This Is How It Goes

"Hey now, little lady," he said, shaking his head and smiling. "I didn't come here to fight."

Buffy glared at him cagily, bringing the gun to her chest. "Right. Let me just get the special china we keep for chit chatting with mortal enemies."

He scrunched up his face in disapproval. "Mortal enemies. Such an ugly phrase, isn't it? And," he smiled at her, and there was a surprising amount of warmth mixed in with the scathing cruelty, "considering two of us here are immortal, it's ringing just a tad melodramatic."

Buffy's hard expression didn't change, but she lowered the gun a fraction of an inch. "Okay then, Mr. Mayor. Why don't you enlighten us human types why you're here."

The Mayor temporarily ignored her question and walked a couple steps in, glancing around the mansion. "Nice place you've got here, Angel," he said, nodding. "A little too sparse for my taste, but, well, not everyone appreciates dark mahogany the way I do."

Angel stared at him steadily.

"Was there an actual evil reason you're here, or was it just to annoyingly waste our time?" Buffy asked in an unfazed, skeptical tone.

The Mayor's eyes hardened into dark, merciless steel, and Buffy could abruptly see the figure that would obliterate Sunnydale without a second thought. "Manners, young lady. I could have you and your friends bled out and twitching on the floor in the time it takes me to wipe my hands."

Buffy's fingers tightened on the gun, her muscles automatically clenching. She flashed onto Giles and her friends, utterly unprotected, her eyes flicking involuntarily to Faith's unconscious figure. She heard Angel growl softly next to her.

The Mayor began walking around the mansion, hands in his pockets, looking positively relaxed. "Now, I'd prefer not to do that. Too unhygienic, too much paperwork, and frankly, not the publicity I'm looking for." He ran his fingers along the top of Angel's sofa and stopped abruptly, raising his head to look at them. "Is this micro-suede?"

Angel and Buffy exchanged a brief, doubtful glance.

"I've really been meaning to redecorate, you know, and nothing says 'I care about my constituency' like the right furniture fabric," the Mayor said, lowering his head again to examine the couch. "Of course, nothing says 'I care about my constituency' like not eating them, but, hey, you can't please everyone." He chuckled and began strolling around the mansion again.

"Getting back to business," he said, his face and voice growing serious, "I'm here because I understand that killing first and asking questions later isn't always the most practical way. I know how things work smoothly, Buffy." The Mayor turned to look at her, his eyes intelligent and searching. "And right now, the smoothest course for both of us is to recognize a mutual problem."

Buffy's eyes narrowed at him. The Mayor looked at Faith and then back at Buffy, raising his eyebrows.

"It gets worse, you know. The process speeds up," the Mayor said, flicking his eyes back to the other Slayer's figure and frowning. "Evil incarnate doesn't like to wait. Which is really just too bad," he said, sighing, his face scrunched up in disappointment, "because Azazel could have a heck of a short game with a little patience."

Buffy moved to put herself between the Mayor and Faith, her face hard. "We give you the box, you give us what exactly?"

He smiled warmly, paternally at her. "There's that bright, driven girl I was looking for." He stepped forward, moving to only feet in front of her. "You can't save her, Buffy," the Mayor said, motioning at Faith. "Not by yourself, anyway. The only way you can get her back is through me. You give me my box, I give you your girlfriend."

Buffy didn't say anything, her mind whirling, meeting his gaze.

"I'll give you a day. After that, there won't be much left of her to save." The Mayor walked out, the two vampire employees growling and following him, leaving Buffy watching his retreating figure with a mixture of anxiety, confusion, and powerful relief.

Chapter 27: Loss

Author's Notes:

"He offered what?" Giles asked in an incredulous, weary tone.

"A trade," Buffy answered rigidly.

"The box, I'm assuming, but in exchange for what?"

"Faith," she answered in a soft voice, moving forward. "Cured. Back to the way she was."

A moment of tense and disbelieving silence met her words. Xander was staring intently at the table in front of him, his brow furrowed. Giles had taken off his glasses, closed his eyes.

"Is — can we trust him, Buffy? How do we know he's not gonna take the box and just skedaddle? Or — or spike the figurative punch?" Willow asked anxiously.

"It'll be a physical trade-off, Wil. He hands us the spell or whatever, we give it to Faith and see if the good Mayor of Sunnydale gets to be disemboweled." Buffy began pacing. "He needs his box, though. I think it's too important to screw us over."

