sitting more comfortably. The room was hazy in front of her eyes. She leaned back against the pillows. If she fell back asleep, would she ever wake up again? "Who are they?" she asked.
"Who are who, dear?"
Faith forced her eyes to stay open. She was much warmer with the sheets tucked around her. Everything was warmer. She didn't hurt as much, now. "My next-of-kin," she said. "Who are you going to call?"
Nurse Owens opened the chart again. "Your guardian is Richard Wilkins...oh..."
"What?" Faith wriggled upright again. "What's wrong? What's 'oh'?"
"Your guardian--he was the Mayor of Sunnydale. He, ah, he died...just shortly after you were hurt. Faith, I'm so sorry."
Faith tightened her lips. Dead. Her guardian. And there was someone chasing her, with a knife--no. That was only a dream. She shook her head. Richard Wilkins. What had she called him? Dad? Mr. Wilkins? She moved her tongue around the names. Nothing felt familiar. Was she supposed to be sad now? She wondered if she would cry if she remembered him. She reached out for memories. There was only a thick fog, and the sound of a thunderstorm. Rain, falling. Blackness. Nothing.
"Oh, but there is someone else," Nurse Owens said. "In case of emergencies...here we are. Rupert Giles. All his information appears to be current." She rested her hand on Faith's shoulder. "You must be exhausted. Don't worry. You're going to be fine. I'll make the calls, and I'll have the doctor come and check on you, just to be sure. All right?"
Faith nodded. She tried to relax. She laid back on the bed. Rupert Giles. There was still nothing, no associations. It was kind of a strange name. She pulled harder, trying to find some crack in her mind where all her memories had disappeared.
"Shh, there." Nurse Owens soothed the hair off her forehead. "Don't try too hard to remember. Amnesia is common in coma patients, and it's usually temporary. You'll be yourself in no time. Everything will be fine."
Faith gave her a tentative smile. "Thank you," she said.
Nurse Owens smoothed the blankets one last time. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite." She turned off the light and wheeled her cart back into the hall.
Faith closed her eyes and listened to the rattle of the wheels for what felt like a long time. Good hearing, or else she was imagining that she could still hear it...the murmur of other people's voices...the shuffle of footsteps... The weight of the hospital settled on her chest like chains holding her down.
She fell asleep and dreamed of escaping into the rain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------They let her eat soup the next morning. They'd taken the I.V. out of her arm, and all the other tubes as well. The oxygen machine was pushed into a corner. An orderly wheeled a cartful of trays into her room. He extended the table arm over her lap and placed the bowl in front of her. She held the spoon easily. The shakes in her fingers were gone. The broth was thick and warm and filling, but tasteless. When the orderly returned, she asked him if Nurse Owens was there, but he shook his head. "Late shift," he said, and offered her a bedpan.
She grimaced. "No."
"You'll be able to walk soon enough, once you've had some physio. Then we won't pamper you," he said, grinning. "Don't worry, I won't watch. I'm a professional."
She cautiously returned his grin. Was that the kind of person she was? A kidder? "Thanks. Not now."
"Okay." He pointed at the call button. "You can try the nurse's station later, but they might be busy. Don't get too impatient."
She waited until he'd left, the door clicking behind him, and then she shoved the blankets aside and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She didn't feel weak. The pain was mostly gone, except when she stretched too far. She put her weight on her feet. It was fine. She walked to her bathroom easily. She thought it made sense that a person who hadn't moved from their bed in eight months ought to need physiotherapy. Didn't muscles atrophy after that long--a use it or lose it kind of thing?
But she felt fine. Strong, even. She came back into the room and tried a few warm-ups. Her body seemed to know what to do. She went through an entire routine of stretches without thinking about it. When she finished, her body felt like it was hers again. Nothing stiff or unnatural about it, not like when she'd woken up yesterday. The quicker thump of her heart was gratifying. Her breath came evenly. She made a fist and smiled at it. She flexed a bicep and felt it with her opposite hand. Nice. Her whole body felt good, toned and hard. She was too pale, but once she got out of the hospital, the sun would take care of that.
She hopped back on the bed. How long until that guy, Rupert Giles, came to see her? She listened to the sound of people passing back and forth in front of her door. If she concentrated, she could hear the drone of a television down at one end of the hall, and call bells ringing at the nurse's station at the other end. Wicked. She hadn't been imagining it. Her hearing really was that good.
And, if she knew her hearing was good, it meant she knew that other people didn't hear as well as she did. Was that like a memory? She closed her eyes and thought about it. She knew stuff...she knew lots of stuff. How to stretch enough so that her muscles felt the pull, but not so much that she hurt herself. She knew the orderly had spoken with an accent--Texas. Screwing up her eyes, she imagined a map of the country. Geography. She knew that.
But when she thought about anything to do with herself, there was nothing. She knew her name and that she had no allergies. She knew she'd been in a car accident on May 20, 1999. She counted the months. That meant it was February 2000, or close enough. She'd seen her chart and knew she'd missed a birthday while she was unconscious. She was seventeen now. She knew that the guy whose name she had was dead.
Rupert Giles. She knew nothing about him at all. Would she recognise him when he walked into the room? Would she suddenly remember everything as soon as she saw him?
Waiting was boring. She knew that, certainly. She sighed and kicked her legs. The hospital gown was ugly and faded. Had they left her wearing the same one for eight months? Her head itched and her hair was greasy. She picked up a hank of it and studied the thick, black strands. Well, as long as she was meeting this guy, she might as well look good, and maybe find something to do while she waited.
