Chapter Three: Missing Your Love

It's weird enough I'm an amnesiac. Or at least, so sayeth the test results.

I'm a brunette.

All right, I'll admit it. In the old Buffy model, Nice and Easy was a definite requirement. But I wasn't this dark. I was just sandy, not chocolate. I like this, though. Something dark-haired, this way comes.

I toy with the silky strands as Doc explains the test results, in more big words I'm too embarassed to admit I don't know. They'd snuck me out the back way earlier that morning and took me to a nearby hospital so that the Doc could get a better handle on the situation. I could have done without the handcuffs and the burly guards, but I tolerated it.

At least until the CAT scan.

I hated the CAT scan. And since squirming constantly would only make it take longer, I made it perfectly clear on the way back to the jail that this was going to be a one-time thing. No more CAT scan rides for me.

Doc just smiled and patted my knee. I was starting to think she didn't do anything else.

She keeps talking as I finish winding together a tiny braid into my long dark bangs. "... and if all of this information is correct, which I don't doubt, this might be permanent."

Perma-what? I drop the braid and flash the Doc a dark look. I say, you mean I might never remember who I am?

She raises a file folder packed to overstuffed with medical info on me. "According to this. The brain damage was more extensive than I first thought." And then she went on again, her voice trailing off into four-syllable country.

Brain damage. I had brain damage.

Where the hell had I gotten brain damage from? I'd just figured I could fake it and blame it on a psychological thing. Didn't Professor Walsh mention something like that in one of her classes?

I occupy myself with undoing the braid as I think about what this means. I got the impression that Faith had gotten knocked upside the head from the goose egg, but I didn't think brain damage was an option.

It had to have been the Powers That Be. Those cutesy little girls. I'd taken to thinking of them as Blossom, Buttercup and Bubbles since yesterday -- there'd been an episode of "Powerpuff Girls" on the infirmary television the night before, right after I had awaken, and it had stuck in my head. They'd said they'd pull strings when I needed them. This was apparently the Internal Injuries Buffy Needs to Get By string.

I notice Doc staring at me, as if expecting an answer, and I startle. I'm sorry, what were you saying, I ask.

"Would you like to try and see if we can't regain some of your memories for you?"

Aw, why the hell not?

I'm calling him.

I'm calling him, I'm calling him, I'm calling him ...

Shit.

I can't do this. I can't. Let's consider my reasons. I have amnesia. Okay, I don't really. But this is technically, sort of, in a way, calling a stranger. Here I am, sitting on my bed and holding a phone, ready to call the one man I'm supposed to know on this stupid contact list.

And plus, I do know him. How am I supposed to lie to Angel?

I reluctantly pick up the receiver and dial the number on the list. It's not a number I recognize. I'm guessing it goes straight to that hotel Angel bought.

It rings about seven or eight times, and I nearly hang up out of frustration. But then, there's a fumbled rustling at the other end of the line, and an all-too-familiar voice answers.

"Rupert, I'm just about to leave, I swear. Wesley and I are just waiting for Cordy to get back with Fred from the mall--"

I say his name.

I'm dying to hear his voice again as I wait for an answer. Even thinking about him saying Wesley or Cordy's names again makes me itch. God, I don't even know who Fred is, but I'm so happy to hear a familiar voice that if I ever meet Fred, I'll probably French kiss him.

Angel sounds confused when he asks, "Faith?" There's a moment of silence, then, "Oh, God." He's regretful. I can tell. "We completely forgot ... I mean, none of us even thought to tell you --"

I ask for Angel O'Brien. There's dead silence at the other end of the line. I say, They say I know you.

More silence. I can't believe I'm doing this.

"Faith, what's going on? Are you all right?"

It takes me a sec -- God, he sounds good -- but I finally find my voice again. I'm fine, I say. Nothing like a little heart stoppage to make you feel peachy.

Silence again. I'm not sure whether that sounded like Faith or me. Then, his voice is crystal clear over the phone. "Your heart stopped?"

I nod, then realize I'm being an idiot. Yes, I say. There was a fight. I got hurt. I was without oxygen for --

I look to Doctor Jarvis. She raises her hand and flashes me four fingers. I can only blink for a moment, shocked, before I finish.

For four minutes, I say. My voice is hoarse.

Angel makes this sound on the other end of the line. Like, that stunned half-laugh that comes off like a subdued cough. "You're kidding."

