*****

//yes, I've said it's fine before//
but I don't think so anymore//
I said it's fine before//
I've changed my mind//
I take it back//

Erase and rewind//
'cause I've been changing my mind//
I've changed my mind//

So, Los Angeles is the City of Angels. Faith kinda found that hard to believe. 'Cause she knew a real live Angel, and he was in hell before any of this. She thought about calling him, still had the card he gave her - 'Angel Investigations' - but she doubted how welcome she'd be. Cordelia would definitely turn the air blue if she ever showed up. As for Wesley... But the first person she thought about was B and Faith toyed with the idea of paying her a visit, for old times' sake. Thing is, Faith was sure B would stake her sooner than look at her. And Faith couldn't blame her 'cause if Faith was her, she'd do exactly the same thing. Wicked ironic how six months inside can give you a fresh perspective on things. In the end, all the cops could pin on her was the assault of that girl at the hospital. Seems the Mayor took care of everything else before he went snake and Faith would always be grateful to the sick son of a bitch for that. Yeah, he'd been livin' la vida loco but the Boss had always looked out for her. It seemed like a whole lifetime ago, not just under two years. That was a different Faith though. She kept herself under control now... well, mostly. She still had a wicked temper on her. Guess she inherited that from mom...

See, she developed a kinda discipline when she was in jail. Because routine is all you have, if you didn't have that then the loneliness, the guilt at what you've done could just eat away at you. There were people in there who made prison a career option but Faith didn't want that. Not that she wasn't tempted. She could've run that place but she wanted out. She did her time, like a good girl, kept her nose clean, signed up for a few inmate programs - the basketball team, the drama group, even got half-way to getting her high school diploma. 'Course, she had to see the prison psychologist, only for the jerk to tell her what she already knew. Yeah, she had a problem with authority figures (they kinda end up dead) and, yeah, she had trust issues. That's what happens when you get screwed over your whole life through. But it had made her see one thing: none of it was B's fault. She kinda wanted to tell Buff this stunning realisation that has taken her two years, y'know? The pills had a big part in helping her reach that conclusion. She has to take them every day, twice a day, for the rest of her life. Which bites, but unmedicated Faith is bad Faith. Anyways, she saw it as a trade-off and it was a condition of her parole.

She thought about B a lot. If she'd dealt and moved on or if B still cared about her. Given how pissed B was the last time she saw her, that seemed unlikely. Yeah, Faith dwelt on dumb things like that because she couldn't erase the past and didn't know where to begin to atone for it.

When she last showed up in Sunnydale B told her it didn't have to be this way. She was right but Faith couldn't see that then. She was full of hate, full of crazy shit hatred at B, at the world, at herself. For the longest time she saw her conscience as some little Buffy-shaped angel on her shoulder but the little Faith-shaped devil was usually the wicked vocal one. She always thought 'what would Buffy do?' because B was so damn perfect. Everyone looked up to Buffy, and everyone always wanted to know why Faith couldn't be more like her. Well, Faith had wanted to know why Buffy couldn't be more like *her*. Now, she was glad B wasn't.

Some of the people that became friends in prison told her that the air always tasted sweeter when you got out. It just tasted of smog to Faith. For the first time since before she was called as a Slayer, she wondered what the hell she was gonna do with her life. The only sure thing was the weekly visit of her parole officer. He'd given her the address of some half-way house for ex-cons that was expecting her to show up. The old Faith would've just took off but this Faith didn't wanna go back inside, not for that, so she decided she was gonna do this right. Job, apartment, straight up. Maybe she'd even get that dog she always wanted when she was a kid. She could just forget about vampires and demons and shit and just get on with her life. Like the good ol' Watchers' Council said, there can only be one Slayer in every generation. /Well, consider this my resignation, tweed guys./ But she knew that she couldn't have that life here, in LA, not being this close to B.