She headed for the shower, stripping off the gown as she walked. She grinned as she dropped it behind her on the floor. Obviously she didn't care too much about showing off her body. She stared down at herself with a slight smile. She ran her hands down her sides and then up to cup her breasts. Everything was in the right place, that was sure. And in working order, she thought, when her nipples stiffened. But there was something--she moved her right hand over her stomach, just under her ribs. There was a ridge of scarring there, puckered pink against her pale skin. She moved closer to the mirror and watched her fingers move over the bumps and roughness, then back onto smooth skin. It didn't hurt, but it felt weird. As if it should hurt--it should hurt forever. She frowned at the girl in the mirror. She was a stranger. She didn't know anything.
In her dream about the knife, she'd been stabbed. Right there. Same place. Who had done it? The person chasing her...
Impaled on debris in the accident, Nurse Owens had said. The dreams were part of the coma. They didn't mean anything.
She ran the water as hot as she could stand it. The hospital had tiny bars of soap and a shampoo dispenser on the wall, no conditioner. Still, it felt amazing to be clean, even better than stretching. The towels were too small. She dried herself on the top sheet of her bed. She made a face at the hospital gown, but was all she had. She put it back on. Without a brush, she couldn't do anything with her hair. She finger-combed it a bit, then tucked it behind her ears.
And again, she was left with nothing to do. Would stupid Rupert Giles never get here? Long lost--what? She tried to decide on a relationship. Relative? Friend? She hesitated, then threw in lover? for good measure. Well, anyway, when a long lost whoever wakes up from a coma, then you went to them first thing. This was getting annoying. She paced around the room once and thought again about just leaving. Running. But that was stupid. Like Nurse Owens said, where would she run to? She didn't remember where she was or where she was supposed to go.
Staying in the room for another five minutes, on the other hand, would drive her stir-crazy.
The sound of the TV down the hall decided her. She left the sheets thrown back on the bed and went to see what was on.
Part Two"Nurse, I must insist, this is urgent."
Faith glanced up for a moment as a middle-aged man in a too-big sweater and khakis hurried by. He chased after a nurse, not paying attention to much else. She turned back to the news she'd been watching. Now, at least, she knew where Sunnydale was, and also what kind of weather to expect for the next week.
Shockingly enough, they were predicting sun.
Another group of people rushed past. Faith looked up again hopefully. Sooner or later Rupert Giles had to show. That name was all she had to hold on to. She was doing her best, but so far nobody had come asking for her. She watched the group running down the hall. They were about her age. There was a guy with floppy brown hair and two girls, a brunette clinging to the guy's arm and a redhead in the world's ugliest skirt and blouse combination. Too young, she decided. She glared at the old man half-asleep in his wheelchair. He was drooling on the remote. She'd been waiting for him to nod off so that she could grab it and channel surf to something more interesting than reruns of the Golden Girls.
"The room is empty. I'm telling you, she's fled the country. That's what felons do, isn't it?"
"Maybe you're right, Xander. It could be for the best. At least then we wouldn't have to deal with her."
"Yes. Let the psychotic killer go murder foreigners. Meanwhile, Xander, I think we should go back to your basement, so that we can light those candles I bought and then have sex near them."
Faith gave a snort of laughter. She leaned her head back. The little group was standing near the nurse's station. The brunette girl was fawning all over the guy. He was shooting panicked looks at the redhead, and she was rolling her eyes. Faith snickered to herself. This was better than anything the TV had to offer.
"When did Buffy say she'd get here?" he asked.
"Right after her last class--psychology."
The guy--Xander--nodded and glanced over his shoulder. "Do you think she could be, you know--lurking? Waiting to pounce? 'Cause I gotta say, the pouncing did not go in my favour the last time. It was very 'Faster, pussycat, kill, kill!'"
Red shook her head. "Nah, she's too dumb to lurk. It'd be, like, ooh, I'm so cleavagey and slutty, I don't need a plan! I'm just gonna attack right now!"
Faith laughed again. These people certainly had a way of expressing themselves.
Who on earth could they be looking for? Another couple was approaching them, some big lumbering football type and behind him, a blonde girl. Faith leaned further back to get a better look at her. Something about her--
Maybe this was someone she recognized. It felt like that. Like she knew something about her. It was as if she had a word on the tip of her tongue and couldn't quite remember it. She frowned and shook her head. How did she know the blonde girl?
"Hey, Buffy," Xander said. "Are you bringing the whole Initiative with you, or just Riley? 'Cause I'm thinking even you might need back up on this one."
"She's gone?" Buffy asked. "It doesn't feel like it."
"You can sense her?" the football lunk asked. He looked down the hall, his eyes passing over Faith. She turned away so that it wouldn't be obvious that she was listening. "What does it feel like?"
"Yeah, Buff, spill. We want details," Xander said. His girlfriend whacked him. "What?" he asked. "It's a psychological graduate student thing, right, Riley? Research."
Before Xander could get hit again, the older man came back from the nurse's station. He held a medical chart under one arm. He took off his glasses and started cleaning them. "I'm afraid they don't know where she could have gone. She ate breakfast in her room, but she is certainly not there now. The nurse I spoke to was convinced she would be too weak to even get out of her bed unassisted."
Buffy glared at him. Faith had to strain to hear what she said. "She's a Slayer. Of course she's not too weak. She could be anywhere by now, Giles!"
Giles.
Faith blinked. Rupert Giles had arrived at last. And that meant they were looking for her.
Psychotic killer? Slayer?
Cleavagey and slutty?
The urge to run was coming back.
But Faith kept bumping into the same brick wall. Where would she run to? If these people knew her, then maybe they could help her remember things. Like the blonde girl, Buffy. She felt so familiar. It sort of tingled.
