Chapter Six:

** "Hello again, my girl." **

Same bat place, same bat channel. The waterfall, misty and mysterious. The girls, reclining casually on the worn, smooth boulders along the bankside. The dim glow of sunbeams lighting the area around us.

I'm actually starting to like this dream.

My tank top and boxers, borrowed from Fred, clash with the clothes the others wear, and as I glance around at them, I can't help but get that Powerpuff Girls image in my head. The blond as Bubbles, in a pale cream, flowing lace dress. The brunette as Buttercup, in a baby doll shirt and mini-skirt the same shade of green as her eyes. The redhead as Blossom, in dark brown suede pants and a cranberry-colored peasant top.

Well, aren't we a little dressed up for this meeting?

Buttercup offers up a friendly grin and waves to get my attention. ** "How are things going for you?" **

I shrug, getting more comfortable with this place. Well, I'm not in jail anymore, I say. That's definitely of the good.

** "We figured that we needed to get a few things straight with you," ** Blossom says.

Oh, really?

** "First off, I hope you understand we don't want you telling anyone who you really are." ** Buttercup sounds almost apologetic when she speaks. Sorry, princess. No coming out of the closet for you.

I know I'm not supposed to tell. That's what they told me after I died and before I got drafted for Faith duty. But they never gave me a why not. So I ask.

Bubbles shrugs. ** "A test, if you will." **

** "You'll see. Trust us," ** Buttercup says.

I frown. Trust you, I say. Yeah, right.

My snappy attitude doesn't seem to bother Bubbles. She's Little Miss Serenity in this scenario. I'll bet if that waterfall blew up behind her and a band of mercenaries leapt out, she wouldn't even flinch. ** "Tell no one. The amnesia bit was a better idea than you think." **

** "They will find out, in their own time. Just without your assistance." ** There's a hint of a warning when Blossom speaks, even if her fingers toy with the strings dangling from the neck of her peasant blouse.

So what happens next, I ask.

Buttercup giggles as she tucks her feet underneath her and says, ** "You go back and restart your life." **

** "As Faith." **

Blossom squirms at her sister's phrasing of the whole situation. ** "Sort of," ** she adds.

Confusion has officially set in. Care to explain, I ask.

Blossom shakes her head, her usual snooty little self. ** "Not really." **

** "You are not Buffy anymore." ** Buttercup says, that eerie look on her face. Smiling, but not quite. Like she knows a dirty little secret, and you can't be sure if it's one of yours or not.

Okay, now that pisses me off. What are they trying to tell me? That Buffy's gone? 'Cause trust me, she's still here. I am so, I say.

** "Are not." ** Buttercup, this time.

Am so, I say. I feel like an idiot.

** "Are not." **

Blossom rolls her eyes and cuts us both off before we embarass ourselves further. "You can never be Buffy again. It's your price for being reborn." **

My heart cracks a little when she says that. I mean, I figured as much when I got this gig. No more Buffy. If there were any more powdered Buffy lying around, why would they stick me in here? But what's that supposed to mean, anyway ... "I can never be Buffy again"? I'm not going to wake up someday and just be Faith without a memory ... am I?

I think Bubbles can tell what I'm thinking. She grins, and tosses her blond curls playfully. ** "You are not Faith anymore, either." **

I have to ask. So then who the hell am I?

They all speak together, as if they'd been practicing for this moment. ** "You will find out what you are in due time." **

"Faith?"

What the ...

I look upwards for the source of the voice, towards the nonexistent sky, and it's as if I'm being sucked into an invisible vortex and whoosh ...

Away I go.

When I wake up, I nearly knock heads with Angel, who sits next to me on the bed. His cool body sends shivers racing up and down my spine as I yawn away the rest of my sleepiness. So much for napping. The girls even ruin that for me.

"You awake?" Angel says.

Jeez, ask a stupid question. I groan and push my hair out of my eyes. Yeah, now I am, I say.

Angel glances over at the small overnight bag next to my bed, which holds everything Amnesia Faith owns, then looks back at me. "Ready to go?" he asks.

Honestly?

Nope. I think I'll be needing liquor for this.

Home.

I've lost the rest of the English language. I can't remember any of the other words. All I remember is "home." It comes fully equipped with this warm and fuzzy feeling that goes from my head on downward in a tingling cascade.

