Faith obliged and began rocking her hips forward even more rapidly. Why not? This wasn't doing anything for her--not that she'd expected it to--so why not at least let him get something out of it?

"Oh yeah, that's good," he panted. He reached up and pawed at her breasts, as clumsily this time as the first dozen attempts. She knew her tits were pretty fuckin' spectacular, but come on. Seriously, dude, either do it right or stop showing what an amateur you are.

Faith said nothing. Didn't even open her eyes. She knew he was becoming unnerved with her silence--not a word, a whimper, or a moan since they'd started--and was just trying to get some sound out of her. She could've told him he was wasting his time, but that would've meant speaking to him, which was sorta the whole point, right?

He'd complained a little when Faith hadn't let him be on top; the guys usually did. The women were generally more understanding, though they could be pissy about it sometimes, too. Well, tough shit; Faith was always on top, and that's just the way it was. If they didn't like it, they were free to go. None of them did, of course.

She felt his climax approaching and began moving even faster, her hips practically a blur.

"Holy shit," he whispered as he saw and felt this, a phenomenon only slayer-speed was capable of producing, then let loose a long groan, his body going completely stiff, then bucking slightly beneath her.

Faith got up, pulling his raincoat-covered organ out of herself, and lay down beside him, still silent, barely breathing hard.

Why did they care? He had, after all, so why should he care if she had, too? But still, so many of them asked...

Probably because it was obvious even to morons like this guy that she hadn't. They knew it, but still wanted her to lie to them, to help prop up their sad, self-inflated images of themselves as King Shit, the biggest, baddest fucker for miles around.

It had been ages since Faith had had a decent orgasm. Mostly it was either just ripples on the pond, or nothing altogether. She'd never had this much trouble finding someone who could successfully get her off. Damn, this was turning into a serious drought. What the hell was with these people, anyway?

Usually, she could tell just from the first glimpse whether the person was going to be able to do it for her or not, and in the case of this idiot, she had been right. Why did she bother then, if she knew it was going to be a wasted effort right from the start? Hey, even in the best of times finding ones who could take her that final mile wasn't as easy as you'd think. There were lots of nights when she was just shit outta luck, and it was either settle or go home alone. And Faith hated going home alone. An hour killed with some stranger was an hour she didn't have to spend by herself.

For the first time, a new possibility occurred to her: what if it wasn't them? What if the reason no one could draw more than a climactic little shudder out of her was because there was something wrong with her?

"Well?" he asked again. Again, she ignored him, and he apparently decided it wasn't worth asking a third time.

After another few minutes had passed, she got up and headed for the shower. On the way, she scooped his pants up off the floor and tossed them to him. "Get out," she said simply.

He made no move to put the pants on, instead dropping them onto the spot on the bed Faith had just vacated. "You can't do that," he accused, as if he were the first guy in the world this had ever happened to.

"Sure I can." She stood in front of the bathroom door, crossed her arms under her breasts, and waited patiently for him to get moving. "Get out, or I throw you out. Your choice."

"Shit," he mumbled, finally standing up and looking for his missing boxers. He found them after a moment and began pulling them on, followed by the pants. "Who the hell do you think you are? Fuck you, you damn bitch!" He snatched his shirt up off a nearby chair.

"Yeah, you just did. Weren't you paying attention? But now the fun's over, so you're gonna leave. Bye." Faith continued to stand there, arms crossed, her posture making it clear that she wasn't going to budge until he was out the door.

"Think you're hot shit, don'tcha?" he fumed, taking a step toward her. "Think you can just get a free fuck outta me and then toss me out the door like--"

Whatever he'd been about to say would forever remain a mystery. At the words 'door like--,' his hand had come up to slap Faith across the face. Faster than his eyes were even capable of registering, he found that arm pinned behind his back, and his face mashed up against the motel room door.

"Okay, that's about enough," she told him, her voice icy-calm. She grabbed him by the hair, jerked him backward, swung the door open, and propelled him through it. He turned around just in time to get hit in the chest and stomach with his own shoes, which she threw out after him.

Now that the trash had been taken out, Faith locked the door and made her way to the shower.