Actually, the half-way house place wasn't so bad. At least she had an en suite shower. And the mattress was soft which was a major bonus. Nobody checked on them, they could come and go as they please. After dinner that night, some of the girls talked about going out to a club and invited Faith along. She hadn't been dancing for so long, after slaying it was her favourite thing, and she knew that she was good. Hell, she was the best. So she accepted and got ready. Leather pants, baby T (had to show off her pride and joy, her tattoo - she got it not long after saving that bus full of Baptists... good times) and her denim jacket. She looked at herself in the mirror and it was like a reflection of her old self. Except that she knew she was a different girl. She pouted at herself with scarlet lips. Knock 'em dead, girlfriend. In a metaphorical sense.

When they got to the club, it wasn't long before Faith realised that her new friends were the kind who liked to sit in the corner, making crappy conversation. Not this chick. She headed straight for the dance floor and didn't care that she didn't know the song. Pretty soon some guys were closing around her, and she smirked. Glad to see she hadn't lost the touch, being surrounded by women 24/7. Not that she didn't see *any* action in jail... Well, a girl can get frustrated and a girl's as good as a guy when it comes down to anatomy. But she wasn't here for screwing tonight, she just wanted to dance, just to let herself go and *feel* the music. All too soon the music stopped and some guy came onstage to announce the band. Could be good, so she stayed where she was. The band skulked on and she recognised the little guy playing bass. Shit...

She didn't know whether to jump up on stage and hug the guy or motor. Unable to decide, she just stood there, staring like a real spazz. They performed three songs before taking a break and she didn't really know what she was doing, maybe she forgot to take her pill or something, but she headed towards the little door beside the stage. There was no security in this place so there was no one to stop her. Like they could. The backstage area was small, a corridor with a couple of dressing rooms off it. She could hear the band behind one of the doors, and she walked towards it. Then it opened and it was him and she didn't know what to say. He was just standing there, staring at her, his eyebrow lifting slowly, which was about all the surprise he showed.

"Hey... long time no see," Faith said, the lamest of lame things.

Oz just looked at her and she began to realise that this was a *really* bad idea.

*****
Part 2:

// no, it's not that I don't know//
I just don't want it to grow//
it's not that I don't know//
I've changed my mind//
I take it back//

Erase and Rewind//

For a moment, the red haze clouds my vision, and a wash of pinpricks buzzes just under the surface of my skin.

For a moment I can't do or say anything, except breathe heavy, try to force myself to be calm, try not to let the balance tip in favour of my other self.

For a moment I have the battle between instinct and control.

For a fraction of that moment, I'm tempted to let instinct win.

But then she speaks. "Hey� long time no see," she says, frowning for a second, casting her eyes to the ceiling, as if that wasn't what she intended to say. Then she looks back at me, her expression a mixture of the old cocky Faith and something that resembles nervousness. Nothing outwardly homicidal, so far as I can discern. She's dressed in typical Faith gear, provocative yet functional. If your function is the killing of vampires and�

But there is no reason for her to kill me.

But then, does she need one?

But I'd given her ample opportunity to make her move, and she hasn't. Whatever Faith wants, my being alive appeared to be a given. With that in mind, the red haze clears, but I hold her gaze.

She swallows, then puts on a fake smile. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd just pay my respects. The band was good, y'know. But I'd better go. People to see, places to go." With a shrug she turns, and starts to walk back down the little corridor. I watch her go, and the walk� is different, somehow. Less cocky. Resigned. My chest suddenly feels tight, my mouth dry, and I know I have to call her back.

"Faith�"

She stops, but doesn't turn.

"Look, I've got to finish the set, but�"

Her head turns slightly. "But what?"

"Would I risk personal injury or death in continuing my association with you?"

A snort. "Nah. Not unless you insult my grandmother, or somethin'."

"I'll be in the band room after, if you want conversation that avoids the subject of your extended family."

"Maybe. If I don't get a better offer, of course."

Then she's gone, hips swaying with renewed confidence. The rest of the band are behind me, clamouring to get on stage and we've got songs to sing and chords to play. And I've got Faith to think about.

***

I watch the smoke drift up toward the ceiling, then take another toke of the joint. Before I discovered my "cure" grass was just something I did on the weekends with Devon, leaning out of his bedroom window so that the smoke didn't get into his room where his mom might smell it. Now it's medicinal. Clams me down, chills me out, helps me cope with the wolf. But I miss the conversation with Devon, when we would talk about music and politics and religion and cartoons and all the stuff that clutters up your head when you're stoned. I smoke alone now, and it's not the same.