She took a deep breath. No matter what they thought of her, she had to do something. They'd find her eventually. She stood up and headed down the hall. She stared at Buffy. What was it about her? It was almost uncomfortable, how strong it was. Tingly, and, well, strangely good.
Buffy had her arms crossed and was frowning at the floor. She shifted, like she could feel it too. Then she looked up. Faith stopped. Buffy sure as hell didn't look welcoming.
"You!" she said. She pushed through her friends.
"Yeah," Faith said, wondering what to expect. They might know her, but it was clear they didn't like her. She really wanted to run. This was too much like her dreams. Fear, mixed up with that low-down tickle. She flinched, but she waited for Buffy to approach her. "Uh, hi," she said.
"You should have gotten out of Dodge while the getting was good," Buffy said.
Faith shrugged. The whole group surrounded her. Only Xander, Buffy, and the redhead girl looked angry, though. The other two younger ones only seemed curious. Rupert Giles was studying her carefully. "I didn't have anywhere to go," she told him. He was the easiest one to explain it to. Wasn't he her emergency contact?
"Did you think we were gonna go easy on you?" Red asked. "That we'd just forget everything you did?"
"Well," Faith said, trying a smile, "I did." God, what had she done? She fidgeted. Maybe this was why her body kept trying to run away. It knew more than she did.
"Ha!" Xander pointed at her dramatically. "You still show no remorse. A TV judge would so give you the smackdown for that."
"Xander." The older man, Giles, took his glasses off and glared. "Before all of you get carried away, I believe she's speaking literally." He settled his glasses on his nose again and lifted the chart. "According to the nurse who phoned me, a preliminary analysis suggests that Faith is suffering from complete retrograde amnesia."
"Isn't that convenient," Buffy said. She wasn't exactly sneering, but Faith could hear it in her voice. Why did the only familiar person in the world have to be such a bitch?
"Maybe we should phone the police," Red said. "Let them deal with her."
"Why?" Faith asked. She tried frantically to remember the car accident, or anything before she woke up yesterday. How did the police come into it? "Did the guy who ran me over die or something?"
"Ran over?" Buffy laughed, but she didn't sound amused. "What are you talking about?"
"The nurse told me that's how I got hurt." Faith lifted a hand to her stomach. She could feel the scar through the thin material of the hospital gown.
Buffy looked at the spot, then frowned and backed off. "Anyway, the police won't be able to handle her."
"Nor is there, in fact, an outstanding warrant for her arrest," Giles said. "Or else it would be listed in her medical file, and she would have been placed in a more secure ward. I believe the Mayor managed to bury all reports of her involvement."
"The mayor...you mean Richard Wilkins?" Faith asked. "He was my guardian." That only got her more glares. Shit, didn't they realize how scary it was to stand around listening to people discussing her criminal past when she didn't even know what she'd done? "You are Rupert Giles, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then shouldn't you be taking care of me or something? The nurse said you were my 'in case of emergency' guy." Everyone was staring at her. Faith crossed her arms. It was getting cold in the hallway with just the stupid gown on. "Listen, I don't know you, any of you, and I don't know whatever you think I did. But I want to leave the hospital sometime, and they won't let me unless you say so, 'cause I'm a minor. Can't you just, like, get me out of here, then tell me what the hell is going on?"
Giles stuttered for a moment. He blinked at her, as if he'd just noticed that she was only wearing the hospital gown. That, and how pale she was. "Well, I suppose so," he said. "I'm sure we can get you discharged." He smiled. It wasn't reassuring.
"And what, pray tell, will we do with her after that?" Xander asked.
Faith glared at him. She didn't want him talking about her as if she wasn't standing right in front of him. He flinched as if she'd leapt at him with a knife. What was it with these people? Was there anything she could do to get a straight answer out of them?
"Normally, I would suggest we contact the Council for instructions," Giles answered, with a doubtful glance at Buffy. "But I think we're agreed that their actions would most likely be..." He hesitated, then made a chopping gesture. "...less than helpful."
"Yeah, and what if she's faking?" Red folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Faith. "We get all trusting and sympathetic, and then she strikes."
Giles shifted a bit. He lifted a hand to rub the creases in his forehead. "I hardly believe..."
"We can test that," Buffy interrupted.
Faith turned back to her. She'd felt the Buffy's eyes on her throughout the conversation. It was worse than Red's anger, Giles' caution, Xander's fear, and all the curious stares. She'd tried to ignore it, but she still felt that maddening sense of familiarity. She hated it. Faith didn't want to know Buffy. There was something frightening about her. Fear stabbed her like a knife each time the blonde girl spoke.
Buffy prodded her backward a few steps. "Hit me."
Faith's mouth dropped open. That was the last thing she'd expected. "What?"
"Go on, give me your best shot." Buffy brushed away Riley's restraining hand and his warning mutter of "Buffy, maybe this isn't the best idea..."
"Here? In the hallway?" Faith picked at the gown. "In this?"
"Yeah, unless you're afraid." Buffy raised an eyebrow, but Faith could only stare at her in confusion. "Show me what you remember."
"I don't remember anything," Faith said. She realized it wasn't true the moment she spoke. Her brain refused to cooperate, but her body knew things. Stretching. Strength.
How to run away.
Faith looked at her hands, then back at Buffy. Hit her? Faith curled a fist. She felt a flash of memory. She had done this before. They had stood like this, eye to eye, fighting, or--competing, somehow--
And how dare they come to the hospital and accuse her? They insulted her and threatened her and refused to explain anything. What gave them the right to judge her? She'd woken up from a coma and they treated her like she was an inconvenience to be shoved back into a cage. Faith frowned and tightened her fist. She knew how to do it correctly. She adjusted her fingers. Anger boiled in her stomach. How dare they? How dare Buffy be so familiar, and scary, and cold, and not tell her why?
