This Is How It Goes

Buffy stared at the body in frozen shock. She looked at her hands and they were coated. His eyes were open, glazed and unseeing, his chest still pouring blood. She could vaguely feel Faith standing behind her. She felt numb, unbelieving, his body surreal and dreamlike. It had happened so fast. One instant, and everything changed. Buffy twisted her head around and saw Faith's eyes fixed on the body, horrified and panicked.

Faith's eyes flicked back to Buffy's, her face colorless and terrified. Buffy inhaled, about to open her mouth, and Faith spun around and ran.

"Faith!" she tried to yell, but it came out strangled and hoarse.

Buffy heard the sound of pounding feet disappear, saw Faith swallowed up in the night. No, no, no, no, she thought wildly. Her mind was refusing to accept what had just happened. Everything seemed too surreal, too bright and too vague at the same time.

"Buffy?" a voice asked worriedly.

She snapped her head around and saw Giles approaching. His stopped, his face transforming as he saw what she was kneeling beside.

"Good Lord," he said faintly. "What happened?'

Buffy opened her mouth and suddenly felt a violent wrenching in her stomach. She twisted around, clutched herself and vomited. She felt her entire body shuddering, felt as if she were turning inside out. She heard soft, urgent footsteps, and felt Giles' warm hand on her back, rubbing softly. She turned to him when it stopped, pale and sweating.

"Faith — she — there was an accident," Buffy said desperately, shaking. "It was an accident, Giles. Everything — it was all so fast and she just reacted. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't." She stood up with a panicked, urgent expression on her face, looking towards the direction where Faith had disappeared. Giles stood up with her. "I have to find her. I have to tell — it wasn't her fault."

Giles put a firm, steadying hand on Buffy's shoulder, turning her around to face him.

"Buffy. It's going to be okay," he said gently, decisively. "We can find her tomorrow. You have to sit down now."

"No — no. I can't. Giles, she — we killed him. He's dead." She looked at him, her face nakedly despondent and plaintive. He pulled her to him and held her as she shuddered and heaved dry sobs.

"Oh, God," Willow whispered, stepping softly forward with her hand over her mouth. Xander stared down at the body in shock, Wesley following, his face hard and grave.

"We should go back," Giles said, Buffy still trembling in his arms. "She's going into shock," he said very quietly to the others, and Willow looked at them, panicked. "She'll be okay, but she needs to sit down, rest a while."

Giles met Xander's stunned eyes and motioned at the box. He shook his head violently and picked it up, straining a little at its weight. They moved back towards the school.

~ — ~ — ~

"We have to alert the Watcher's Council," Wesley said after Buffy was sitting down at the library table, a blanket wrapped tightly around her.

Buffy was staring blankly at the table, at the glaringly conspicuous box in the center. She could barely think, just process images of blood, and his blank eyes, and Faith's petrified face. He's dead, kept running through her head. She could feel that thick substance still coating her hands, even though Giles had washed it off.

Giles, sitting across from Buffy, looked at Wesley fixedly, almost searchingly, and then nodded.

"What about the police?" Willow asked quietly. She was sitting in the chair next to Buffy, shooting furtive, concerned glances at her unmoving figure.

"The Council has dealt with matters like this in the past. They manage the police," Wesley said, his brow furrowed.

"This has happened before, Willow. People being caught in the crossfire," Giles contributed softly. He glanced at Buffy. "The Council will determine whether there was malicious intent and then act accordingly. It was an accident, though, and they'll recognize that."

Wesley was staring at him intently, his eyes narrowed. "If it was purely an accident."

Buffy's head suddenly snapped up, eyes blazing in her pale face. "What does that mean?" she asked, her voice quiet steel.

All eyes turned to her, surprised at her sudden awareness. She was staring at Wesley.

"The Council will make the final decision, Buffy. They will ascertain whether Faith acted responsibly, or if she was reckless and endangered that man," Wesley said sternly.

Buffy didn't say anything for several moments, just gazing at Wesley with a simmering anger. "You ever been in a fight, Wes?" she asked abruptly.

"Well — no, not exact — I hardly see how that's relevant," he responded, taken aback.

"You know why it's relevant? Because you can't imagine how confusing, how chaotic a battle is." Buffy stood up, shrugged off her blanket. "It's about reaction and instinct, and it doesn't leave a lot of time for decision-making or second glances." She stepped forward aggressively, glaring at him, her jaw clenched, her mouth a small, tight line. "Don't you dare go making judgments about something you can't even begin to understand."