Nothing in my life is anymore. I mean, I was never the one to conform to whatever was expected of me, whether I was listening to Bowie when everyone else was into Nirvana, or painting my nails with Black Cherry and dying my hair blond when half the girls in my classes wouldn't dare do either, or dating Willow to Dev's incomprehension, I did what I wanted to do and didn't care what other people thought. But I had my constants. People who were there whatever happened. Devon, the Dingoes, school, Willow, even my Mom and Dad. And now� I have none of them.

It feels like I've lost them all, like I should be grieving for my dearly departed. But none of them are dead, just lost to me in a worse way - by my own isolation. For two years I had been drifting away from my parents, and from Devon and the Dingoes. The lycanthropy had a lot to do with that, plus the fact I was helping Buffy and the others and that was a world they couldn't be a part of. I hated separating my friends and family like that, but it seemed necessary. For their protection, I would tell myself. Then college, and that changes things even when you're a "normal" kid. But not noticeably, you can carry on and gloss over the cracks that appear. It's what I had done since Jordy bit me in any case - until Veruca came along, and the wolf finally asserted himself in a way I couldn't control. Didn't want to control, in all truthfulness. When I killed her, I enjoyed it, because there was still enough human-Oz left to be aware of what was going on, caught up in the bloodlust, but not enough so that my conscience could counter it, stop me from taking a life. So I had to leave, because I couldn't be sure that I wouldn't get the taste for it. Even fully human Oz had flashes of rage that left me wondering just how far beneath the skin the wolf lay.

In driving off that day, in leaving my former life so completely, I destroyed the veneer I created to convince myself that everything was fine, that allowed me to ignore the fact that all of the Scoobies were drifting apart, that Devon and I hardly talked properly anymore. I didn't see it then, I couldn't see that much of the bigger picture.

Even then though, I knew that there was too much damage to my relationship with Willow. All the time I traveled the world I clung to the hope that I would go back, and that it everything would click back into place, except with the new improved Oz. Deep down I knew it to be a false hope, that even if Willow was still waiting for me � and in a way she was � things couldn't be anything like the same. It didn't matter, in the end. Willow had moved on to something � someone � else and I had lost her. Probably I had lost her when Veruca and I� probably then. I just didn't accept it until later.

So I couldn't stay with the Scoobies. And I couldn't stay with the Dingoes, either. Devon had found a new bass player. Not as good as me, he said, couldn't write songs like I used to, he said. However, this one turned up for practice and for gigs. He told me that I was always, *always* his friend, but that when it came to the band he couldn't let things coast along in the hope I would get my act together. The Dingoes were going somewhere, he was sure. He needed commitment. Something I couldn't give, certainly not to a band based in Sunnydale, not then. Not now.

As for my folks, they just gave me their concerned looks and stern lectures about responsibility and my future and about running away. Then they gave me tear-stained hugs and soft whispers that they were so glad to have me back, so glad. Then I left them again. I've caused them so much pain, and I wish I could make it up to them, but I can't. They don't really know where I am now, and I don't have the courage to face them. Not yet. Maybe never. I'm lost to them as well, now.

So gone are all the constants I had.

Which is maybe, probably why I called Faith back tonight. She represented a constant. Something from my past I could cling to. And for a little moment, when she walked away, she looked as lost as I feel.

***

I stub out the joint in the ugly orange ashtray, and examine my fingernails for chips in the polish. There's a knock on the door and, without waiting for an invitation, Faith pushes it open. She sways in, a bottle of beer in each hand and a cigarette between two fingers. She throws herself onto the elderly leather sofa next to me and hands me a bottle before taking a long drag from the cigarette. I take a slug from the bottle.

She turns her head and looks at me; pupils dilated and drink on her breath. "Angel said you'd disappeared," she says, hiccuping and exhaling smoke as she does so.

"Yeah, I had."

"Same old talkative Oz. Give me *details,* man." She stabs the cigarette in my direction for emphasis.

"What did Angel tell you?"