She re-appeared after a time, and began pulling clean clothes out of the drawer. She decided she'd be picking up and moving to a new town today. She didn't have to--she wasn't wanted by the authorities any longer--but she still moved around often. Partly out of habit, partly because she had nothing in her life anchoring her to any particular city or town, and partly because she hated feeling tied down.

Faith zipped up the old pair of jeans she'd just put on, fastened the top button, and picked it up. Probably her asshole boss wondering where the hell she was. Well, might as well give him her two-week notice, seeing as how she was leaving today and all.

"Yeah, Darren, I know I'm late," she began as soon as she'd answered. It had to be him, after all, since no one else had this number. She never stopped to consider that it was still the middle of the night, and she wouldn't be late for another six hours.

"Faith?" a familiar female voice asked. Familiar, yet Faith couldn't quite place it. But definitely not Darren.

"Willow. It's me, Willow. Faith, where are you? A 206 area-code... Isn't that Washington state? Good, then that means you're not far away--" There was no mistaking the emotion in her voice--she sounded nervous and upset. The rawness in it also seemed to indicate she'd been crying.

"Yeah, that's right; I'm just outside Seattle," Faith confirmed, cutting the witch off mid-babble so she could find out what the problem was that was so obviously the source of this phone call. "What is it, Willow? What's wrong?"

Faith stood outside the funeral home, getting more soaked by the second and trying to figure out just why she'd come.

Sure, she'd loved D once upon a time; thought she had, at any rate. But she'd gotten over her a long time ago--if there was anything Faith had experience with, it was people letting her down.

Good question. She didn't owe it to any of these people to make an appearance. Why go in and subject herself to more pain? Why go in and face those old faces and tough questions?

Her mind made up, Faith turned to leave, and collided with someone coming up behind her. "Sorry," she muttered, not looking at him or her, and tried to move past.

Faith's gaze, which had been focused on the sidewalk, began moving up. Boots, black jeans, black t-shirt with an open button-down shirt of deep maroon over it, long black leather duster, the hair... Wait a minute.

"Huh? Oh, right," Spike chuckled, his hand coming up to his now wavy-brown locks. "Long story. Involves a girl. Two or three, actually. Including, I believe, the very one you're here for. You're not actually leaving, are you?" he asked again. "I mean, awful long way to come just to stop at the front door and turn around, isn't it? Plus, having you there will make me not look so bad for not wearin' a bloody suit n' tie," he smirked, and gestured to her clothes. With the exception of not having a button-down shirt of her own, the only difference in their outfits was the length of Spike's coat.

"What makes you think I haven't already been in? Maybe I just spent two hours in there," she challenged.

"Simple, luv." He reached out and gently grasped a few strands of her drenched hair. "Calling hours just started twenty minutes ago, and as wet as you are, I'd say you've been outside for at least that long."

"Hey, you two," a new voice said, and they both looked to see the green-skinned demon walking towards them. Lorne, right? Faith thought that was his name, but wasn't completely sure; she'd only met him once. "You going in, or are you just going to stand around out here and see if you'll melt?"

Faith sighed; she knew she'd have to go in now, now that she'd been spotted. She didn't look forward to seeing everyone again, but one thing she absolutely hated was the thought of these two going in and blabbing about how Faith had run away because she was too chicken to come inside and face them all.

"I know, tough question, right? You just go right ahead and think it over, then; I'm heading in," Lorne told them. "Here, lambchop, I think you need this more than I do." He handed Faith his umbrella and made a quick dash for the door.

"Hey, by the way, what the hell are you doing outside in the middle of the afternoon?" she asked him as they started up the walk. "And weren't you supposed to be a ghost or something? You don't feel all that ghosty to me." She reached out and poked his arm experimentally. Yep, definitely solid.

"Oh yeah, the ghost thing. Yeah, that lasted all of about two months," he explained. "And as for what I'm doing out here, I figured I'd be fine walking from the car to the front door, what with the weather and all." He indicated the cloudy sky, which contained not a hint of sunlight. "But if we stand out here much longer, it'll clear up and you'll be continuing this conversation with the handsomest pile of dust to ever dirty a sidewalk."

"Wouldn't want that," she agreed, getting a flicker of enjoyment out of the look her sarcastic tone generated. He pulled open the front door and motioned for her to go inside.

