*****

*thunk-thwap-catch*

I have a vivid imagination. It's only my rich inner life that gets me through my real one.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

Right now, for example, I'm imagining that I'm bouncing a ball. Floor to wall and back to my hand.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

My fingers stretch and spread out with the forward motion of my hand as I throw the ball.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

Fingers curl, wrist recoiling as I catch the ball, and immediately without pause my hand is moving forward again in release.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

It requires concentration, to bounce and catch the ball so perfectly while barely moving. I block out everything else as I listen to the *thunk-thwap* of the floor-wall bounces, and catch the ball again.

No matter how hard I concentrate, though, something will inevitably make it through to me.

"Visitor!" a harsh female voice says, annoyed like its repeating itself. I look up at the guard standing outside my cell.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

Since I don't say anything, she tells me yet again, "You have a visitor."

"Tell him I don't want to see him."

"It's not him."

Of course it's not. Why should it be him? He hasn't been to see me in months.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

I hear air being sucked into the guard's lungs through her nose and mouth. That deep breath tells me she wants to say something about my flicking wrist, wants to ask me what the fuck that gesture is supposed to mean. But instead she says, trying to keep her tone even, "It's a her."

*thunk-thwap-catch*

I hold the ball still, gripping it more tightly than I mean to. I don't know my own strength sometimes; I'm compressing the ball so that my nails, short and stubby as they are, meet my palm around the ball, digging into my flesh.

There's only one "her" it could be.

But I have to be sure. Because I'm not wasting my time if it's one of her friends, like the witch or the bitch.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

"Who is it?" I ask.

"She said you'd know," the guard replies.

Okay then.

I stand up, put the ball in my pocket, and let the guard escort me down to the visitors room.

She's there in the middle, and her eyes meet mine as soon as I walk through the door. She's been staring at it, waiting for me to come through it. I'm not sure how I feel when I see her and I don't know what to expect, I really don't. I sit down opposite her, and I'm not aware of either of us having blinked yet. I reach for the phone, and we press our respective receivers to our ears. It's another long moment, this time with blinks on both sides of the glass, before one of us finally speaks.

"Faith," she says. She smiles, and honestly, that smile is hard to resist. Resisting that smile takes way more energy than I'm willing to expend at the moment. Or maybe I'm just looking for any excuse. Either way, I smile back. She takes this as her cue to continue, and says, "How are you?"

I gaze at her, my smile firmly in place. It seems to be an actual question, not just a nicety. Then in one movement, I put the receiver down and stand up. I start to walk away. I cannot believe she just asked me that.

The rapping of a fist on glass makes me turn. Head tilted contritely, she motions me back to the table hopefully. I return, but this time I'm all slouched back in my seat, legs apart and spine curved as I put the receiver to my ear again.

"I'm sorry," she says. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what she's apologizing for, but she doesn't know what else to say. She wants me to stay, that much is clear. So I stay, but I don't say anything yet. "I, uh, just wanted to talk to you." She chews on her lower lip for a moment, studying my face. I can see it in her eyes, that she can't read me. I don't get any pleasure out of her uncertainty. "Can I talk to you?" she asks. I nod. "I just." She hesitates, clutching the phone in one hand while her other twirls strands of golden hair into a curl. "I need to talk to someone." I've already agreed to listen, so I'm not sure why she's still carrying on. "I need someone to be honest with me," she says, looking deeply into my eyes. "Will you be honest with me, Faith?"

I've never been anything but. I know she thinks I'm a liar, and it's true that I've lied about things that have happened. But I sense we're getting into a "feelings" conversation, and I've been straight-up about that stuff with her from the start, so I nod again.

She takes another deep breath and asks, "Was it my fault?" My mouth opens, but I just keep looking at her; since no words will come, I shut it again. "Did I fail you, Faith? Was it, was it something I did, or didn't do, that drove you to... that drove you away?"

I don't think I can have this conversation with her right now. Or maybe ever.

She looks like she's about to cry.

"Riley left." And then she really does start to cry. I slide down in my chair a little farther. "He left me. He left Sunnydale. He's gone, and... and it's my fault." And then she starts telling me about it.

You know what? If I didn't want to hear about Angel - and believe me, I didn't - then I really don't want to hear about Riley. I can't figure out why she's telling me, why she would think that I care, and how it's possible that she doesn't see how little I am interested.

But that's not all. She starts telling me about her mom. How her mom was really sick. But she's better now, is what B. seems to be saying, and once again, I wonder why she is telling me all this.

Then we move on to the problems with the latest demon to be threatening the safety of Sunnydale and the world and the universe and life as we fucking know it. This, I get. She's telling me because it's a Slayer thing and she thinks that I, her "sister slayer," can understand in a way that no one else can.

She seems to have forgotten something, though: I'm out. I don't play that game anymore.

That's all background to her real story, anyhow. Because she's back to blabbing and blubbering about her Lost Love. She doesn't understand; she knows it's her fault, but she can't quite figure it all out.

There's something else she doesn't understand: I don't give a shit.

Yeah, B., your life is way worse than mine. You have the weight of the world on your shoulders; we're all counting on you, and you can't count on anyone.

*thunk-catch*

Sucks to be you.

*thunk-catch*

You try and you try, but you can't get it right, making and keeping those connections to someone else.

*thunk-catch*

It's a little harder here, to get the right angle under this table. I'm side-arming it so the ball goes straight into the barrier below the counter and back into my hand. I'm fairly sure she wouldn't notice the hitching of my shoulder if I really put some power into this, but I don't want to risk her asking me about it. So I keep it to little wrist-flicks out of her line of sight.

*thunk-catch*

//We could have made it. But we didn't.//

*thunk-catch*

Welcome to the world, B.

*thunk-catch*

She stops talking. She sniffs and wipes away her tears. She realizes that I haven't said a word yet. We look at each other. Something makes her look away.

"I'm sorry," she says again, a hiccupped whisper, sincere bewilderment. She has no idea what she's apologizing for, and paradoxically, that's exactly what she's apologizing for - not getting it. She's apologizing for never getting it, at least not in time.

*thunk-catch*

I can't think of anything to say.

She just keeps looking at me, and now she's *really* looking at me. I can see it in her eyes, that she doesn't want to leave. She wants to look at me, to look into my eyes.

*thunk-catch*

I'm not sure what she sees in them, because she hesitates. Seems like she's going to say something else, but she doesn't. She hangs up the receiver. Then she stands, and she doesn't even try to crack another smile before she turns and walks away.

//Yeah. I love you, too.//

*thunk-catch*

I sit there for half a second before the guard's fingers dig into my shoulder, and then I'm up. I carry the ball in my clenched fist as she takes me back to my cell and locks me inside it. As soon as she's gone, I resume my seated position against the wall, feet flat on the floor, elbows propped on my knees. I rest my chin in one hand.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

I really think I made a mistake with this whole prison gig. Because it's not all it's cracked up to be. I've had plenty of time to "think about what I did," and I'm pretty sure I've gone as far as I can on the thinking train.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

I could just bust out, right? And I will.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

As soon as I think of somewhere better than here.

*thunk-thwap-catch*

//But nowhere's better than anywhere.//

+end+