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She’s grinding on Spike -- Spike’s on top of her -- she’s above Spike and his wrists are in handcuffs and he’s looking at her like this means anything-- no, it’s the dead girl beneath her and she’s still staring at Buffy like it’s her fault -- her wrists are tied and Spike is there and the girl is cold and Buffy can’t move and it hurts and it’s too easy and Buffy’s hands are slick and Spike is panting close to her ear and the girl is moaning and--
“Now this is what I’m talking about.”
Buffy’s hips freeze. She opens her eyes. Faith is stretched out beneath her, half-clothed and wearing the handcuffs. She’s smirking.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” is Buffy’s first response.
“What’s wrong, B?” Faith asks, stretching her arms further above her head. The movement pulls her shirt higher -- make her boobs look even perkier, if that was possible. “Wasn’t it good for you?”
“You’re following me into my dreams now?” Buffy complains, rolling off her to flop down onto the other side of the bed. “Isn’t it enough I spent all day trying not to think about you?”
The Faith that usually appears in Buffy’s dreams is about as responsive as a wind-up doll. Buffy’s spent enough nights yelling at her to know the script. No matter what Buffy says, Dream Faith keeps up a steady stream of vaguely sexual one-liners and Buffy wakes up feeling enough frustration to kill a horse.
This time, there’s silence next to her.
Buffy turns her head. All she can see is the back of Faith’s hair. “It’s really you?”
“Instead of?”
“I don’t know,” Buffy says. “A normal dream?”
“Right,” Faith says, turning back to look at Buffy. “Because you dream about me all the time, I bet.”
She’s still in handcuffs. She’s got that look on her face -- the sick-looking one, the one Buffy remembers from the last time they saw each other in person. When Angel got in between them because the alternative was letting Buffy beat her to death.
“How are you?” Buffy asks, instead of rising to it.
Faith shrugs one shoulder, clumsy. “Been better,” she says. Her gaze slides up, like she’s looking at Buffy’s forehead. “I heard-- I saw you fall?”
“In a dream?”
“I dreamed about you falling off a tower,” Faith specifies. “I, uh-- I didn’t know what it meant. Angel came and told me.”
Buffy wishes she felt more surprised. “Right,” she says. “I guess he wanted you to be informed. The world always needs a Slayer.”
Faith bites her lip. It looks like it hurts. “Right.”
Buffy blinks and the scene changes. Faith’s standing in front of her. She’s wearing the black mesh shirt that make her boobs look amazing.
Faith says, “Hey, no handcuffs,” and holds up one wrist. “Nice.”
“Where are we?” Buffy asks.
Faith shrugs. “You’re the one driving.”
Buffy looks around. She doesn’t know why she asked. She already knows this clearing, knows where they are. Knows why they’re here.
Faith clears her throat. “You’re-- you’re okay, though?” She sticks both hands in her back pockets, kicks her foot like she doesn’t care about the answer. “No side effects?”
“From dying?” Buffy asks.
Faith shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
Buffy snorts. “Yeah, some side effects.” She turns around. It’s not like she has anyone else to talk to. “I feel like nothing matters. I’m sleeping with Spike. I hate my job. I can’t even look myself in the mirror--”
“--sorry, what?”
Buffy glances back at her. Faith looks genuinely surprised.
“Right, sorry, you weren’t around when he was trying to take over the world,” Buffy says. “Spike is a vampire. Maybe you’ve heard of him. William the Bloody?”
“We met,” Faith says slowly. “When I was-- you know.” Her shoulders rise towards her ears. She looks almost uncomfortable. “At the Bronze?”
“Right,” Buffy says, purposefully not asking for details, because if she spends any more time thinking about Faith taking her body for a joyride she’ll lose it. Again.
Faith relaxes a little when Buffy doesn’t push it. “You’re really sleeping with that guy now? Bleach blonde?”
“That guy is the only one who-- god, forget it.” She hugs herself, gripping her elbows tightly. “I can’t explain this to you.”
“Don’t worry,” Faith says, putting up her hands, “I’m not gonna steal him or anything.”