"Hello, Faith," another well-known voice greeted as she waited for Spike to hang up his coat--she'd decided to keep her own on, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway. She closed Lorne's umbrella, hung it on a hook, and looked up at the newcomer.

He looked older. His hair was completely gray now, and he'd put on a few pounds around the middle. And were his glasses thicker, or was that just her imagination?

"I'm glad you could make it," he told her, and she found that she actually believed he meant it. He seemed about to try to hug her, apparently re-considered, and offered his hand, instead. She shook it.

"Well, I had to come, I guess," she said, hoping Spike wouldn't rat her out for her near-flight.

"Everyone will be pleased to see you, I'm sure--in fact, I know for certain that Willow is looking for you. I think everyone's here now."

Faith had a moment of panic as a new thought struck her, something she hadn't considered before. "Giles, Robin isn't here, is he?"

"Who?" Giles asked, looking puzzled. "Oh, Principal Wood. No, I don't believe I've seen him. As far as I know, no one attempted to track him down. Why?"

Giles regarded her curiously for a few seconds longer, then turned to the vampire. "Spike, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Spike looked at him warily, apparently still not completely trusting the man who'd once plotted with that very same Robin Wood to have him killed, but ultimately gave in. "Yeah, fine, Rupes. Catch up with you later, pet," he told Faith, and the two moved off.

"What, can you imagine what the nibblet would've said if she'd caught me in an outfit like that?" Spike retorted, obviously referring to Giles' expensive Saville Row suit.

Faith glanced down at her own jeans and black t-shirt, and suddenly felt very self-conscious. But she didn't own any dresses or fancy shit, so what was she supposed to do? And it was too late to leave now; she'd have to stick around for at least a few minutes, anyway. Dammit.

The funeral home was bigger than it looked on the outside. A long hallway stretched out in front of her; to her right was the empty room Giles and Spike had just disappeared into, and through the doorway just in front of her on the left came the sound of several people talking quietly. Faith took a deep breath and stepped through.

She was instantly hit with the sensation that anyone who's ever been to a high school or college reunion is well-acquainted with. She looked around at the handful of recognizable faces, the same but now completely different, and felt like she'd turned her back for just a second, and while her attention was momentarily diverted, the world had been fast-forwarded ten years. When did they get so old?

"Faith," a large, bearded man in a dark suit said, stepping forward. Only the patch over his left eye gave his identity away. "I didn't expect you to show."

"Xander?!" She couldn't get over the change in him. Not just the beard--the size! He looked as big as a grizzly bear. Was it possible he'd actually gotten six inches taller, or was that just a trick of the light? "Um, wow," she commented, looking him up and down.

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot today," he told her through a tight-lipped, humorless smile. "It's good that you came--Willow's been looking for you."

"Why?" This wasn't good--people were actually looking for her? Christ, she just wanted to get in, pay her respects, and get the hell out of here!

"I don't know, but she seemed pretty anxious about it, so don't leave without talking to her. Good to see you again." He nodded to her and walked off, and almost immediately the next old face came up.

"Hey. Look, I was meaning to call you two years ago," she told him before he could even get a word out. "Really. You know, to say thanks and everything."

"It's okay," Gunn told her with an easygoing smile. He looked very comfortable in that suit, which surprised her--she would've thought he'd be as out of place in a setting like this as she was. But then she remembered what she was thanking him for ('Short version is, he's the best lawyer we've got') and realized that he must do the nattily-attired thing on a regular basis now. Angel still had yet to explain that one to her--along with what they were all doing working at that freakshow in the first place.

"No, it's not. You did us these two huge favors, and I should've called you right away. But then other stuff happened, and I just--"

"Faith. It's okay," he repeated, and reached out and gently touched her arm. "It really was no trouble, believe me, and I was happy to do it for you." He looked over her shoulder, apparently saw someone he recognized, then glanced back at her. "Look, I'm sorry to be abrupt, but there's someone I need to talk to. It was good to see you again, and make sure you don't leave before you talk to Willow." And then he was gone.

And just to make her that much more uncomfortable, more people came toward her. It was like they were waiting in line or something. Had she been turned into the fucking First Lady while she wasn't paying attention?