Hit her?
That's what they expected. They wanted Faith to attack. She would prove them right if she did. But Faith thought she remembered how to turn the tables. She knew how to keep an opponent off guard. No, that was wrong. She didn't know.
But her body did.
Faith lunged.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Buffy blinked. She was sprawled on the floor. Xander and Willow gaped down at her. She stood up and swung around to face Faith. Faith backed up a step, holding out her hands. "Wow," she said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I don't even know what that was!" She stared at her hands. "It was wicked cool, though."
"Buffy, are you okay?" Riley put an arm around her, as if she needed to be supported. Buffy pushed away from him.
"I'm fine." She narrowed her eyes. Faith was grinning at her hands, as if congratulating them for acting completely on their own. Buffy hadn't anticipated Faith's sweeping throw. She'd been knocked off her feet. Before, she'd always been able to see Faith's moves coming from a mile away. She exchanged a glance with Giles. Even one good punch from Faith could have hurt her badly. Faith hadn't even tried. She wasn't even gloating about her throw. Much.
Xander and Willow were close to freaking out. They'd only seen Buffy tossed into a wall. They couldn't understand it had been done in a friendly, almost gentle way--for a Slayer. Riley might have been able to tell, but he was blinded by his macho protective-guy strutting. All three of them were glaring at Faith with a mixture of hatred and fear. They were setting themselves for a fight.
Faith looked up from admiring her hands. Her eyes widened. The Scoobies had closed in the circle around her. All except Anya, who had missed Faith's attack entirely. She was trying to feed a particularly well-loved dollar bill into a pop machine.
"Look, I'm telling you, it was an accident, okay?" Faith said. Her voice started to edge into anger. She flexed her fingers. Buffy knew Faith could take them all on at once. Did Faith know that? She seemed to be holding herself back from trying. "Buffy told me to do it, didn't she?"
"Yeah, some accident," Xander said. "What's a shattered spine between friends?"
"With friends like you guys, who needs enemies?" Faith shot back. She backed off a few steps. Buffy noticed she was careful to keep her back away from a wall. "I don't know what kind of crack the nurses are on, but if you guys are my emergency contacts, then I'd hate to see what my family's like."
Buffy held herself back. This was not Faith. Faith was never scared, and certainly never confused. She had never once spoken about her family. Buffy had tried to learn more about them, and Faith had told her in no uncertain terms to back off every time. More than anything, Faith didn't back down. Buffy tried to see her as a stranger would. Faith was pale and shivering. Exhaustion ringed dark circles around her eyes. Her hair was damp and stringy. And they were all standing around her like overeager executioners.
Buffy stepped between Xander and Willow. The Slayer-tingles she hadn't felt in what seemed like too long were washing over her in jumbled waves. Buffy was almost dizzy with them. So what could Faith be thinking, if she wasn't faking the amnesia? Buffy wanted to be cautious, but the lost, scared look that Faith was trying to hide was too much. "You hurt us, before," she said. It was the closest she could come to saying 'You hurt me.'
For a moment, it looked like Faith was going to answer angrily. Then she stopped. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry, then."
Buffy could tell by the looks on Xander's and Willow's faces that Faith's half-hearted apology wasn't going to be nearly enough. "You don't remember any of it," she said.
"Buffy..." Willow started warningly. Buffy shook her head. Willow grimaced, but she didn't say anything else.
Buffy leaned closer to Faith, as if she could see the old Faith hiding somewhere inside the new one. "You really don't remember," she repeated.
"I really don't," Faith said. She tensed up as Buffy stared at her. Buffy almost shivered. She hadn't been this close to Faith since she'd kissed her and left her in this hospital. She'd done her best to stop thinking about Faith. There had been a few unsettled Slayer dreams at first. And for the last few months, nothing. She'd wanted to forget, and she'd managed it. Until right now. And Faith wasn't lying, but she wasn't exactly telling the truth, either. She remembered something. Buffy could see it in the way Faith was trying to back away and lean closer at the same time.
Buffy sighed. She gave Faith some room, waving the Scoobies back, too. To soothe Riley's ego, she allowed him to slide her under his arm. "So she's got amnesia. Now what?"
Giles cleared his throat. "I'm sure the doctors will attest that there's nothing physically wrong with her." He tried to catch Buffy's eye. She knew what he was implying. The police were out of the question. The could hardly let Faith go back to her ratty motel. And there was no way in hell Buffy was going to call the Watcher's Council in. No matter what Faith had done, the Council wouldn't know how to handle her.
The problem was, none of them had the room or the ability to host a renegade Slayer. She and Willow shared their dorm room. Xander was living in his parents' basement. Giles had his hands full with Spike dropping by for blood and Passions. That left only Buffy's house. But she could never leave her mom alone with Faith. Buffy would have to stay with them. It was the last thing she needed dumped on her plate right now, with Professor Walsh dead and Adam on the loose. Somehow, though, Faith always ended up being her responsibility. What the hell had she ever done to deserve that? In her brightest, fakest voice, Buffy said, "Of course Faith can stay at my place. I bet my mom would think that'd be just super."
Faith rolled her eyes. "Bitch," she muttered, too quietly for anyone but Buffy to hear.
Buffy spun around. She wasn't too happy about inviting Faith into her home. She wasn't going to be gracious about it. And she didn't need to be insulted for it. "Listen, you--" she started, but Faith was blinking at her strangely. "What?" Buffy asked.
"What's wrong, Buffy?" Willow asked. She and Xander had been walking ahead as they led the way back to Faith's room. They hadn't seen anything.
"You heard that?" Faith asked at the same time.