Buffy lets that sit.
“--right,” Faith says, on the exhale. “Bad joke.”
She looks genuinely uncomfortable. Her gaze keeps sliding towards Buffy, then jerking away like she doesn’t want to get caught. Buffy dragged her into this dream because of her own bullshit. Buffy spent the whole day thinking about Faith and then feeling guilty for doing it.
Buffy says, “I killed a girl today.”
Faith says, “What the fuck does that have to do with me?”
“I don’t know.” The lie is easy. “It was here. There was a demon-- I got confused. I killed her. I tried to turn myself in.”
“No Watcher hitmen to force you?”
“Spike stopped me in front of the police station.”
Faith shrugs. “Hey, prison’s no picnic.”
“I deserve it.”
“It was a mistake,” Faith says. She crosses her arms. “I mean-- it was a mistake, right? You didn’t want to kill her?”
Buffy feels her nose flare. “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone.”
Faith barks out a laugh. “Don’t say that to me.”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t trying to kill me too,” Buffy shoots back. “Trying to kill Angel. Trying to steal my life. Let’s not get into this, Faith, let’s not compete. Because I’d win and you know it.”
“You always fucking win,” Faith says.
Buffy thinks about the warm glow of death. She thinks about her mother, cold on the couch, and Dawn sobbing in her arms and Spike bandaging her hands and Willow looking at her like she’s a betrayal. “I don’t, actually.”
Faith sighs. “Well, neither do I.”
They fall into awkward silence again. Buffy can’t talk about it. She wants to talk about it more than anything. Faith is probably the only person in the world who would understand.
After a few minutes, Faith sucks in a breath and asks, “Am I supposed to make you feel better about yourself?”
“What?” Buffy asks.
“Why am I here?” Faith asks. Her voice sounds scraped raw. “Why did you-- I know what this has to do with me. But you don’t want to see me. You said you don’t want to see me. Why are you-- why am I getting dragged into this?”
Her accent is coming out. Buffy swallows. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie,” Faith says. “I don’t give a shit when you lie about the other stuff. But don’t lie to me about this, B. Am I here because I make you feel better about killing that girl? Because at least you’re not as bad as me?”
Buffy shakes her head.
“You’re still lying.”
“This isn’t the lie,” Buffy says. “That’s not why you’re here.”
Faith swallows. “But--”
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” Buffy interrupts. “I never thought I was.”
Faith scoffs wetly. “Then why were you--”
“Because I felt guilty,” Buffy bursts out. “Because I felt like you must have, except I’m twenty and you were seventeen, and Spike helped me and I tried to help you but I couldn’t, and-- I don’t know, Faith, I felt guilty. I felt like you and it made me feel awful.”
Faith’s arms are still crossed. She tightens them a little and says, “And you decided to make it my problem?”
“--yeah, I guess,” Buffy admits wearily. “I wasn’t trying to dream about you.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Sleep,” Buffy snaps. “Forget for a second about how shitty my life is right now. Stop thinking about Spike and that girl and-- all the other shit that’s happening right now.” She exhales, looking at Faith. She can’t stop herself from adding, “Talk to someone who doesn’t want anything from me for once.”
If this was a normal dream -- if the Faith in front of her was a figment of Buffy’s imagination, and not the real thing -- she would take the cue, step forward, and kiss her.
Instead, Faith says, “Have fun with that, Summers,” and disappears.
Buffy wakes up with a gasp. Her room is pitch dark. It’s the middle of the night. Her mouth tastes metallic and dry.
She didn’t kill Katrina. Warren did. She’s known that since yesterday. But she didn’t tell Faith that part of the story. Didn’t want Faith to scoff and call her a faker.
She wishes she could tell someone about it. But Willow’s fragile, and Xander’s planning a wedding -- Dawn is too young and Tara has done enough and Spike would look at her with that face she hates. The one that’s full of understanding she doesn’t deserve.
Add this to the list of stuff she doesn’t talk to anyone about.
The space between her legs throbs. She turns over, pressing her face into the pillow, and tries to fall back asleep.