This time it was a man and a woman, both about her own age, or maybe a little younger. He was large and blocky-looking (the terms 'hick' and 'hayseed' came to mind), and seemed very out-of-place in his suit and tie. She was much smaller, with short auburn-ish hair and green eyes of a shade that had all kinds of past associations for Faith--wonderful, terrible, and everything else in between. The slayer tried to place these two, but felt certain she'd never seen either one before in her life.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but that man called you Faith, didn't he?" Whoa, what was with the accent? But even though the face was new, when she replayed the question again in her head Faith thought the voice might be one she'd heard before. Where?

"Oh, we've never met!" the woman told her. "But we talked once before, and I recognize you from the picture." She extended her hand. "I'm Becky. Becky Wilkerson."

It still took Faith a couple of seconds to get the name, but once she did, everything clicked into place. "Oh! Yeah, the slayer from kangaroo country, right?" She shook the offered hand, then the guy's. Becky introduced him as her husband Mark.

The Aussie shook her head. "No, Angel did. He still had the number from when you called for it a couple of years ago. He thought I'd want to know. I did." Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "I'm still barely believing it about Kait, and now Dawn, too? How could that happen? They were both such good fighters--even Dawn, though she didn't have the powers that we do. But I never once saw her make a wrong move or get herself into a situation that she couldn't handle." Mark put an arm around her and gave her a supporting hug.

"Yeah, you're right," Faith mumbled. "She was great." For some reason, she felt the sudden and powerful urge to get away from this woman, before this conversation went any further.

"So then what happened?" the other slayer asked--almost demanded. "You were with her, right? How could this have happened?"

Her eyes were locked on her own boots as she answered, "I don't know. I wasn't there. Sorry." Gunn's exit then popped into her mind, and she saw her escape route. She didn't know if he'd been being honest or if he'd just been blowing her off, but it would work either way. She raised her eyes, picked out a figure across the room, and tried to paste an expression on her face that she hoped looked something close to Gosh, look who it is! "Hey, um, look, there's someone over there I gotta go talk to. Nice meeting you."

She pushed past them and nearly ran for the nearest doorway, but didn't get away quick enough to miss Becky's final words: "Oh, hey, Willow's looking for you, by the way!"

Heads turned to watch her rapid flight across the room. As more people spotted her and realized who she was, a couple of them attempted to stop her and chat. One of these was a handsome blonde man in a very expensive suit. He was now the liaison between the Watchers Council and Wolfram & Hart, but before that he'd run with Dawn and a young slayer named Kait for a time. Faith never even gave him a look, but probably wouldn't have recognized him, anyway; he'd come a long way since the time she'd stolen his last Hot Pocket. "Hey, Faith--" he greeted, only to have her sweep right by him and into the other room. "Ooo-kay, be that way, then," he muttered, and turned to resume his conversation with the woman beside him.

The first thing she saw was the casket. It was against the far wall, surrounded by a small jungle of flowers. The lid was closed, and a framed picture of D sat on top. Between her and it, probably two dozen people filled the large area, wearing dark suits and dresses, talking in hushed tones.

As she scanned this crowd, her eyes fell almost instantly on the one person who looked exactly as she remembered. He looked up, spotted her, and made his way over. "You made it," he said by way of greeting.

Like Willow, Angel had been looking for her and hoping she'd decide to come, but he still didn't have the faintest idea what he wanted to say. He only knew that he was worried about her.

Two years ago, she and Dawn had been traveling together--and he had a pretty good idea that it had been more than just that--and he'd heard from both of them pretty regularly for over a month. Then, nothing. It was like they'd dropped off the face of the earth. He'd been able to confirm, through the resources of Wolfram & Hart, that they were both still alive and in no serious danger, and decided not to pry any deeper than that. It was their business, and they were entitled to their privacy. Still, he worried.

Then last week Dawn turns up dead in Tennessee, and Faith is nowhere to be found. Not, at least, until Willow calls him three days later and informs him she tracked the slayer down somewhere just outside of Seattle. So what had happened? What had happened between the two of them to separate them by such a distance?