"It's not my judgment that matters, Buffy," he said somberly. "It is the Council's verdict."

Buffy glared at Wesley for several seconds, and then walked past him towards the weapons cabinet, brushing against his shoulder in a not-quite gentle way.

"Buffy," Giles said, standing up.

"I need to find her," Buffy said angrily, grabbing a crossbow and a knife from the cabinet. "If you want to sit here on your asses and talk about how she acted recklessly, go ahead. She's hurting and terrified, and I care enough to go after her."

Willow and Xander stood up, as well. Giles stood in front of her as she strode towards the door purposefully. She narrowed her eyes at him warningly.

He stood, hands out unthreateningly. "Buffy, please, wait for morning. You've been through a terrible ordeal tonight, and you need rest. Not to mention that fact that if Faith doesn't want to be found, she won't be. And when the sun comes up, we can all help you search."

Willow and Xander nodded vehemently. "Listen to him, Buff. We'll help you look in the morning," Xander said firmly. Buffy seemed to pause, her eyes flicking around the room.

"Uh, there's a slight problem," Willow said tentatively, pointing at the box. "The Mayor's going to be looking for that, and we have no idea what it is, or how dangerous it is."

"Would you be willing to stay and research, Willow?" Giles asked, and Willow nodded.

"Of course. Anything to help."

"I'm staying too," Xander said resolutely, and Giles nodded gratefully at him.

"I can put it, temporarily, in a safe location. And hopefully we can find a description of it in one of the books. Until then," he grasped Buffy's shoulder, looked at her compassionately, "you need to go home and sleep."

Buffy stared into gentle eyes, dropped her weapons with a loud clatter, and abruptly felt exhausted. She slumped. Everything felt so wrong, so twisted right now. The hot rush of anger receded and she was left grasping for something else to steady her shaking hands. God, she needed to see Faith, to hold her, to reassure, comfort both of them. Was it just last night that they had stayed in her motel? Was it just this morning that she woke up to warm emptiness, pervasive smells of sex and sweat and Faith?

Her knees buckled, and Giles was there, holding her up.

"I'll drive you home," he said softly, and looked at the others. "Try Silas Durdan's Primer first. Chapter 12 discusses components for dark rituals."

They began walking out, Giles supporting Buffy, hands firmly under her arms. Wesley walked in front of them, and they gazed at him suspiciously.

"Buffy, I am truly sorry," he said softly. "The Council is fair in these matters, and I — I'm sure she'll be alright."

Buffy nodded at him, but her eyes were hard. They continued out the doors.

Chapter 21: Possession

Author's Notes:

Buffy lay in her bed at home, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, sheets wrapped around her in a coiled mess. She didn't want to close her eyes, because images were imprinted on her eyelids no matter how tightly she screwed them shut. The cold, blank vacancy of his eyes, how she could still see tinges of emotion under that vacuum, of uncertainty and pain and, she became sure of this lying in her bed, accusation.

He's dead, she thought. We killed him. Every time this thought emerged, another one followed closely behind it, a thought that made her shake her head violently, her stomach wrench ferociously. She killed him, Buffy thought, and wanted to curl up in a fetal ball. Oh, God. Faith.

Buffy drifted off in the late morning, sheer exhaustion overcoming the rampage of thoughts and images through her head. She drifted off into uneasy, prickling sleep, and found herself in a classroom at school.

She was sitting in a seat in the center, and all eyes were turned to her. Teachers, students, vampires who had inexplicably appeared, all gazing at her unblinkingly. Her eyes flicked around the room, finding Willow, Xander, and Wesley among them, their faces expressionless. She looked towards the door and saw, with a surge of anxious happiness, Faith leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

Buffy rose, but the eyes didn't follow her. The class continued to stare at the empty chair. She walked over to Faith, found her eyes veiled, her face stoic.

"They don't understand — it's not me," Buffy said, looking at the chair in the center.

"Yeah, I get that," Faith said, her voice flat and emotionless. "It's me. Fifteen minutes of fame, right?"

Buffy felt a shiver run down her spine. She reached out to touch Faith, to reassure herself, and stopped as she realized she was holding a stake, blood dripping off of it in a sickening rhythm.

