Title: Let that Lonesome Whistle

Author: Harper

Email: Xfjnky2@yahoo.com

Angel was coming today, and that was definitely a very, very good thing. Faith had been less than communicative since the fragile détente had been reached a week ago, choosing to spend her time alternating between moping, brooding, and pretending that Cordelia wasn't there. To top that off, she had apparently lost interest in the more base aspects of their relationship, which meant that C was very, very frustrated at the moment because she'd found that time didn't seem to lessen the other girl's attractiveness or her suddenly overactive libido. Neither did the brooding either, which actually shocked her. In fact, it just made her want the other girl more, which was surprising because she'd never had that reaction before, and she'd worked with the man who wrote the book on how to be a proper brooder.

Of course, Angel wasn't brooding now. Actually, he was sitting there, squirming uncomfortably under the force of her glare, mouth opening occasionally as if he wanted to say something to break the silence, but each time a hesitant glance at her stern features sent his eyes back down to the table, words unsaid. Growing even more annoyed as the minutes passed, she finally drew in a deep breath to speak.

"What are these?" The words were sharp, and Angel cringed slightly, giving her that kicked puppy dog look that he wore so well.

"Uh, they're for Faith. I thought you could, you know, take them to her," he said hesitantly, gathering from the storm clouds brewing in the seer's eyes that he had somehow made another mistake.

Faith. Cordelia's nostrils widened and her brows lowered as she surveyed the small stack of comic books. Something else to take up the other girl's time, something else she could hide behind instead of talking, something else that Angel was doing for Faith. Nothing but Faith, Faith, Faith, everywhere she turned.

"You come to see me and bring presents for her?" Displeasure was clearly woven through her words, and Angel floundered helplessly.

"She seemed kind of down when I was here last. I thought she might like something fun, you know, to perk her up…" the words trailed off as he noticed that his current situation didn't seem to be getting better.

"She seemed kind of down," Cordelia repeated, her voice slightly incredulous. "Maybe, just maybe, you could use the time and money that you spend trying to cheer her up for something slightly more productive. Like say, oh I don't know, getting me out of here. You know, that whole little 'Cordelia's in prison for some jackass crime that she didn't even commit and Angel, who promised that he'd take care of it, failed miserably' situation that we've got going on here."

"I know," he said defensively, hands raised in a placating gesture. "We're thinking about how to fix that."

"Thinking about how to fix it? This is how you're going to fix it. You're going to fire the idiot lawyer you hired, find someone else who actually seems to know what the hell they're talking about, and make this go away. I'm a felon now," she stressed, hazel eyes shooting sparks at him as he continued to slump down further in his chair. "A felon. Do you know what that means? It means I can't register to vote, can't carry a firearm, as if I ever would, and that I'll probably never work in this town again. How many ex-cons do you see getting acting jobs, hmmm? Oh, and that's not to mention the communal showers, the decidedly unflattering outfits, and shared playtime with the other inmates."

"Sure you'll work again. What about Charlie Sheen? Robert Downey, Jr.?" he offered, trying to look on the bright side.

"You… you…" she fumed, so angry that words escaped her. "You know what? I'm gonna go now. Give my regards to Fred and the boys."

And with that she stomped off, snatching the comic books up off the table with a violent swipe, the sound of low insults and muttered expletives trailing her out of the room.

"Well," the relieved vampire said on a sigh. "That went well."

Faith was waiting nervously for Cordelia's return. She knew that Angel had planned to visit today, and had seen the tension in the other girl's shoulders grow as the hours had passed until finally the guard came to get her. Whatever happened, she hoped it was good, because she was going to have to be the one to deal with the fallout, and if the increasing agitation that she'd noticed in the other girl this past week didn't find an acceptable outlet in Angel, she had a feeling that she would find herself on the receiving end of a full scale tantrum.

"Here." Suddenly she was there, the sharp slap of something hitting the table echoing through the room, and Faith worked to stifle a groan.

"Have a nice visit?" she ventured hopefully.

"Angel thought that you might need cheering up, so he brought you a gift," Cordelia said scornfully, eyes narrowing. "Because you know, he was coming to visit me, for the first time I might add, but he was a little worried that you seemed kind of down the last time he was here, so he thought he'd get you a little something. Not me. No, I'm just the one whose life has been completely ripped apart here, all his fault by the way, but hey, a slightly depressed Slayer is obviously far higher on his list of priorities. And you should be happy. He brought you ten more reasons to ignore me. So you know what, I'm just gonna go back over to my little corner and sulk, and you can continue to pretend that I'm not here. Not that you needed any additional incentive, mind you, because it seems to be a skill that you've mastered completely on your own, but I imagine that even you get bored after flipping through the same book three times."