She shrugs. "That you and Willow had had some fight, that you'd gone off. He said Cordelia knew more, but she and I aren't really talking. What with me giving her a good smack the last time we met."

I raise an eyebrow � hey, I can't help it � and wonder what exactly went on when she met Angel. "Wolf me mated with another werewolf, Willow found us. The other werewolf tried to kill Willow, so I had to kill her."

She gives me a puzzled look that could also be an attempt to focus. "You killed Willow?"

I smile. "No. I killed the other werewolf."

"Oh. Shame." Another drag on the cigarette.

I ignore the insult to Willow. "I wasn't sure I could control the wolf so I left."

"And you came to fucking *LA*? Yeah, cos that makes sense."

"No, I'm in LA now. I traveled all over before. Tibet, Rumania, places like that."

Her eyes widen and a look that resembles� respect, I suppose, flits across her features. "You're 'shitting me, right?" I shake my head. "Wicked."

"It was pretty intense."

"Have you been back to Sunnydale?" I nod. She gives me a mischievous grin, leans over and whispers, "So is Red really a bean?"

"She chose Tara over me." It's not something I like to think about, but there's no point in denying it to her. Cigarette between her harlot red lips, she smiles smugly and mutters something like, 'oh yeah'. I decide to change the subject, "So what about you?"

"Me? Nothing much."

"Last I heard you'd swapped bodies with Buffy and slept with her boyfriend."

For a moment she grins, then the smile fades.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Not proud of it though." I don't know if I believe her, not quite.

"Then what?"

Another shrug. "I met Angel, we had� words. I handed myself in to the fuzz, it turns out Mayor Wilkins had got me cleared of most of the charges, and they couldn't pin anything else on me. So, I'm a free agent, mostly."

There's more to that, I'm certain, but I'm not about to push. "Cool."

"Yeah, it is. Like� like, I'm trying to be a good guy now. I fucked up way much, but I want to make it up. But I can't go back to Sunnydale, cos B still hates my guts, and I can't help Angel cos Wesley still hates my guts, and the Watcher's Council just want me locked up in Tea and Scones City jail. So� I dunno. I'm not doing much just now. I don't know what to do. Which is not cool."

She actually seems earnest. I should probably know better than to trust Faith, but I do anyway. "You and me both."

Now she raises an eyebrow.

"Not knowing what to do is a specialty of mine also."

She gives me an affectionate but painful thump on the shoulder. "Rebels without a clue, huh? Y'know, it's a shame I never got to know you better, Oz. I bet we coulda had a lot of fun."

"Fun? Like the fun you had with Xander?"

"Maybe." She looks at me and grins. "But I think the fun would be better with you."

I say nothing � I don't know what *to* say. Then she leans over, the cigarette free hand on my thigh and lunges towards my lips. Realizing too late that my silence was interpreted as something else I quickly turn my head and she meets stubble. She jumps away, leaving a streak of red up my cheek.

"Faith, I didn't mean�" I trail off as words fail me again.

As she gets up she doesn't reply, but gives me a look that is a mixture of anger at her rejection and embarrassment at her mistake. Without another word she turns and runs for the door, throwing it open with such force that it nearly comes off its hinges. Her bottle wobbles on the table and tips over, and cold beer sloshes to the floor. I get up and jump into the doorframe, shouting "Faith!" at her receding back.

She doesn't reply.

*****
Part 3:

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Stupid fucker. Faith crashed and lurched through the side door beside the stage. In the corner of her vision she saw those drippy bitches from the halfway house wave to her while sipping on their pina coladas but she pretended not to notice them. She shoved her way through the dancefloor, head down, and barged into some dude and was so drunk that she lost her balance, falling to the floor with a curse. The room was swaying back and forth like she was on a fucking boat - man, she hated boats - and all she could focus on was this guy. His beer was stained down the front of his shirt and the soaked material clung to his well-developed pecs and washboard stomach. She licked her lips. Anger and horniness were almost interchangeable in Faith. In fact, one precipitated the other.