Wesley suddenly stood up. His eyes were narrowed furiously at Buffy. "Are you seriously considering this? Giving up our only advantage to save one person?" he asked disbelievingly.

Buffy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore him.

"This could be our sole chance to prevent the Ascension, and you're willing to throw it away for one individual?" Wesley continued angrily, moving closer to Buffy. "This isn't about you or her, Buffy. This is about the town. Faith would understand that some things are more important."

Buffy turned to look at him, eyes blazing. "So now you know what Faith would want? Now, all of a sudden, you get to play the concerned Watcher and pretend you know anything about her?"

"Damn it, Buffy, this is not an option! Sacrificing an entire population for one violent, unstable Slayer -"

Wesley didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as Buffy slammed him into the table and put her forearm against his throat. His eyes widened in fear as he met Buffy's wild, enraged ones.

"Buffy!" Giles called out in warning, standing up.

"Listen closely, Wes," Buffy said quietly, dangerously. "You ever talk about her like that again and I'll throw your ass in the Pacific Ocean to dog-paddle back to England." She backed off and Wesley was left against the table, trying not to faint. "Giles, make the call. We're not discussing this anymore."

"No, we're not," a cultured voice said.

All heads turned to watch Meredith Taft as she strode out of Giles' office.

"I have just conferred with the Watcher's Council. Mr. Travers has decreed that you are to do nothing. You are ordered to ignore the Mayor's offer," Meredith said in a cool, commanding voice. "If you are unable to find a way to restore Ms. Lehane, so be it."

Everyone, including Wesley, stared at her.

"So, just to get this straight," Buffy said slowly after several silent moments, her voice unsteady, "my orders, from a bunch of geriatric men thousands of miles away, are to sit back, maybe sip a daiquiri, and watch my lover die?" She felt her fingernails digging into her palm as she clenched her fists.

"You are the Slayer, Buffy. You, more than anyone, understand that personal feelings merely distract from your duty," Meredith responded, unruffled. "These are your orders. Your approval or disapproval is irrelevant."

Buffy laughed mirthlessly. "Well, thanks for clarifying the 'Slayer is a mere instrument' thing, Mere. I always thought that part was a little fuzzy." She walked over to the weapons cabinet and grabbed a broadsword. "How about whether or not I actually follow the orders? Is that relevant?"

Meredith sneered slightly at her. "You don't -" she stopped talking and began backing up as Buffy walked towards her, raising the sword.

"Now, let me tell you how it's gonna go," Buffy began in a steady, confident voice. "We're going to do the exchange. You," she pointed the sword at Meredith, who eyed it apprehensively, "are going back to England to deliver the sad, sad news that the Council no longer has a purpose. The Slayers are starting their own club, and, unfortunately, you're not invited. I'm done being somebody's instrument. I think it's time to start my own orchestra. Giles," Buffy turned her head to look at him, "make the call."

Giles nodded and walked into his office, looking grimly satisfied.

"Better hurry, Mere. The next flight leaves," Buffy looked at her watch, and back up, "oh dear, where does the time go?"

"You can't do this," she answered coldly. "The Council has been the guiding force for the Slayer for eons. One temperamental, foolish teenage girl isn't going to change that."

Buffy shrugged, said sweetly, "Well, I guess you really shouldn't have given super powers to temperamental, foolish teenage girls then. Because, the problem is, you can't do anything about it. We have the power and you have the funny accents." She hefted the sword again. "Now, you should probably leave, 'cause this thing in my hand isn't just a fashion accessory."

Meredith straightened up, raising her chin and sneering, and began moving towards the door.

"I think you're forgetting something," Buffy called. Meredith turned around to see Buffy pointing at Wesley. "The Council really should be more rigorous in house training, though. Wes here might need some new trousers."

Wesley flushed unattractively and pushed himself off the table, walking quickly out the door.

"This is not the end, Ms. Summers," Meredith said coldly, and with one more disdainful glance around the room, she left as well.

There were several moments of welcome silence as Willow and Xander stared at Buffy. She inhaled and closed her eyes, dropping the sword on the table.

"That was so hot," Xander blurted out. Buffy rolled her eyes and Willow gave him an exasperated glare.