"That's mine, B," Faith said, and grasped it. Buffy felt it slide out of her hands, felt a lingering wetness on her hands when it left. "Not yours to hold."

She abruptly felt that something was horrendously wrong. The atmosphere changed, became tighter, more difficult to breathe.

"No," she whispered.

"Time to split, B. Tell the gang I didn't mean it," Faith said, and raised her hand to gently trace a line on Buffy's cheek. Her eyes were bright and vivid, wavering. She turned around and walked off, and Buffy felt a desperate surge inside her.

"Faith!" she called, but Faith kept walking.

She tried to run after her, to grab her and not let go, and found her feet wouldn't move. Buffy looked down and saw they were stuck in the floor, sinking into it. She looked up frantically and saw Faith disappearing, fading out.

"No!" Buffy yelled, sitting bolt upright in her bed.

She looked around wildly, her heart pounding furiously, sweat causing her shirt and sheets to cling to her. She sat and felt a fierce, searing panic coursing through her. That was Faith in her dream. The real Faith. She said she was leaving. Buffy threw back the sheets and saw a faint light coming through her window. It was early morning.

She dressed quickly, hands trembling, and crept down the stairs. Opened the door quietly and slipped out into the still air. The sun was just rising over the trees, suffusing the air and branches with a soft glow. It was so tranquil, so quietly serene, that Buffy felt like the chaotic mess where her intestines used to be wasn't even real, as if she was still dreaming.

She half-ran to Faith's motel, still feeling a muted panic. Please don't let her be gone, she thought. Buffy reached the door, bit her lip, and tried the doorknob. It opened easily. She saw a worn, leather bag on the bed, open and stuffed haphazardly with clothes. Faith, wearing combat boots, tight jeans, and a white wife beater, was rifling through a drawer in her dresser, but snapped her head up when Buffy entered. Their eyes met for a split second before Faith flinched slightly and turned her head back to the drawer.

"Reason there's a door there, B," Faith said shortly. She was clean, the smell of stale alcohol gone and the scratches healed, but her face was pale and drawn, deep bags under her eyes that the make-up didn't entirely hide.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked, trying to keep her voice steady, and stepped towards the bed.

"Somewhere not here," Faith responded flatly, but there was an almost unnoticeable tremor in her voice. She grabbed a pile of clothes from the dresser and dumped it into the bag.

"Were you planning on telling me, or were you just going to disappear again?" Buffy moved closer, two feet way from Faith. She was stuffing things into the bag, squashing them down and not looking at Buffy.

"Better this way," Faith said quietly.

"Better for who?" Buffy asked, and couldn't keep the tremble or anger from her voice as it poured out loudly into the room. "For you, so you don't have to look me in the face? Or maybe you think it's for me. 'Cause what you're doing is so self-sacrificing, running away like a coward." She almost spat the last word.

Faith snapped her head up to glare at Buffy, her eyes blazing. "Don't call me that."

"What should I call you then? Spineless, maybe? Does this make you a hero, splitting when things get too rough?" She moved closer, pushing into Faith's space, getting right up in her face.

"Hero?" Faith shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I never wanted to be a goddam hero, B. That's your job. I don't give a shit about puppies and old ladies." She looked at Buffy directly, steadily. "I don't belong here. This is your world, and I ain't a part of it."

"Yes, you are," Buffy said heatedly. "You became a part of it. I need you here."

"No, you want me here," Faith responded sharply. "There's a diff between those two things, B. 'Cause what you're feeling, that's gonna fade and we'll just be two violence-prone chicks who can't get each other."

Buffy glared at her silently for several moments, wearing a small, angry sneer. "Does it really help?" she asked abruptly.

"Does what really help?" Faith asked, eyes narrowing.

"Lying to yourself. Making this world into something simple, something you can understand and deal with, something without complications," Buffy said rigidly, saying the last word with incensed scorn.

"You want uncomplicated?" Faith said furiously. Buffy saw deep pain and fear flare up suddenly in Faith's eyes, underneath her anger. "I killed someone last night," she said, her voice hoarse and broken.

"It was an accident, Faith," Buffy said fiercely, grabbing Faith's arm. "We all know that. The Council'll figure that out too."

"Doesn't matter," Faith said, shaking her head, the mask firmly back on. "Doesn't change the fact that I shoulda left a long fucking time ago." She pulled her arm roughly out of Buffy's grasp, zipped the bag shut with more force than necessary.