All the charcters in this are © Joss Whedon. I'm just messing with some fictional characters lives for kicks. *g*
Up to Season 6, Dead Things. Big spoilers for that!
Faith's POV
"Visitor."
I look at the guard standing by my cell. One thing I learnt quick...The guards aren't the most talkative. No point asking who it is. They wouldn't know. Besides, only Angel comes to visit. Who else would? Still surprises me that he shows. After everything I did to the people who are his family, he still comes to see me. Still talks to me. No accusations either. Not sure what to make of it. Part of me says to stop questioning it. It's the only good thing in my life and here I am trying to find a reason to ditch it. Doesn't matter. No matter how hard I try, just can't help but wonder if I'm not just another step in the redemption program.
"End Booth."
I walk down past a few other inmates and their visitors. Some faces you see every time. Others you never see. Always thought I'd be one of those. The guard walks me down to the end. Don't really know what they think I'm going to do. Not like I can go anywhere. Walls on three sides and a thick plastic partition on the final side. It's just another routine to follow. The guard walks off as I take my seat. Well, here we go again. Every week I have to meet with the prison shrink. Part of my sentence. Can't tell him much though. The whole demons, slayer, supernatural stuff is off limits. So Angel acts as a second shrink. Prison shrink gets the whole mom never loved me stuff. Angel gets the slayer stuff.
I pick up the phone while still lost in my thoughts. Just another routine.
"Hey, how's business?"
"Hey."
That's all it took. One word to stop all thoughts. To bring me back to the present. One word from a voice I never expected to hear again. A voice I could never forget. Part of me can't believe it. If I could look up from the desk I'd know. It seems like an eternity has passed before the clear plastic comes into view. A bit further and my eyes confirm what my ears were telling me. There she is. Buffy Summers.
I know I should speak. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. I have played this scene over in my head countless times. Worked out what I would say. That was all just in my head. I never thought I'd ever have a chance to say it. Now, with her sitting only a couple of feet away, my mind is a blank. I have no idea what I want to say to her. Guess it's obvious too as she begins to speak.
"Faith, I..."
Looks like I'm not the only one having problems with speaking. I just look at her. I can remember the first time I saw her. All those years ago. She looks older. More than the twenty-one years I know she is. Being a slayer will do that. When you spend every day looking at the real evil in the world, you age fast. It's the eyes. They really are windows to the soul. We've both seen things that nobody ever should. No escaping it. I see it every time I look into the mirror. Now I see it in her eyes.
"How are you?"
Does she really expect me to answer that? If she does then she really is clueless. She can't be serious. Turning up here after all this time and just asking how I am? If that's what she came here to say, I'm gone.
"No. Don't answer that. It's not what I wanted to ask. Well it is but it's not. That's not why I'm here."
She's nervous. She only ever babbled when she was nervous. What has she got to be all worked up about? Not like I could even get near her. There's the plastic barrier and guards with guns. I'd be down before I so much as touched her. Is that what I want? To hurt her?
"There are some things that I need to say."
Great. A lecture. Come to tell me about how I belong here. How I'm a murderer. How I should never be let out. Guess what B? I know. I know I killed a human. I fucked up. I was a fucking kid. I was alone and scared. I had to leave the only place I had ever known as home to escape from some vamp that wanted to kill me. Might have killed the demon but I never got my life back. I was never accepted. No matter what I did to try to be the slayer you all wanted. It was never good enough. You all thought I was some fuck up and I proved it. I know that. I relive it every night. I don't need you coming here and reminding me of what I did. Reminding me of what I threw away. You...
"I'm sorry."
What? Did she just say sorry?
"I'm sorry."
There it is again. Sorry. What for? Yeah, I can think of a few possibilities. Though when you spend your life in a cell, you have lots of time to consider the past. Playing it over time and again. Trying to work out where it all went wrong. Imagining what it could have been like had you done this. Guess it'll eventually drive me mad. Just playing the same scenes out again and again.
"I'm sorry for so much Faith. I never knew what you were going through. I thought I did but I was wrong. I still don't know exactly what it was like but I do have a much better idea."
Agreed. You never had a clue what it was like to be me. You had it all. Family, friends and watcher. I had fuck all. You had died to save the world. I had let people die. I was seriously fucked up. Barely holding it together. Then in only seconds, it all fell apart.
"I thought I killed someone. It was a set up but for a short time I believed I'd killed a girl."
"How?"
"I was fighting some demons and she just appeared. I reacted to a figure. It was exactly the same as in the alley."
I sit back in my chair. Taking a moment to look at her. Really look at her. I want to remember this. Finally, after all these years I've heard something I never expected. Buffy Summers. The Slayer. The perfect chosen one admits to fucking up. Never thought I'd see the day. She still doesn't get me though. I can tell that she's thinking that those few hours were what I experienced. Not even close Blondie.
"It wasn't the same though. We both made a mistake. I could deal with mine, you couldn't."
Here it is. The I'm Buffy Summers, I'm better than you speech. Wonder if I could break that plastic and grab her before the guards could get a shot off. Holster, safety, aim, trigger. They'd have to move too. These partitions between the booths would give me some cover.
"I had my friends. They stuck by me. You...I know you never believed it and really won't now but you had me. I left you to deal on your own. That's how it was different."
Twice? She's accepted she was wrong twice? She's not blaming me. She's not saying she was better than me. I don't understand. Guess I have to speak.
"You only just realised that?"
"Yes."
"You come here to tell me sorry? Done it. You don't get it Buffy. You never will."
"Tell me."
"Tell you? You want to know? You want to get inside my head? Want to have an answer for all those questions you've got? Want me to make it all right in your world? Not going to happen."
"I don't expect you to give me the answers. I never did. Just talk to me. That's all I ever wanted."
"Fine. You want to hear it Buffy? Here it is. You made me feel like I was worthless. You destroyed me. I killed a guy. Nobody else. Me. I was the one with the stake. I was the one with the blood on my hands. That's literally, not figuratively. Right then I needed you. I needed you more then than at any other time. You couldn't change it but I just needed someone to I don't know. I didn't need you to leave me. That's what you did. You left me. I had to deal on my own. No family. No friends. No watcher. Just me and my mind. Guess what Buffy? That can fuck you up more than you can imagine. I just wanted you to say you'd stand by me. To say that we would get through it. That you cared about me just a fraction as much as I did for you. You never did. You told me to go to prison. Not until after you'd tried to kill me though. You fucked me over more than anyone else in my life. No amount of I'm sorry will change that."
She did. She was the one who had all the power. Her decision was the vital factor. It would either save me or condemn me. She chose the latter.
I look at her one last time. I know that when I walk away I'll never see her again. Never speak to her again. There's a part of me that is terrified at that thought. That wants me to say or do anything to make sure it never comes to pass. It won't win.
I meet her eyes and I see only pain. A pain I put there. I'm glad. I follow the path of a single tear as it slides down her cheek. Watch as it falls onto the desk. Then I hang up the phone and walk away. Maybe now she knows how I felt.
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