"Umm..." he began, searching for the right words. "So... how have you been?" he finally asked, almost wincing at how lame that sounded.

"Five by five," she answered, and didn't notice the way his jaw tightened at this answer. She suddenly looked to him more like the old Faith, the Faith who'd tried to kill both him and Buffy, than he'd seen in years. He could tell just from her posture, her movements, and her quick and glib way of speaking that she was more emotionally closed off than he could ever remember seeing her. What had caused this? He didn't know for certain, but thought it probably had an awful lot to do with the dead woman on the other side of the room.

"So what happened, anyway?" she asked, and inclined her head to indicate she meant Dawn.

"We don't really know for sure," he admitted. "They found her body a couple of weeks ago, but it took the local coroner a few days to identify it. It had..." He hesitated, not sure if he should tell her this part, but continued anyway. "It had washed up on a riverbank just outside Knoxville. When it was sent back to us here in LA, my science team did their own..." (He stopped himself just in time from saying 'autopsy'), "...examination... and found traces of Merndafin in the bloodstream."

"Merndafin. It's a rare combination of enzymes, usually found in the secretions on the claws of Lemshak demons. She had two deep puncture wounds in her chest, so we think she was fighting a Lemshak, and it... it just beat her," he finished quietly. "I'm sorry, Faith," he added.

"Yeah. Me too," she mumbled. "Uh, look, Angel, I've never been to one of these things before. What are we supposed to do?" she whispered.

He smiled kindly, stepped closer, and lowered his voice even further. "Just go see her for a minute or two. Say a prayer if you'd like, or talk to her, or just think about her. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Can we get together and talk before you leave town? Just the two of us?" he asked.

She turned her head and looked at him, really seeing him for the first time since the conversation had begun, seeing the concern in his eyes. The worry.

Well, who the hell had asked him to be concerned? Why the fuck should he care? Or for that matter, why should she care that he cared? She hadn't come for a trip down memory lane, or for a friggin' encounter session; she'd come because she felt like she owed something to D. In spite of what the other woman had done to her at the end, Faith felt like she was at least obligated to do this. But that was it! She was going to go stand by that damn coffin for two minutes--exactly two minutes--and then get the hell out of here, and hopefully never see any of these people again.

Rather than answer Angel, she turned and strode across the room. People saw her coming, saw the look in her eyes, and got out of her way.

She stopped beside the casket, folded her hands in front of herself, and stared at the framed picture. It showed the Dawn that Faith remembered from years ago, the brat from Sunnydale. She didn't ask it for explanations; she'd tried that enough two years ago to learn that photos don't talk back. Photos have no answers to offer.

Instead, she took a moment to mourn everything that had been lost: D's normal life, thanks to having a slayer for a sister and a group of friends who spent most of their free time saving the world; the life D and Kait might've had together if the other slayer hadn't been killed years ago; the happiness D and Faith had had and what they might've made together, if only their collective screwed-up pasts hadn't gotten in the way...

When she eventually turned away, not realizing that almost ten minutes had gone by, nearly everyone in the room was stealing cautious glances at her. She turned to leave and discovered a certain redheaded witch standing in her way.

"I've been looking for you," Willow told her with a small smile. She didn't look that different. A little older, a little more mature, and a little more beautiful, but still the same old Red.

But instead of talking, Willow just turned her eyes back to the coffin, as if still unable to believe that the young girl she'd known and loved like a sister of her own was now lying inside.

"Oh. Uh..." Willow hesitated briefly, then decided Faith deserved the truth. "She was... pretty badly burned," she explained. "We think it came from the energy of the Key being released after she died."

"Yeah, I know." Sadness, regret, and embarrassment. "It's her school portrait from the tenth grade. But it's the most recent one we had of her--at least, that wasn't showing her, y'know, like spitting off the Eiffel Tower or something goofy like that."

Faith looked at it once again, then slowly reached into the inside pocket of her jacket. She didn't want to give this up, but she also wanted people to know what this woman had really looked like. Yeah, they'd known Dawn, but none of them had ever met D. And since it was D, not Dawn, inside that box, they shouldn't leave here thinking she was still that whiny little fifteen-year-old from back in the day.