I say, Why? Is it funny?

"Not really, no."

Before he can say anything else, I blurt out, I can't remember who I am.

I hear rustling on the other end of the line. Nodding, maybe? "Yeah, I gathered that."

How do I know you?

"Um ..." Um. I've never heard Angel say that. Usually, if he's at a loss for words, he just doesn't use words. "I'm a friend. A good friend."

A good friend? To Faith? Evil, deputy-mayor-killing Faith? Her and Angel? Did I miss a meeting somewhere? Was there some big reconciliation that I wasn't made aware of?

Oh, I say. I try to think of something else, but I've apparently lost all of my words, too. Doc stares at me curiously, studying my face, wondering what's going on. I thrust the phone in her direction and order her to talk to him.

She blinks, caught off guard, and reluctantly takes the phone from my hands. She glares at it for a moment, the evil bad receiver she's holding, and finally clears her throat before lifting it to her ear. "Hello, Mr. O'Brien? This is Anita Jarvis, the doctor in charge of the infirmary here." Doc pauses as she sits down on the bed beside mine. "Well, I'm new," she says with a smile. "I don't quite know what to make of Miss Willis's condition, actually. There was a fight a couple of days ago, and Miss Willis sustained a head injury as well as some other internal injuries. I'm not sure how she's been healing the internal injuries as fast as she has, but her head injury ..."

She keeps talking for a little while longer, using big words I wasn't all that familiar with, then pauses again, her tilted brown eyes fixed on mine as she listens to Angel put two and two together. Then she starts, and nearly drops the phone. "Yes, someone did hire her to attack Miss Willis. Is there something I should be made aware of?"

Doc looks as if she's going to signal to one of the guards posted by the door, and I tense up. I have a mental image of my future, sitting in a cell next to a three-hundred-pound woman named Kiki who robbed a liquor store with an Uzi. Whatever the hell Faith did, I refuse to be the whipping girl.

Suddenly, Doc seems to relax, and the smile returns. "I see," she says. "Would you like to speak with her again?" He must have answered in the affirmative, because Doc passes me the receiver.

I nervously lift it to my ear and say, What's going on?

Angel's voice is soothing and calm. "Don't say too much for the next minute or so. Try for a poker face. I don't want the doctor knowing about any of this."

I try, but I was never good at poker for a reason. Something's up.

"From what Doc says, she thinks the amnesia is permanent. If that's true, I might be able to get you out of jail, then sent up to Sunnydale to take over for Buffy."

I ask, Who's Buffy? Then I feel like a real jackass like asking him. Nice time to do it, too.

"An old friend," he says, and I can hear how tense he is. "She passed away a few days ago. Someone needs to take over her job. You're the perfect person for it."

I notice he hasn't mentioned what the job is, which I probably wouldn't do if I were trying to explain the whole situation to an amnesiac, either. Guess what? There really are vampires, and you're supposed to fight them. But I guess he's right. I'm the only Slayer left. Trapped in jail, I can't do much good.

Trapped in jail. Someone hired that woman to kill me.

I know my hands are trembling as I ask, Why?

Angel knows what I mean, and he knows the answer I'm looking for. "Important people want you dead."

I knew there was a reason I hated the Watchers Council.

He keeps talking. "Giles and I saw it coming. But Giles ... he couldn't handle the whole situation at the moment, and he just ..." His voice trails off. I think it's hit him that I'm not supposed to know who Giles is. Even if just hearing the name right now tugs at my heart something fierce, and makes me think of Xander and Dawn and Willow and ... God, even Spike.

Angel clears his throat and goes on. "If this amnesia lasts, I think I can convince those same people to pull some strings --"

Oh, God. He isn't thinking about asking the Watchers to get me out, is he?

But he's still going. "Stay in the hotel for a while," he says. "Move in with Giles until you get your bearings," he says. "These people will help you," he says.

Yeah, they'll help me. As Faith, I'm unruly, criminal, and disrespectful. I make me look like Miss Mary Sunshine. If the Watchers Council is going to help me, it'll be straight onto the business end of a sword.

Then, maybe they'll get themselves a pliable new Slayer.

Uh-uh. Not a chance.

I smile at Doc, tell Angel I'll see him later, and hang up.

I am going to get out of this hellhole if it kills me. Again.

Chapter Four