~ — ~ — ~

They decided on a familiar, relatively neutral location, and so that night found the group, Angel, and a chained, unconscious Faith making their way to the docks. There was a thin, ominous mist spreading across the water, rising up from the smooth ocean like steam. Buffy kept shooting furtive glances at Faith, trying to reassure herself that this would all be over soon. She would have her back, and together they could deal with anything the Mayor threw at them. She would have the real Faith back, and all those things she said, all those things that made Buffy's heart splinter and her stomach twist into knots, would be the past product of a spell, nothing more.

They arrived, spread out, clutched weapons and hardened their faces. The Mayor arrived, once again looking supremely relaxed, four vampires flanking him. Skinner was there, leering nastily at Buffy. She ignored him, her eyes only for the Mayor. The two groups stopped twenty feet apart, standing off. Giles was behind the line, holding the box and watching over Faith's limp figure. The Mayor leaned to the side, stretching his neck to see the other Slayer.

"The horns haven't popped out yet, have they?" he asked, frowning.

Buffy's mouth grew into a tight line and the Mayor chuckled softly. "Just joshin' you." His brow furrowed. "Probably. I've never actually seen how far the transformation can go."

Buffy stepped forward. "If anything goes wrong with her, both you and your box get set on fire," she said rigidly. She could hear the waves lapping gently against the docks, but the noise did nothing to calm the roiling in her stomach and chest.

The Mayor laughed lightly and shook his head. "Nice imagery, but not a very effective threat. The box is impervious to that sort of thing, and I — well, let's just say I have a very high pain threshold."

He stepped forward as well, to only feet apart from her.

"You know, I really wasn't sure you would come," the Mayor said, peering at her searchingly, hands in his pockets. "I thought you might refuse, do the heroic, self-sacrificing thing. I personally don't understand that, but Slayers, phew," he snorted, "that's what you noble folks live and breathe."

Buffy heard the chains clink softly as Faith shifted in her sleep.

The Mayor leaned over again, looking at her unconscious figure. "And with Faith there. She's a wild card, isn't she?" he asked, shaking his head regretfully. "Reckless, violent — well, Allan's proof of that."

Buffy narrowed her eyes, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.

"The man she killed," the Mayor explained, and then smiled unpleasantly as Buffy flinched involuntarily. "I know this is probably none of my business," he said quietly, conspiratorially, "but I just can't see this relationship working. I mean, here you are, the Slayer, the picture of righteousness and justice, and here's Faith, the rebel without a cause, or control, or really anything useful. I mean," he crossed his arms in front of his chest, "can you honestly say she's never going to make that mistake again? Can you honestly say you're not going to have blood on your hands again because of her?"

Buffy's knuckles were white, her arms trembling from clenching her fists so hard. She felt Angel move closer, put a calming, reassuring hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath.

The Mayor shook his head sadly again. "Give them the spell," he said, backing up.

Skinner stepped forward, still leering unattractively, and handed Buffy a tattered, ancient-looking scroll. She grasped it, turned around and brought it to Willow and Giles in the back.

"You don't need any ingredients," the Mayor said loudly. "It's just an incantation. Simple, but this particular one is a rare piece of magic. Practically had to strangle an Ochot demon, and you know how unpleasant those can be."

Willow held the scroll reverently, her eyes running over the words furiously.

"Can you do this, Wil?" Buffy asked quietly.

Willow met her gaze steadily, her eyes resolute and determined, and nodded. She sat beside Faith's figure, inhaled deeply several times, and began chanting in Latin. Everyone had twisted around to look at her, and there was a palpable sense of tense expectation. Buffy's insides were doing strange, chaotic motions, thoughts of whether it would work, whether the Mayor had given them a faulty or even detrimental spell, whether Faith would be how she used to be, whirled around her head. Angel's steady hand was still on her shoulder, and its coolness, its solidness, grounded her.

Willow finished chanting, and Buffy thought for a split second that her eyes held something dark and deeply powerful, but a bright flash of light from Faith claimed her attention. She could see, could feel the searing heat of the energy as it left Faith in a brilliant, vivid rush and flew into the box. Come on, she thought.

Buffy kneeled next to Faith, still keeping a safe distance, her eyes moving swiftly across her body and looking for some sign of consciousness. Faith moved, let out a small groan, and finally, her eyes opened. Buffy looked at her, was lost in her, feeling her heart expand as she saw that warm brown, that confused, lost emotion that made her look so young, so innocent. She wanted to reach out and touch her, but clenched her fists instead.