Buffy stopped short. Giles' mild look felt worse than an hour-long lecture. If she believed that Faith didn't remember, then she had to accept everything that came with that. Faith didn't know Buffy's hearing was as sharp as hers. She didn't know--anything. Faith had always been such a mystery that forgetting, for her, didn't seem like such a big deal. Buffy tried to imagine going home from the hospital with complete strangers, and failed. Worse, all of them had made it very clear that Faith was worth less than the bus fare they'd used to get here.
"I'm sorry," she said, instead of a thousand insults that sprang to mind. And, because Faith had to be scared even if she was too good at hiding it, she added: "It'll be okay."
Xander and Willow stared at her as if she'd lost the few marbles she'd had left. Faith snorted in disbelief. "Right," she said. "Rainbows and kittens, I'm sure."
"Perhaps we can let Faith settle in at Buffy's today, and meet again tomorrow?" Giles said. "I'll give you two a ride home, Buffy, after Faith retrieves her things."
"I can--" Riley started, but Buffy laid a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Thanks, Giles." Buffy wanted to go with them to get Faith's stuff, but Riley pulled her aside.
"So this is the arch-enemy?" he asked. "Did I miss something, or...?"
Buffy glanced over her shoulder. Giles followed Faith to her room, glaring at the others to keep them where they were. "I don't think I said enemy," she said.
"Well, you certainly didn't say friend." Riley heaved a sigh. "You're going to stay at your mom's place with her, aren't you?"
Buffy frowned. "It's my social life, too, Riley. I'm not exactly thrilled."
"But she doesn't even know you two used to fight. She doesn't know about Slayers, or demons, or vampires. Are you going to tell her about all of that?" Riley crossed his arms. "And how could it possibly help her if you did? Your mom can take care of one sick girl, Buffy."
She glared at him. "You sound as if you're jealous."
"You look like there's a reason I should be."
"Riley!" Buffy held down a hand that itched to slap him. "We weren't always at each other's throats, you know. I was Faith's friend...for a while. And maybe that's what I'm hoping she'll remember. If we do things right, this time."
Riley shrugged. "You're basing this hope on what clinical evidence? Amnesiacs regain all of their memories or not, but you can't choose which ones Faith will get back."
Buffy shook her head. "She's dangerous, whether she knows it or not. This is my job, Riley. I'm going with her." Without another word, she turned and walked away from him.
Faith had just finished dressing when Buffy walked in. Buffy gasped. Faith wore the clothes she'd been in that night--the night of the rooftop, the night it all went wrong. And it meant nothing to her. These were the clothes the hospital had saved, that's all. Faith looked down at herself. She smoothed her hands over the leather pants. They were looser than they had been. She smiled nervously.
"Cleavagey and slutty," she said, softly enough that Buffy wanted to deny it.
"We'll get you something else at my place," she said.
Faith nodded. "So that's still on."
"What do you mean?"
"You couldn't find anyone else willing to take me." Faith's hands twitched away from the clothes. "I'd rather you gave me a bus ticket and some travelling cash."
Buffy winced. "We wouldn't do that--you're sick, still--"
"Once I'm better, though. You won't see the back of me fast enough." Faith shrugged. She picked at the shirt. "This is it, you know. I don't have anything else. Leather pants and a skanky top they couldn't wash the bloodstains all the way out of."
Buffy hugged herself and leaned against the doorframe. "Faith..."
Faith met her eyes for a moment. "I hurt you."
Buffy didn't miss the emphasis on 'you'. "But that was a long time ago. I do want you to get better. It's just...things might change when you remember."
"If I remember." Faith shrugged. "I don't think I'm going to try."
"It will get better." Buffy walked across the room, the few steps it took to get to Faith's side. She touched Faith's arm. "I promise."
Faith stared at her fingers. "You feel that?" she asked.
Buffy pulled her hand back. The Slayer-tingles, which had doubled the moment she touched Faith's skin, faded again. She thought of Riley, and of what would happen when Faith remembered she was a Slayer. "Feel what?" she asked.
"Nothing," Faith said. "Just...nothing."
Buffy nodded. "Let's go get Giles," she said, and led Faith out of the hospital.
Part Three
Giles hung up the phone at the nurse's station as Buffy and Faith approached. Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. He sighed and studied Faith as he spoke. "I've called your mother, Buffy, and informed her that we're on our way."
"How'd she take it?" Buffy asked. She tried not to look at Faith as she asked. Mom didn't know the whole story where Faith was concerned. After Angel left, Buffy didn't want to talk to anyone about it. Willow and Xander were happy forgetting Faith, too, if for different reasons.
"She seemed eager to help," Giles said. "Riley said he had to go, but that he would call you later. Are you ready?"
Buffy shrugged. Faith crossed her arms and looked away. Neither of them answered.
"I'll bring the car around," Giles said. "Faith, I've arranged for a wheelchair for you, if you like."
Faith blinked. "I don't need--"
Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, well, hospital policy or somesuch...You can come with me. Buffy will meet us outside in a moment."
Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Giles always had his reasons. She glanced down the hall. Xander and Willow waited in the lounge. Anya watched The Price Is Right and ignored their whispered argument. "Right," Buffy said. "I'll be right there."
She headed for the uncomfortable-looking orange plastic chairs. Xander looked up as she sat down. Willow glared at the floor.
"Listen, you guys..."
"Buffy, we don't really wanna listen," Xander said. "We know what you're gonna say. Redemption. Second chances. Nurse Buffy to the rescue...possibly wearing some sort of naughty nurse uniform..."
Anya swatted Xander without looking away from Bob Barker estimating the cost of a toaster oven.