I walk up the steps behind Angel in a daze, faking complete and total ignorance. Get it together, Buff. You do not know this house. You did not sit with Mom on the couch watching some lame musical and crying on your 17th birthday. You did not find Spike drinking cocoa with Mom in the kitchen that one time. You did not throw a vampire through the front window.

I freeze in front of the door. I can't move. From the look on Angel's face, he takes my homesick curiosity for that nutty way Amnesia Faith has of studying everything.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?"

I turn away from staring at the tree Spike used to spend hours stalking me under and look at Angel. I get the impression from the gentleness in his eyes that if I said no, I'd be taking another two-hour long car ride, this time in the opposite direction.

Instead, I manage a nod. I don't have much of a choice, I say. Do I?

He squirms at that. "They're nice people," he says, trying to make me feel better. Suddenly, he grimaces, and when he adds, "Most of them," I'm pretty sure Xander's face is popping up on his mental drive-in screen.

I can't resist a smile at that. God, the way you sound, I'd hate to think you were adopting me out to the Manson Family, I say.

He sobers up at that, reaching out and tucking a loose lock of dark hair behind my ear. I don't know ... maybe something about putting the Manson Family and Faith in the same sentence got to him. Probably a nice little reminder that they both liked long walks on the beach, nights in front of the fire, and gory murders.

When he speaks, it's soft and friendly. I feel like a five-year-old instead of an ex-girlfriend. "Faith, just try to remember no matter what that these people ... at one point, they were your friends."

I cock an eyebrow, and let myself look a little more nervous. The "were" in that sentence would scare the hell out of Amnesia Faith.

Angel notices my anxiety and says, "You burned them, you know."

Not literally, I hope.

He shakes his head, then realizes I'm kidding, albeit badly. "They put their faith in you, and you let them down. Gaining their trust ... it might be difficult."

I smile uneasily and tap my forehead. Even with my mitigating circumstances?

"Even with."

Okay, losing my sure here, I say out loud. But in my head, he's making it worse. Angel's only giving me a warning. They'll dislike you, he's saying. They might try to like you because you can't remember the you they think is dirty, rotten soap scum, but it'll be in the back of their minds.

She's faking it. She'll be the old Faith tomorrow. She's just waiting for us to turn around, and she's holding a bagful of knives.

Yay, me.

Angel hands me a card. It's got some squiggly thing on it, and a list of phone numbers on the back. I think it's the agency's card. I ask, what's this?

"Phone numbers."

Well, duh. I ignore the obvious and shoot for humorous. Are they random, I ask.

Obviously, Angel's not up for humorous right now. He makes sure I'm looking at the back, as if having amnesia made me forget what phone numbers look like. "Mine and Fred's at the hotel, and the number for Cordy, Wes, and Gunn at their apartments. If it gets overwhelming or anything --"

I nod. Lift receiver, push buttons. Got it.

I tuck the card into my pocket as we both turn our attentions back to the door. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod again. He knocks.

It feels like an eternity. Hearing noises behind the door ... a softly muttered, "Coming," a low groan of someone getting out a chair, shuffling feet.

And then the door opens, and there he is.

He's so ... wasted.

It's only been a week. One look at Giles, and it feels like I've been gone forever.

I wish I could tell him. I wish that I'd saved my inexplicable, random hugging moment for Giles. I see the way he sags from the inside out, the dimmed sparkle in his eyes, even as I notice the way his clothes are as neat and impeccable as ever, and I wish I could put the fight back in him. I didn't even know Giles had fight, but he apparently used to and lost it somewhere between me jumping off a building and me showing up on his doorstep.

Faith. Faith showing up on his doorstep.

Oh, God. Now I can't do this.

"Giles," Angel says as a greeting.

I'm staring at him, I know I am. Amnesia Faith trying to find out who the British guy is, and Buffy trying desperately not to bawl, all rolled into one.

He glances at me once, then turns away.

It's seventy-four degrees out, and I'm suddenly very, very cold.

Giles stands in the doorway, blocking us from entering. I think if I weren't here in this particular body, Angel'd be inside having some weird British tea right now. "Angel, pleasure to see you," Giles says.

He looks back at me again. Just for a moment, but he forcibly looks back at Angel.