"Hey, you okay?" the guy yelled over the music, let's call him Butch 'cause he was all that. And a real tasty piece of meat too. So Butch reached down a hand to help her up. She knew how to play this game so she let him. Yeah, she could play damsel in distress. Why the fuck not? The rest of the night had gone to shit so she might as well have a little fun.

"Five by five," she shouted into his ear. "Can I get ya another drink?" She flashed a flirtatious smile at him and when he smiled back, she knew she had him wrapped around her little finger already. Guys were such pushovers. Well, most of them. She couldn't figure Oz out at all. Fuck, she didn't even dig him that much, she just thought he might like some company. She wasn't asking for a frickin' wedding ring. Guess a guy like Oz figured he was too good for the likes of her. She couldn't do the cutesy babble thing, the wrapping one leg around the other routine that Willow had perfected. Seems it worked on the babes too if that stuttering Tara chick was anything to go by.

She weaved drunkenly towards the bar and gave a wolf whistle to get the attention of the sullen barman. After ordering two beers she reached into her back pocket for her smokes. Dammit, they were all squashed from how she'd landed on her ass. Stupid, dickwad fucker. See, she'd taken up the habit soon after arriving in jail. In there cigarettes were currency and Faith had been... an accumulator of wealth. Heh. Smoking had been her only true pleasure and, well, now she was addicted. Figures, huh? The others smuggled drugs inside, to deal or to help them through their pathetic lives. Faith had never touched any of it. She'd spent too many days as a kid watching her mother get drugged up to the eyeballs before lunch. Ever since she'd promised herself she'd never be like that... she got her kicks in other ways. Jamming a cigarette between her lips, she turned to Butch. "Got a light?"

He produced a gold-plated lighter from his shirt pocket and lit the cigarette for her like guys did in old movies. That made her, what, fucking Lauren Bacall? That's another thing about her mother; the bitch would beach herself on the sofa watching black and white movies while she waited for her dealer to show up. Sometimes Faith had sat with her in silence, watching the flickering old TV set, wondering when Humphrey Bogart was gonna whisk her away from her trailer trash existence. Back then she believed in shit like that. "What's your name?" he asked as she swigged from her beer.

Faith took a long drag on her cigarette and smirked. "Lauren," she said, exhaling a plume of smoke slowly.

****

It was closing time now and Faith was completely out of her face. Hey, if Butch here was buying then she wasn't complaining. 'Course, she wasn't supposed to drink alcohol with her medication but... fuck, it made her high as a kite. Her slayer metabolism meant the combo wouldn't overload her system, it just gave her an artificial happy.

Well, she and Butch had got to talking. He told her he'd done a stint in jail too for armed robbery. She could just picture him packing a sawn-off shotgun and telling cowering grocery shoppers to hit the deck. With a feral grin, Faith grabbed him by the face and kissed him, meeting his tongue immediately. She'd missed this, the coarse stubble that brushed against her lips and chin that was uniquely male. She could taste beer on his tongue, or was it her own?

"Faith," someone said behind her, distracting her from Butch's rough, overeager hands on her breasts. She ignored whoever it was. She wanted to lose herself tonight. It didn't matter who, just that it was a warm body and maybe someone who liked it a little rough. Kink or vanilla, it didn't matter which...

"Faith."

It was Butch who broke off the kiss abruptly. "Take a hike, man," he said in a warning tone over her shoulder. Mmm, he was most definitely butch. That was how she liked her men and she liked her women like... B. Soft around the edges but fierce underneath, a bad girl raring to get out. Faith herself was maybe the other way round. On the outside she was bad but inside she wanted to be good. Only thing was, the bad side still tended to win out 'cause, fuck, it was more fun that way. Mostly, she just wanted to have a blast and screw the consequences. Jail hadn't done anything to change that.

"I need to talk to her."

Butch sneered. "Who the fuck are you? Her *fairy* godmother?"

Finally, Faith turned her head to look at Oz who was standing his ground. Mostly, he looked calm but there was a tiny nervous tick in his eyes, the dope wearing off now. Faith noticed that even though she was having difficulty focusing on his funny-lookin' little face with its spiky bleach blonde hair. "Hey, Oz," she grinned, slurring the single consonant of his name, "you missed your chance, big time. I'm with Butch here now." Faith pawed Butch's chest, still damp from the beer spillage earlier.