"I mean." Xander shrugged and waved his hands. "Faith has tried to kill us both. If that's not enough to pursuade you she's bad news, then we're not in the mood for you to convince us she's a little kitten up a tree."
Buffy leaned back. "And when people try to kill my friends I usually kill them right back," she said. Willow hadn't been this quiet for this long since the first day they'd met. "But--"
"There's always a 'but' with Faith," Willow burst out.
"No kidding," Xander said, leering.
It earned him another swat from Anya.
"Buffy, she's gonna remember some time, and how safe are we gonna be once she does?" Willow asked. "You aren't going to get a nicely engraved RSVP saying, oh, hey, turns out I hate you, try not to get murdered in your sleep. You're taking her home with you. To your mom! You can't watch her all the time and you can't trust her, amnesia or not."
"You're right." Buffy shrugged when they both looked up, surprised. "Of course you're right. But you also know there's nothing else we can do. She's...well, I put her in here. I mean, she killed two people, and threatened a whole bunch, but I'm the one who stabbed her and tried to feed her to Angel."
Xander sighed and looked at Willow. Buffy met Willow's eyes, seeing the hurt there. "I just--I can't forget that," she said, trying to explain. "Faith's my problem."
"You've got a great big Faith-shaped hole in your brain," Willow said. "You're shoveling guilt in there trying to fill it, but that's not going to help. It's not up to you to fix what she did wrong."
Buffy stood up. "I'm not," she said. "I'm trying to fix what I did wrong. Will..." Buffy held out her hands hopelessly. "I'll be by later to get some stuff. Maybe we can talk about Adam?"
"Yeah, number one hacker on the job," Willow muttered.
Buffy wanted to say something to help, but they were--all three of them--stuck in this trap of taking their own side. She didn't know how to get out of the hole she'd dug. They didn't understand how she felt about Faith. Buffy wasn't sure she understood it herself. Faith was a responsibility Buffy didn't need, but Buffy owed her; and, more than that, she wanted to help her. She wanted Faith to find herself, so that they could talk or fight or whatever they needed to figure out how something that had been so good had gone so wrong.
So, instead, Buffy left them and went out front. Giles pulled up in his old car, with Faith in the front seat. Buffy climbed into the back. Giles met her eyes in the rearview mirror, but Buffy could only shrug. Willow and Xander would come around eventually...or else Faith would prove them right. Buffy could only hope it would be the former.
Giles made some 'aheming' noises in his throat, but he couldn't seem to settle on a conversation opener. Buffy stared out the window, trying to see Sunnydale as Faith was--for the first time. It looked small.
The ride to her mom's house was a short one, and Buffy was glad to escape the car. Mom came out to meet them.
"Faith, honey!" she said, running down the steps and enfolding Faith in a hug.
"Um...hi," Faith said, blinking at Buffy over her mom's shoulder.
"I'm Joyce, Buffy's mom." She peered into Faith's eyes. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry...but at least you're awake now! I've been worried about you."
Faith smiled. "Thanks. I guess." She murmured, "You're the first," and raised an eyebrow at Buffy.
Buffy pretended to ignore the remark, as if she didn't have the same sensitive hearing as Faith.
"Well, come on in, all of you," Mom said, herding them inside.
"I'll show Faith my room," Buffy said. She didn't want to get her mom on more of a nursing kick than she already was. They left Giles and Mom talking in the kitchen. "We can only hope Mom's not using it for storage space," she said, climbing the stairs. "If there are crates, I'm carrying them all straight down to the living room."
Faith laughed behind her. Buffy had to remind herself that Faith didn't know she was talking literally. It wasn't time to let the whole super-strength thing slip. Maybe, in a day or two...or after Faith had picked up a car by accident...
Buffy sighed and led the way into her room. It was, mercifully, crate-free. "Home sweet home," she said.
Faith nodded, her fingers hooked in her belt loops. "So, Buffy...when do I get the full story?"
Buffy bit her lip. "What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about your friends." Faith entered the room and examined the pictures on the shelves. "Red and Xander look like they're gonna faint if I even look at them wrong. It makes me want to sneak up on them and yell 'Boo!'"
"Don't do that!" Buffy said.
Faith turned around and grinned at her. "Aw, come on. Just to see the looks on their faces. I'd let you watch."
Buffy tried to glare at her repressively, but she found she couldn't quite hide an answering grin. It would be pretty funny. She didn't know whether she'd bet on Willow or Xander to have the girliest shriek. It wouldn't help them to trust Faith at all. In fact, it would probably make things worse. But they were both wound so tight as it was... She chuckled despite herself. "Okay, it would be funny. But don't do it."
"Fine, fine." Faith waved the idea away. "But don't try to tell me you've never had an uncontrollable urge--you knew something was wrong, but you just wanted to do it anyway."
Buffy shrugged. She wasn't going to think about her uncontrollable urges. She'd always been good at ignoring them, and then forgetting them. She didn't want to dig up all her old urges. Especially not to tell Faith. Time to change the subject. "Why do you call her Red?" she asked.
Faith blinked. "'Cause I don't know her name. Nobody's said it yet."
"Oh." Buffy blushed. If she was going to buy the amnesia story, she couldn't get caught up thinking of Faith as the person she'd known for months. She felt bad for not doing introductions. "Her name is Willow."
Faith nodded. "And you're warning me that she wants me to call her by name. Why? What's wrong with Red?"
"You used to call her Red. You were pretty big on nicknames."
Faith seemed to digest that piece of information. "I was, huh?" She sat down on the bed, picking up Mr. Gordo and hugging him. She smiled a bit at the stuffed pig. "I bet I had a great one for you."
Buffy blushed harder. Was that a hint of Faith's old banter? "No, not at all."