He doesn't recognize me. He's staring at me and he doesn't even recognize the Buffy in me. Giles, it's me. It's Buffy. I could tell you were you in some stupid Fyarl demon. Look into my eyes, you moron. I think I might have my eyes open as wide as they'll go, staring at Giles.

Angel gives him this look. Go on, talk to her. She doesn't bite. At least, not on request like she used to.

Giles winces, but looks over at me just the same. "Faith. I thought it'd be at least a decade or so before I saw you again. You look different."

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.

He doesn't see me in here.

The world's gone fuzzy. Giles gets cloudy around the edges. I stop seeing him sagging from the inside out and start seeing things through a filmy haze.

Giles leans forward, squints a little. "Is something wrong with your eyes?"

Oh, I get it. I'm crying.

Stupid git. I don't say it out loud, but my brain still wonders which of the Brits in my life inserted "stupid git" into my vocabulary. Not that it's such a hard guess.

What would Amnesia Faith do in this situation?

Aw, screw Amnesia Faith. She's a weenie. Plus, I'm pretty sure there'd be a bout of hysterical sobbing followed by a trip to the mental ward in her future if she were here.

But she's not. Buffy is. I mean, I am. I'm in a Faith suit, but I'm still Buffy. I sniffle back the tears, ignoring Angel's look of concern and Giles, who's totally confused. I buck up, straighten my posture, and stick out my hand. "Nice to meet you ..."

He flinches a little, his gaze darting to Angel. "Giles," he says. He takes my hand.

Giles's hand wrapped around mine sends memories flowing through me like molten lava. A heavy book titled "Vampyre" slammed down on a library check-out desk. Knocking him off his feet with a quarterstaff on the first try. Me lying to him about Angel coming back from Hell. Him lying to me about the Cruciamentum. Crying silently in his arms after finding Mom dead.

Why doesn't he see me in here?

He shakes my hand and says, "Everyone calls me Giles."

He's practically my father.

He steps backwards reluctantly. "Want to come inside?"

God, he is my father.

I can't help myself. I burst into tears. Just call me Betsy Wetsy.

Uh ... wait, wrong doll.

"Better?"

I look up at Giles as he hands me a cup of hot tea and offer him up a smile. I can't do much else. I've already had to be carried into the house, been fussed over by a vampire, and used a substantial amount of the Kleenex in the house. I don't notice until later how the Kleenex population in the Summers house tripled while I was gone.

I nod and sniffle back the last of my tears. Somewhat, I say, as he sits down on the couch next to me.

Angel sits on the coffee table, facing me, his knees boxing me in on both sides. His hands rest on my upper arms, cool against my skin. He absently rubs my arms, up and down, a gentle motion meant to calm me down. I close my eyes and take a sip of tea, then flinch when my mind's eye replaces Angel's massaging hands with someone else's pale, cold hands.

I shiver as I open my eyes, and stare directly into Angel's soft brown gaze.

"Why the tears?" Giles asks.

For once, I get to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I just feel like you expect me to be someone I'm not, I say.

"No, we don't," Angel says.

"Well, Xander --" Giles starts saying something I know he'll probably regret, but one look at Angel and me, and his jaw clenches. "-- will just have to bloody well learn to accept it."

Everything goes quiet for a moment. My voice cracks when I break the silence. You see me, and you see a criminal, don't you?

I ask both of them. Giles answers. "No," he says. I don't believe him, and he turns red when he sees as much. "Yes. Unfortunate, but yes."

My fingers drum the sides of the teacup. I hang my head and wonder how I'm ever going to get past the fact that all of my friends are going to look at me and see a killer. I sigh when Angel's hand strokes my hair like a kitten. Part of me wonders what to do to make him go away.

There's a rain of footsteps on the back porch, and the kitchen door slams open and closed. Giles shoots to his feet, stares down at me in abject fear and none-too-subtlely moves until whoever just came in won't see me. Oh, goodie, a rousing game of "Where's Faith?"

"Giles? Could I stay over Michelle's house tonight? Her parents just had a pool ... put ... in."

Her voice dies off as she comes down the hallway and into the living room, basically ruining Giles's sad attempt to hide me.

Dawn's alive. She's alive and in one piece. She doesn't look like the happiest camper in the world, but at least she's a breathing camper. I take in her bandaged stomach, hidden under a loose T-shirt, and I nearly do the dance of joy.