She unfolded the small five-by-seven photo, leaned forward, and tucked it into the larger frame on the casket. There, that was better.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Willow snapped herself back to the here and now. "Well, um, see, none of us saw Dawn over the last six years. I talked to her on the phone a couple of times, but that was it. I guess I was hoping you could tell us about her, what you know about what happened in that time." Willow thought that sounded kinda lame (and it wasn't even entirely true), but it was the best excuse she'd been able to come up with, and she could hardly tell Faith the real reason she'd been so anxious for her to show up, could she? That would spoil everything.

"I don't know, Willow." Faith shuffled nervously from foot to foot. "I don't really know that much, and it's not really my place to go giving away her secrets, anyway. Plus, I wasn't planning on stayin' long; I've got someplace I kinda need to be." Yeah, like anywhere that isn't here.

"Faith, please--don't leave yet!" Willow pleaded. "You're at least coming to the services tomorrow, right?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe." Faith felt a sudden need to get away from the woman before she could talk her into making any definite promises. "Catch up with you later, okay?" she said in a quick, mumbled brush-off, and began heading for the exit, praying she could get there before anyone else stopped her for another of these excruciating little chats.

Alas, it was not to be. Before she'd taken more than five steps, a door off to her right opened, and the room instantly fell silent. Faith looked over and saw a small brunette coming directly towards her, and wondered what this was all about. It was only after giving her a closer look that she realized the woman was Buffy.

It wasn't just the hair--which was now dark-brown and much shorter than Faith ever remembered seeing it--that was different. Her face was drawn, the skin sallow and pulled tightly over the cheekbones, eyes slightly sunken. B had never had carried much extra weight around to begin with; now she looked like a supermodel who'd gone overboard on the Weightwatchers.

Faith knew B should be twenty-nine now, but she looked ten years older than that.

Buffy walked right up to her, said "I need to speak with you" in a glacial tone, turned, and walked back in the direction she'd come from, not even bothering to check to see if Faith was following her or not.

With an entire room full of people watching, Faith knew she could hardly avoid this. Reluctantly, she fell into step behind the other slayer.

Faith closed the door after her, and they found themselves alone in what looked like a large office.

Buffy turned and faced her. "So. How have you been, Faith?" The anger behind this question made it obvious she really couldn't give two shits about the answer.

"Hey, you know me, B," she replied, unconsciously slipping back into the persona of the Faith she'd been eleven years ago. "I get by."

"Yes, I do know you," Buffy agreed. The glittering, fake smile on her face was close to being a snarl. "Very well, in fact. But now I'm thinking I'm not exactly the only member of my family who does. Or should I say, did."

As if by magic, an all-too-familiar piece of jewelry was suddenly dangling from her fingers on a fine silver chain. When it twirled slightly, Faith could see that the back of it had been blackened, and it looked like it might've melted just a little, as well. She remembered Willow saying D had been badly burned.

"They found Dawn wearing this. And I find that very interesting, because inside--" She pried the locket's cover open, "--is a picture of you. A picture that looks very recent. And also--" She held it up and displayed the inscription on the inside, "--what seem to be your and her initials. So, care to explain, Faith?" Her tone was almost ridiculously light and cheerful, but Faith could hear the faint traces of hysteria lying just underneath.

"No, B, I don't care to. That's none of your damn business." She turned to leave.

"Oh, no you don't!" Buffy exclaimed, and grabbed Faith's upper arm, spinning her back around toward her. "You're not leaving until you tell me just what the hell this is all about!" She shook the locket accusingly in the younger slayer's face.

"Or what? You gonna kick my ass right here?" Neither realized--or cared--that their voices were gradually growing louder. "Besides, sounds to me like you've already got it all figured out. If you didn't, you wouldn't be freaking out like this." She turned to leave again, and again Buffy grabbed her and spun her around.

"Of course I figured it out! You think I'm stupid? I know she had a crush on you way back when. So you tracked her down and took advantage of that, didn't you? 'Can't have Buffy, so I'll settle for the next-best thing,' right?"

"Answer me! Admit it, damn you! Go ahead: tell me you were fucking my sister!" she shouted. All pretense at small-talk had vanished in the other room; the two dozen people were now standing utterly silent, listening to this exchange between the two women with morbid fascination.

