*****

Wake

"Faith."

"Where are you, Faith?"

"I'm coming for you now."

Her voice sharpened the air, tingling Faith's ears, running those hardsoft fingers down Faith's cheekbones, tempting her lips, slicing, petting, smoothing fear and worrying ease, drawing ragged scar tissue down the skin Faith called her own.

The room was moist and brown, the walls distant and smoggy. She inhaled claustrophobia and exhaled a ragged smear of red ache, burning up her lungs like the first time she'd used a gravity bong and thought she was dying. It wasn't dark, so much as dim, the kind of light that hurts your eyes and holds things just out of reach. She could feel her hands behind her, girded by something unknowable, thin wrist grinding into wrist, even her own bones sparring for dominance. The left one was threatening to carve a crescent into the right. The pain began to wear itself out, until everything she couldn't see was numb, her body erasing itself in a frantic attempt to keep her mind from seeking out a void of its own.

She lifted her head, heavier than stone, than demon, than metal, than death. It throbbed out a warning to her. *You are a fool.* Maybe not a warning, maybe a prophecy, all those big words and bigger books finally coming in handy. She was a fool, and she was going to die. Her head nearly fell back down, like a flower on a broken stem, but she struggled to remain upright. The space between her temples roared and her blood pulsed out a war song in her ears. Blood licked down her forehead, seeping from the gash across her skull like a kiss.

And then her voice was in Faith's ears, "It'll be okay, Faith, I'll help you Faith, we can do this together, Faith." If by 'do this together' you meant 'roll Faith over and leave her to rot.' Which was the reality, wasn't it, regardless of the intention, Faith was alone, and a space in her gut opened up and the pain just rushed in and pulled her body as double as it could get and still be tied to the back of the chair. A low sound emanated from her lips, not a cry, not a moan, maybe a call. "Come for me, bitch! Bite my lips off and shove your pain deep into my body where no one will know it ever existed! I won't struggle! I never did. If you could see past yourself and your fucking easy choices, you'd see that, wouldn't you? Christ, B," and now her voice was weak and raspy, like a dry heave when there's nothing left to give up.

In her dreams, Buffy killed her again and again, stabbing her, breaking her, and always with that little grimace, like it was a chore. "Sorry, guys, can't come out tonight, I have to kill Faith." And they'd give her their worshipful little pity grins, and remember how Faith was such a horrible person while they helped the Slayer pick out just the right coat to hunt her in. I always liked the black, B, but then that's no surprise.

She could hear Buffy now, the clickety clack of her high-heeled boots ("Totally unsuitable for Slaying," Wesley had said) and Faith could tell that walk was *purposeful*. Faith knew that strut, could see the blonde on the backs of her eyelids, one shoulder slightly lower than the other, burdened by her weapon of choice, the body tight and close, prepared for an attack but never straying from its chosen path. All the ghoulies and ghosties better get out of Little Miss B's way tonight; she was a girl with a mission.

She waited and waited, and it shouldn't take this long, she could take the pain, but not the patience, her body hung slack and itching, not numb enough, never numb enough, and she'd have to close her eyes to the look on Buffy's face, because she couldn't die with that in her head. And then the clickety clacked, and silence, and nearness, and with the last reserves of her Slayer hearing she could taste B's breath on the wind, could suck her essence out of the atmosphere, how could you hide from me, my love? We are the same. And the door opened, and it was new but somehow remembered, one metal cuff bruising the pale, soft skin and inviting her to deepen the bruise to match her own. A face full of shock and certainty, and a hand with a knife. Faith's vision cleared suddenly, like someone had sucked the dirt out of the room with a giant god whoosh, and then Faith knew she could move, could dance and play, because this place was nothing, and her vision faded again, Buffy leaning forward through the mist, murderous, but it didn't matter, Faith wasn't there, and her eyes opened, and blinked against the mechanical flicker of the harsh white light, and she raised her arms to marvel at their wiring, and breathed in the scent of blood and dust and fire and *her*. With a shadow of a motion, she blew the world a kiss, and knew she was awake.

*end*