I saved her. It worked.

In my head, she bursts into tears as soon as she sees me. I burst into tears, and everyone else bursts into tears, and we all hug for a good ten minutes or so. And then we follow that up with a trip to pick up the rest of the Scoobies and a drive to Baskin Robbins.

But in reality, I get to my feet, and weave between Angel's legs and Giles's frozen body to get to Dawn. I cock my head like a curious puppy as I stare at her, sucking up tears, keeping myself from sweeping her in to my arms.

I have this big speech prepared in my head. I love you, Dawn. I'm back. I'm here to stay, and I'm never leaving again. I never wanted you to feel pain over this, but I knew you'd have Giles and Will and Xander and the rest to fall back on.

Instead, my mouth opens and I say, Do I know you?

I nearly clap my hands over my mouth in shock. I can't believe I just had to say that to my own sister.

But Dawn doesn't care. I'm a ghost to her, a black poltergeist in her house. Her blue eyes bore a hole right through me. I'm amazed I'm not spouting blood from a hole in my neck yet.

"Hi, Dawn." It's Angel's voice coming from behind me. I can just picture him waving awkwardly behind me.

Dawn deliberately steps right around me as if I were furniture. "Hi, Angel," she says cheerfully. Oh, that's definitely an act. Dawn's got the silver medal in Olympic-level Angel Hating. She'll have to beat Xander in the finals to get the gold.

She's facing down Giles when I turn around. She points blindly in my direction. "What's she doing here?"

"I didn't want to tell you until she arrived, but Faith is going to be staying here for a while."

"I thought she was going to be staying with Xander and Anya," Dawn snaps.

I was going to bunk with Xander and Anya? Wasn't I supposedly psychologically traumatized enough without the prospect of hearing weird noises and finding even weirder costume rental receipts in my future?

Giles flushes clear up to his ears as he leans closer to Dawn and whispers, "Xander and Anya already have a ... houseguest. Besides, Anya is understandably concerned about Faith taking up the guest bedroom in the new apartment."

Okay, new apartment? I've only been gone a week. And a houseguest? I definitely need a new scorecard.

Dawn snorts and crosses her arms over her chest, wincing with the effort. "Concerned is Giles-ish for jealous, right?"

"Right," Giles says.

"What's she got to be jealous about? Faith forgot her brain in the big house. She can't remember what a dirty slut she is." She twists toward me, and I can almost feel the daggers shooting past me from her dark glare. "Can you?"

I wince before shaking my head. I almost forgot how much Dawn hates Faith. She used to think Faith was the coolest of the cool. Then she found out Xander got a free ride on the Faith Express. After that, Dawn started watching "Jerry Springer" just to add to her list of Mean Things to Call Faith. She still liked "dirty slut," though.

Are we related, I ask her. Hey, Amnesia Faith would.

"God, no." Dawn looks as if she's going to vomit.

Okay, now I ask Giles. How about us?

"Uh, no."

So do I have any family? Am I alone?

I sound so pathetic, even to myself, but it must be getting through. How much I need someone to be there for me. How much I need a friend.

Giles cracks. I can see it in his eyes, that moment when I start to shift in his mind. From psychotic, deputy-mayor-killing Faith to brand-new Faith fresh out of the box. Another Slayer to mold. Someone to train.

Someone to distract him from his slowly breaking heart.

"You have us," he says, almost vehemently.

"Can I have typhoid instead?" Dawn asks him.

I can't believe this. I stare at my sister, and I see hate.

I'm in a daze when Angel leaves, but that doesn't stop me from hugging him so tight I think I hear ribs crack. He doesn't say anything about it, just returns the hug before kissing me on the forehead and heading back to his car. At least he's giving me a chance.

As soon as his car pulls away from the curb, it suddenly hits me how all alone I am. My Watcher doesn't know what to do with me. My sister thinks I'm a slut. And I haven't even gotten to see the others yet. But all my money's on it not being a pretty flowerw-and-candy reunion.

When I go to bed, I don't girly squeal because I'm finally home. I can wipe the smile off my face, even though I'm lying in my very own bed. And when I cry myself to sleep, it's not because my sister is alive, I'm alive, everyone else is alive, and all is right with the world.

It's because even with all of that, I'm alone.

Chapter Seven