Faith's smile widened. She set Mr. Gordo aside. Her eyes were sparkling. She hadn't lost any of her teasing instincts. She sensed a weak spot, and she was going to exploit it. "Oh, yeah, I did. I called you something and you hated it." She tilted her head. Confusion clouded her face. "Or else--"
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Or else what?" She wondered again how much of Faith's memory loss was an act. Her confusion seemed real, and nobody had ever accused her of being any good at lying. Faith was too open with her emotions to be a convincing actress.
Faith shook her head. "Nothing." The smile came back. "I don't know if I'll remember it, but I can probably guess it. You'll tell me if I'm right?"
Buffy started to protest, then stopped. It wouldn't hurt, and maybe it would help Faith to get her memory back if she exercised it. "Okay. But I'll tell you right now, it wasn't Rumplestiltskin."
"Damn, there goes my first guess." Faith lay back on the bed, folding her arms behind her head. Her shirt pulled up as she did, exposing her toned stomach...and the scar. "So are these my digs now, or what?" Faith asked, but Buffy wasn't listening.
She was reliving that moment eight months ago. The feeling of sharp steel sliding into skin hadn't truly left her hand in all that time.
"Buffy?"
"What?"
Faith sat up and pulled her shirt down. "Listen, I'm not--I mean, I have no idea if we ever--"
Buffy frowned when Faith didn't finish her sentence. "What are you talking about?" she asked. She pulled her mind away from the memory of Faith's eyes, brimming with pain, as she let herself fall. Buffy had felt as if she'd been stabbed herself, when she saw Faith plummet from the roof.
"I'm not gonna sleep in here, am I?"
"No, we have a guest bedroom..." Buffy pointed vaguely. Why was Faith blushing?
"Okay. Great. Because...I'm kinda tired." Faith jumped up from the bed. "I'm gonna check it out. I'll...see ya."
Buffy watched her go, then picked up Mr. Gordo. All this tip-toeing around the truth was not going to help once Faith started to remember. She didn't want Giles giving Faith the facts of life--he'd probably pull out the "One girl in all the world" speech. And Xander and Willow were both too bitter to want to help. It would be up to her...if only she could figure out how.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------The guest bedroom was small. A double bed and a dresser took most of the floor space. Faith sat down on the bedspread and bounced a bit. There was too much art on the walls, a weird mixture of tribal African masks and impressionist paintings. Faith lay back on the bed. She wished she still had Buffy's pig to hold. She wished she had someone to talk to who didn't hate her, or expect her to know stuff, or who made her stomach do flipflops.
Buffy did all three. Faith wasn't really tired, but she couldn't stay in Buffy's room. The way Buffy stared at her made her want to squirm. Faith didn't remember herself. The person who woke up in that hospital room wasn't her. But she knew she didn't like being out of control. Buffy's stare ripped up her certainty and threw the pieces all over the place. Of everyone she'd met, Faith knew Buffy the most--and the least. Both, at the same time. Faith felt like they could talk about anything and she would know what Buffy's opinion was before she said it. Then, something would happen. A wall would crash down, and Buffy would be a stranger just like the rest of them.
A stranger who lied to her. The car-crash story sounded less likely with every passing moment. Faith slipped a hand under the white tank top the hospital had kept for her. A single cut in the material matched the scar in her stomach. She wriggled her fingers through the hole. The bloodstains had been bleached away, mostly, but the cut remained. One hole, as if the shirt had been sliced by a very sharp knife.
Like the knife in her dreams.
Faith squeezed her eyes closed. Each dream was the same. She was hunted by someone carrying that knife, and she was stabbed, and she died, and the thunderstorm washed her blood away.
There was a knock at the door and Faith was on her feet before she could think. She stared at her hands. She was holding them up, curled in loose fists. Her weight was balanced on the balls of her feet. She felt like she could jump in any direction, defend herself from any attack. Her heartbeat thrummed, faster than usual, and her breathing deepened, but her mind was calm and alert. She had never felt so ready for anything. She forced herself to relax. It was only Buffy standing outside the door.
"Come in," she said. She lowered her hands and sat on the bed.
Buffy opened the door. Faith took a deep breath and released it. How had she known it was Buffy? Her skin tingled, and she absently brushed the small hairs on her arms so that they lay flat. Buffy stayed in the doorway. She held out a jumble of clothes.
"I got you some stuff to wear," she said. "It's not a lot. You're too tall for most of my clothes. We can go shopping tomorrow if you want."
Faith took the pile. It was mostly t-shirts and sweats. Still, anything would be better than the skin-tight leather pants and sliced tank top. Most of all, it meant something that Buffy was genuinely offering to help her buy clothes tomorrow. Maybe the bitchiness was only an act. "Thank you," she said.
"Yeah. Well." Buffy scuffled a foot on the carpet. "Is this okay?"
Faith dumped the clothes on the bed. "The room? It's fine. The art's a little..." She shrugged. "I don't know. Not my style? Am I supposed to know what my style is?"
Buffy leaned back against the door jamb. She studied the walls. "No. It's not your style." Her lips twitched as if she was laughing at a private joke. "Definitely not your style."
Faith frowned. Buffy was so confident about what she liked and didn't like. Buffy thought she knew Faith better than she did herself. "Maybe it is. Now. I could change."
Buffy glanced at her for the first time since she'd come in. Her eyes sparkled with laughter. "So you're going to start collecting Waziri war masks and Group of Seven landscapes?"
"Well..." Faith tried to look serious, but Buffy's attempt to hide her smile was putting a dent in the effort. "You don't know. I could."
Buffy nodded, pursing her lips to hold in her laughter. "Okay, I'll keep it in mind. No more Dingoes CDs for you."