"Yeah, B, I was. So what?" Faith's own anger was rising now. "Like I said, that's none of your goddamn business. She was a grownup, and it was her choice. You know, maybe if you hadn't spent all those years being such a bitch to her, she wouldn't have walked out on you." She was almost shouting herself now, and took a step forward, forcing Buffy to fall back a pace.

"You never believed in her, B. Never. You were always trying to protect her, 'cause you didn't think she could take care of herself. You made, what, one half-assed attempt at training her? And how long did that last? Until the potentials started showing up and you decided they were a better use for your time than your plain old ordinary sister, right?"

The anger in Buffy's eyes was being replaced by another emotion, but Faith didn't care enough to try to figure out just what it was.

"Well, guess what, professor? One of your students trained her instead, and did ten-times a better job of it than you did with any of those girls back in Sunnydale. I've never seen anyone without any kind of powers who could fight better than she could, guys included.

"In fact," she added, making an exaggerated show of looking Buffy up and down, "with the way you're looking now, she probably could've taken you, too. So if you wanna blame me, and think it's all my fault that you treated her like shit and drove her away, go ahead. Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night. But don't expect me to stand here and listen to you while you keep shoveling your same old holier-than-thou bullshit. I had more than my fill of that act eleven years ago." And with that, Faith turned and stormed from the office, slamming the door behind her.

Buffy stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door, mouth hanging slightly open.

How stupid was she? She'd dreamed for years of getting this chance--to see Faith again, talk to her, patch things up and tell her certain things. She'd finally gotten that chance, and what had she done with it? Yelled at her and driven her away. Again.

"Oh my God," she repeated, and sank to the floor, tears falling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

When Faith exited the office, no one even tried to pretend they hadn't been listening in. She stood glaring back at them for a pair of seconds, then began marching forward once more. People in her way hastily cleared a path for her; the look in her eyes let them all know that she was not someone they wanted to be in the way of right then.

She began walking faster and faster, and by the time she'd reached the front door, she was practically running. When she reached the sidewalk outside, she actually was running.

She'd sprinted over four blocks already when she heard the voice behind her. "Faith, wait! Faith!"

With a sigh and a groan, she slowed to a stop. "Angel, what the hell do you think you're doing? These clouds clear up, you're air pollution."

"Make what quick?" She glanced nervously up at the sky; the rain had stopped, but the sun was still hidden behind the overcast.

"This conversation. I need you to promise you won't leave town until you and I get a chance to talk." Almost against her will, Faith found that his calm, concerned, friendly manner was draining her anger away.

"Tell you what: when I get wherever I'm going, I'll give you a call and we can have the longest conversation in recorded history, assuming it's on your dime," she offered with a smirk.

"No, that's not good enough." Angel still wasn't sure this idea of Willow's was all that great, or that it made a ton of sense--or any at all, really--but for some crazy reason he'd agreed to it, and now he needed to see it through. "We need to get together, sit down, and have a good, long talk."

"About a lot of things," he told her, trying to keep his answer as vague as possible. "So how about it? Are you going to agree, or do we stand out here arguing about it until the sun comes back out and I go up in flames? Although, I think these people would actually love that," he decided, looking around. "Probably think it was performance art or something. You know LA."

He asked for her number, and wrote it down on a slip of paper. "I'll call tonight and we'll settle on a time," he promised.

"Hey, Angel," Faith said, picking up the phone after the second ring. She reached one hand over to the remote next to her and flicked the TV off.

Faith sat up in surprise. "Willow? How the hell did you get this number? Or for that matter, how'd you get my number in Seattle?"

"What? Oh, I-I know this spell. It lets me find the current phone number of anyone I want--assuming they have one. I tried it on Dawnie a few times over the years, but it didn't work very often. I guess there must've been a lot of times when she didn't have a phone."

"Yeah," Faith murmured, picturing D and Kait living in some old abandoned building, as she knew they'd done on many occasions. "So, what's up?" The details of Willow's magick stuff held no interest for her.

"I just wanted to apologize for this afternoon," the witch said. "I never expected Buffy to blow up like that. She's been upset, obviously, but I thought she'd actually be glad to see you; that's one of the reasons I hoped you'd come."