Oz persevered manfully. "Faith, please can we talk?"

"Yeah, okay." With a sigh, Faith slid off Butch's lap, deliberately rubbing against his crotch. Leaning over, she licked the side of his cheek. "Don't go anywhere, baby." In response, Butch slapped her leather-clad ass. Definitely kink.

She staggered after Oz, backstage again. The band were packing up their gear and heading out the rear exit to where Oz's van was parked. Faith folded her arms impatiently, waiting for the werewolf to speak. "So, talk."

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you or anything," Oz shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans that were two sizes too big. "I'm just not looking for any kind of attachment right now."

Faith smiled sultrily, actually, it was more of a drunken leer, and stepped towards Oz, running a hand down his chest. "Me neither." The sly little dog... why else would he have come after her?

The bassist caught hold of her hand gently. "No."

"No?" Faith said, anger flaring as she made a fool of herself for the second time that night. She knew she was doing it but she couldn't stop herself. That's what being a total fuck-up was all about, right? She pulled her hand away. "What's up with you anyway? You turnin' into Big Gay Oz? 'Cause I'm thinkin' there must be somethin' in the water in Sunnydale, y'know? I mean, I never woulda figured Red as a rugmuncher, and if you're drivin' stick now, then maybe someone should let B know before she jumps Anya."

There was a moment of silence as Oz regarded her calmly. Most guys she knew, if you said they were homo, they'd beat the crap outta you. What the fuck did it take to make this guy lose his composure?

"Faith, you got a serious problem," Oz said, his voice and demeanour as placid as always. "When people try to help you, you see it as some attempt to get into your pants." The bassist shook his head. "I don't work that way."

"Yeah, well, sooner or later the beast comes out in every guy and you're no different," Faith said, using one hand to steady herself against the wall. Crazy how the world seemed to be tilting at a strange angle... "And, straight up, I don't need anyone's help. Me," she pointed her thumb at her chest, "I'm peachy."

Must've been one of the band members, yeah, the singer, that called out to Oz. He nodded to the purple-haired girl who glanced at Faith with mild interest and a little distrust before disappearing again.

The bassist raised an eyebrow as he backed away. "Yeah, I can see that but, if you change your mind and wanna talk, we're playing here tomorrow night," he said quietly and turned, leaving Faith in the empty corridor.

She didn't really have time to think on that because she doubled over quickly and left a small puddle of vomit on the floor. Carrots, she thought dimly, why are there always fucking carrots? Somehow the thought of Butch sticking his tongue down her throat didn't seem like such a hot prospect anymore. So she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and snuck out the rear exit into the humid night, feeling slightly better already.

*****
Part 4:

I waited for Eve's reedy voice to finish the last note, and then my fingers closed around my strings, silencing them, and the gig ended. The crowd, less tonight than in either of the last two gigs, applauded. You could tell they were being polite as much as expressing their enjoyment. But we had done three nights in a row in this dive, and you had to expect diminishing returns. Still, we got paid. Not much, which is probably why the owner kept asking us back. I think, though, that this is us. Any more gigs here will only result in booing at the end at best, but probably halfway through.

At least I played better tonight. I'd dropped so many notes last night in a futile search of the crowd for Faith I might as well been playing the triangle. Eve had been seriously pissed. Which was an unwelcome change; Devon would just have shrugged it off as a bad night but Eve was different. I got a lecture about the fact that she could get another bass player real easy, that I'd better watch my step or I'd be out. She was probably bluffing; but either way she wasn't happy. Given that she lets me crash at her place � well, you don't bite the hand that feeds you. Or in my case, shelters you.

I'd looked for Faith tonight as well, but it's hard to look for a person dressed all in black in a dark club if you're trying to remember what chords come next and where to put your fingers. Was she there? I don't think so. I think I blew it the other night by rejecting her. Not that I think I should have responded, should have taken advantage of her. But I should have handled it differently. And now? I just hope she's doing OK. Not killing anyone, or fucking idiot jocks.