Faith nearly asked, "Do I like Dingoes CDs?" but stopped herself. It wasn't fair that everyone assumed they knew what kind of person she was. The kind of person who liked nicknames but not art, the kind of person everybody hated and feared and had secrets from. The kind of person whose body knew how to fight, whose body wanted to fight. She leaned back against the headboard. Buffy stayed in the hallway.
"You wanna come in?" she asked. "You can."
Buffy shrugged. "It's weird having you here."
Faith snorted. "Because you hate me."
"I don't--"
Faith raised an eyebrow at her.
Buffy hugged herself and looked down. "I don't."
Faith thought about the way Buffy's eyes had lingered on her body when her shirt rucked up. The way she blushed when she talked about Faith's old nickname for her. The way Faith could tell Buffy was lying when she said she didn't feel the sweet tingle every time they touched. Maybe Buffy didn't hate her. Maybe it was something else entirely.
Buffy could have been in love with her. They could have been girlfriends, or exes, or something. It was a weird idea, but not a freaky one. Faith considered it, half-squinting at Buffy as if she could focus hard enough to make the memories come back. Buffy was attractive, no doubt. Blonde hair falling in little tendrils around her face, most of it caught up in a messy ponytail. Bright green eyes, gorgeous smile, cute nose. Killer body. And there were the tingles. The shivery goodness of her presence. As if Buffy being there was all it took to make everything okay. Like they were stronger together. They could take anyone on, any odds, any fight, and come out on top.
And, out of everybody, Buffy was the one familiar face. Maybe because Faith had known her better? Loved her, even?
Yeah, and maybe she'd really been in a car accident. Unlikely.
"So...how did we meet?" Faith asked. Who was she to Buffy? Just a friend? How did anyone become enemies--real, true-to-life nemesises...nemeses...arch-enemies--with a college student?
Buffy squinched up her face at the question, but she swayed a foot or two into the room. "Meet?"
"Yeah. Meet. Y'know, you, me, first impressions. And stop hovering, you're making me nervous."
Buffy made an incredulous sound. "I make you...? Never mind." She hesitated for a moment longer, then walked in to the room and sat down. "It was at this club, the Bronze. You were dancing with this guy, and, uh, he looked like bad news, so when you left with him I followed you. And, he was. But you took care of him, and then, we were sort of standing there. So...that's it. That's when we met."
Faith nodded. "Did I do that a lot?"
Buffy blinked. "Dance? All the time. We...I mean, it's one of your favourite things."
"I meant, pick up bad-news guys." Faith knew she sounded angry. The more she got to know about herself, the less she liked who she was. The girl Buffy was talking about was an irresponsible slut. Was she really that girl?
Buffy didn't answer right away. And that made it worse.
"Fuck, Buffy, I'm trying to find out who I am, y'know? Okay? Could you just answer the question?"
Buffy picked at the bedspread. "Okay. Yes. You picked up guys a lot." She looked up. "But that's--that's not who you were, you know? Not to m--not to us."
"Right." Faith drew up her legs and hugged her knees, drawing into herself. If she picked up guys all the time, it kind of dismissed the in-love-with-Buffy theory. Except it was a theory she didn't really want to let go of. "Cleavagey and slutty. Psychotic murderer. Evil. That's what I am to your friends."
Buffy looked like she was going to cry. Tough shit. Little guilty looks and regret weren't going to cut it. Faith wanted to know why she was being lied to. Why Buffy was lying to her. And she was going to push her until she found out.
"You were a lot more than that," Buffy said. They were both uncomfortable now, sitting on opposite ends of the bed, not looking at each other.
A lot more than that. Faith shot a quick glance at Buffy. Was she just imagining it when Buffy sounded angry--almost jealous--about the guys she'd picked up? In the hospital, everyone had implied that Faith had hurt Buffy, badly. Her, specifically, more than anyone else. But Willow and Xander were the ones who were angriest. Buffy just looked upset, like she wanted to solve this problem but didn't know how.
"This is not fucking fair," Faith said calmly, finally, after they'd sat in silence for too long. "The way you're all treating me."
Buffy's eyebrows raised. "Because I'm supposed to be ready for this? After eight months?"
"At least you had those eight months." Faith tapped her skull. "And now I don't even have whatever life I did before. Not like that's your fault, but--"
Buffy flushed again, her eyes darting away.
Scared. And...guilty?
Faith stared at her. Car crash, her ass. Buffy was trying to cover up and sucking at it. "But did I do anything, one fucking thing, wrong since I been here?"
"No," Buffy whispered. "But I can't forget..."
"And I can't remember. So maybe you could try telling me the fucking truth, Buffy."
Buffy shook her head.
"Unless you really do hate me. Unless this is supposed to be payback."
Buffy opened her mouth, closed it again, then got off the bed and retreated to the doorway.
"I wasn't in a car crash," Faith said to her back.
Buffy whirled around, her eyes wide. "You do remember," she said.
Faith frowned at her, feeling her hands fist almost against her will. She wanted to punch something. Someone. She wanted to fight. "No. But you pretty much just told me I'm right. So are you gonna tell me what really happened?"
Buffy backed up a step, into the hallway. "I just came to give you the clothes. I have to go."
Faith felt empty inside, hollow and hurting. No memories. No friends. She stayed where she was. "You're lying to me," she said. "All of you. Giles. The hospital. Your friends."
Buffy shook her head, denying it, but even she didn't seem convinced. Faith figured it would make sense to be angry about it, but instead she just felt sad. She turned away and looked out the window. Buffy stood outside the room for a minute longer. Once or twice Faith heard her start to speak, but in the end, she walked away.