Faith barked a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, apparently not. What the hell happened to her, Willow?" She didn't really want to get into a long conversation right then, but she had been wondering about this all day. "She looked like death-warmed-over or something."

"I know," Willow agreed sadly. "It's been... The last few months have been hard on her," she admitted. "She had kind of a serious problem with one of her old students, she just had a long-term relationship end--" Faith felt her stomach tighten in sudden, involuntary jealousy at this, "--and she had been getting more and more worried about Dawn.

"She's had personal problems, she's working too hard, and she's stressing about things she can't control," she summarized. "It was bad before, but then add this new thing to it, and it's just too much. She blamed herself for Dawnie walking out, and now she blames herself for her death, too."

"Funny, 'cause I kinda got the impression she blamed me for that," Faith observed with biting sarcasm.

"She doesn't!" Willow exclaimed quickly. Maybe too quickly. Way to go, Rosenberg! she berated herself at the other end of the line. That's really playing it cool. "You were just... just the most convenient target," she explained. "She's spent the last few days beating herself up; she just needed someone else to yell at for a change, I think."

"If you say so," Faith responded skeptically. "Hey, Willow? You remember a couple of years ago I had Angel track you guys down and get your address and phone number? Did D ever get in touch with you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she did. But I don't know what she said. Buffy got a letter from her a few weeks after Christmas, but she never let me see it."

"Oh. Um, look, I'm waiting for a call from Angel, then I've got some other things to do tonight, so..."

"No, you won't. I'll be there, but you won't see me, so please don't go looking. It was good to talk to you again, Willow. Take care of yourself." She hung up the phone before the Wicca could get another word in. Have a nice life.

About ten minutes later Angel called, and she agreed to meet him the following night. She gave him the address where she was staying, and he promised to have a car pick her up. "You don't need to do that, Angel; I can get there on my own," she told him, but he insisted. After a couple more minutes of small-talk, they said goodbye and hung up.

Faith stood and walked over to the dresser. In the top drawer was a small supply of makeup. She applied it in the once-famous Faith style (heavy and dark), changed out of her loose jeans and into tight leathers, collected her black leather jacket, and went looking for the nearest club.

After a few drinks and a lot of dancing, she found a petite little green-eyed blonde girl, brought her back to her place, fucked her hard, fast, and rough, and then threw her crying ass out into the night.

The next morning she found a spot a couple of blocks from the church where she could stand without being observed. Soon after, people began showing up, dressed again in dark suits and dresses, somber looks on their faces. The hearse arrived, and Faith spotted Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles getting out of the limousine just behind it.

After everyone had moved inside, Faith waited an extra five minutes, sighed, and made her way to the church's entrance.

She took a seat in the last pew, and was relieved to see that no one seemed to notice her. When she sensed the mass was drawing to a close, she got up quietly and made a quick exit.

The graveside service was going on just over a hundred feet away. From her spot concealed in the shade of a grouping of large trees, Faith watched it all. Her gaze was repeatedly drawn away from the casket and toward the gathering of people.

Buffy sat stoically in the front row, sunglasses covering her eyes. Beside her, Willow occasionally cried, and Giles, sitting on the witch's other side, comforted her, either patting her leg or allowing her to lay her head on his shoulder for brief moments.

Nearly everyone Faith had seen yesterday was there, with the exception of the two vampires, Angel and Spike, who were of course unable to attend the late-morning service in the sunny Los Angeles cemetery.

She listened intently and was able to pick up the priest's words, going on about 'beloved sister' this and 'dear friend' that, and she thought again what a crock of shit it all was. These people were burying a girl who hadn't existed for years, instead of the amazing woman that she had actually been. Not a single one of those people had known the D that Faith had.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket for the photo, suddenly needing another look at it, and realized with mounting horror and self-disgust that she didn't have it anymore; she'd left it at the funeral home yesterday. "Shit," she muttered.

Things seemed to be breaking up down there; people were shuffling around and getting out of their seats. Like a puff of smoke, Faith faded back and out of sight before anyone could spot her, and headed for her motel room. She still had quite a few hours to kill before the car picked her up for her get-together with Angel that night.