We packed away the instruments and the amps in the van, then head back to the club for a beer. I'm driving so I just order a soda, which I finish quickly. It's a scummy place and the smell is nauseating. The rest of the band want to stay and drink some more, then maybe go off to get stoned round at the drummer's place, but I'm just tired. I want to go home. I make my excuses and leave, glad to be out of the club, even if LA's air really isn't that much more fragrant.

I walk around the corner to the alley where the van is parked. Above the fetid smell of the trash there's a new smell, a musky smell that sort of floats on top of everything else. Perfume. I near the van, and it's stronger. . .

I smile, because I'm glad she's decided to come back. Even if I am disturbed that she got into the van so easy, because I can't see any broken windows. I open the door at the driver's side.

"If you want to surprise me in future, don't use that perfume. I can smell you two blocks away."

Faith's eyes glitter in the reflection from the streetlamps, even though much of the rest of her is hidden in the shadows. She grins, chewing her gum.

"Damn, I thought I'd surprise you. Wicked sensitive nose ya got there."

"It's one of the few benefits of lycanthropy."

"The others being?"

I pause. "I actually can't think of any."

"So it's kinda like bein' a Slayer."

"You have a better sense of smell?"

She snickers, face screwed up in laughter. "No! I mean the shitty aspects sure outweigh the good things."

"You think that?"

Her face becomes more serious. "My life wouldn't be this fucked up if I hadn't drawn the winning ticket in the Slayer raffle, that's for sure. I wouldn't have killed anyone, I wouldn't have been in jail... well, OK, I mighta been jail, but not on murder in the first, y'know?"

"I thought they didn't pin the charges on you."

"No, but that's only cuz the Mayor saw to it otherwise. If he hadn't, I'd be the first Slayer to celebrate my 95th birthday."

I decide it's best to change the subject. "I'm glad you turned up. Didn't think you were going to."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout the other night." She looked out of the side window into the alley. "Guess I felt a bit dumb, coming on to you like that. S'why I didn't come along last night. Sorry, and everything."

"It's OK. I was mildly flattered, which is a good feeling."

She turned to face me again, a sardonic expression on her face. "Don't shit me. You saw a very drunk, disgusting girl and ran a metaphorical mile. Don't blame you."

"Hence the term mildly."

She grins again. "Fuck you."

"I thought we already discussed that wasn't happening."

She flips me the bird.

"So, what made you come back?"

"Well, we figured we didn't have a clue. So I thought, y'know, we could decide together."

"We became a we?"

The grins fades a little. "Well, it'd be cool. I mean, the gals at the halfway house wouldn't really understand the whole Chosen One thing. Anymore than your bandmates must dig your hairy half."

She had a point. For all that I want to forget about the lycanthropy, I never can. I certainly can't tell Eve or the others about it. At least she'd understand, up to a point. "Faith, what I said before about not looking for attachment... I meant it."

"Hey, it's cool. This is a buddy thing, like... Dorothy and Toto. Y'know, with you being Oz and everything." She's grinning again; she must find that funny.

I don't smile.

"Ah, c'mon, you must have a sense of humour... OK, OK, no more Oz jokes. Jeez..."

"Agreed."

"I guess it just helps talking to someone who knows about the Slayer deal. I mean, Angel's cool, and all, but... I think he wants to save my soul cuz he can't save his. Puts a lot of pressure on a girl. I figure you're not the pressurising type."

"Not known for my pressure."

"So you don't mind if I hang with you for a bit?"

I shrug. "Yeah, it's cool." I turn the key in the ignition, and the van rumbles into life. "I've got some weed back at my place."

"Oz, man, I love you. Haven't got wasted in a long while."

"OK."

I drive off.

***

The journey across town is slow. We talk a little in the van, just about me playing in the club and her not really knowing what to do with herself ("Somehow I doubt they'll let me be a cop or a prison guard, and what else would I be good at?"). Then the conversation drifts off.

So does Faith. By the time I reach the apartment, she's asleep.

She talks in her sleep, not very loudly, but... well, she's either dreaming about bunnies, or... oh. Buffy. Interesting.

The van splutters to a halt, and I shake Faith awake.

*****