"Cordelia," Faith started, holding back a sigh, "I'm not ignoring you. Its just that… well, you know… I've been…"

"Ignoring me," Cordelia broke in helpfully.

"I wasn't ignoring you. I just didn't want to talk," the dark Slayer protested, knowing full well that she actually had been ignoring Cordelia. It might not have been the best way to avoid answering questions that she didn't want to, but it was the only one she could think of.

"You were ignoring me. Not that I should complain about that as being a new development, since you've really been ignoring me since I first got here," the ex-cheerleader said flippantly, hoping that an even tone would mask the slight twinge of hurt she was feeling. It was all coming together, Faith, Angel, jail… and the weight was oppressive.

"That's hardly true," Faith scoffed, her mind flitting back over several instances when she quite clearly hadn't ignored Cordelia.

"Of course it is. You're the only person I've got here, you know. If you don't talk to me, then there's no one, no one, for me to talk to. Do you know how completely and utterly lonely I am? Maybe it doesn't sound like such a big deal to you, but even though I may have been alone on the outside I at least had people there who pretended to listen to me. You don't even do that, just bury your nose in a book or tune me out. Like I didn't know you weren't paying attention," she said bitterly at Faith's incredulous look, rolling her eyes. "Its not like I was asking for the impossible, just a little attention every now and then. And then, I finally do get your attention, but its not really me you're paying attention to, just my body, and you take even that away because I ask one stupid question that you don't really like. Its been a week, Faith, a week since you even really looked at me. And today was supposed to be about me, supposed to be someone who was coming to see me, and you took that away too."

Faith didn't know what to say. She'd seen several sides of Cordelia, but not this one, not the bitter, angry, hurt side. Not the side that sounded like she didn't even care anymore, not the side whose voice was full of self-pity and self-loathing, and suddenly she felt ashamed. It was hard to see others when you were so wrapped up in your own troubles, but she should have known, should have remembered how she felt when she first got here, when she realized just how absolutely alone she really was, and should have known that it would be worse for the other girl. But despite that, she couldn't help feeling a little twinge of hurt.

"So that's all I was? Just a little bit of attention? Would anybody have sufficed if I hadn't been there?" God, she was so selfish, but it just felt wrong to think of what had gone on in those terms. It was a slight to both of them.

"I don't know what you were, but it doesn't really matter anymore anyway, does it. You've apparently decided to take sole responsibility for the termination of that little thing, whatever it was." Her voice was bitter again, but Cordelia couldn't help it. It had hurt when Faith turned away from her, reinforced to her just how little the whole thing had apparently meant if it could be thrown away without the blink of an eye. Not that it should really matter, right. This was Faith, after all, and deep down, she really didn't care what Faith thought, what Faith felt. Did she?

That might have been true if she had found the Faith she was expecting, but she hadn't. What she'd found instead was someone different, someone who was an intriguing mix between a powerful woman and a frightened little girl, with much more depth to her than Cordelia had ever imagined or anticipated, and she couldn't cling to the hate that she had held onto for so long because the person that she hated just didn't exist anymore. Where that left her, she wasn't sure, and that made her uncomfortable.

"What if," Faith started, taking a deep breath, breaking into her train of thought, "what if I made a mistake? What if I had done something really stupid, something that I regretted? Like, say, ignoring you for no good reason. Would you let me fix it? Would you let me start all over again or make it up to you or whatever it takes to help you forget?"

"What are you saying exactly?" Cordelia asked, her expression guarded.

"What if I put my book down, and talked to you for a little while. What if you let me hold you tonight, just hold you, so that maybe for once we can both be not alone," she finished quietly, head tilted slightly downward, unable to meet Cordelia's eyes.

"I think," the seer replied, her voice hitching, "that I might just like that."

If anyone had told her three years ago that she'd find herself in Faith's arms every night, spilling out her secrets in the darkness, Cordelia would have laughed at them. But she had, and she was, telling the other girl things that she never would have imagined. From the pain of her father's downfall, which was really more about pride than it was about money, to the visions. Faith knew all about what it was like to feel different, to feel like no one could understand you because of who you were, and when Cordelia talked about the relationships cut short and the insular quality of her life, Faith understood. She understood that sometimes Cordelia wanted to be normal, to be free to go out and meet somebody new or find a friend that didn't have anything to do with demons or vampires, but that it just wasn't that easy. How do you explain the unexplainable aspects of your life, and if you find someone that you really and truly like, how can you ask them to assume that burden with you knowing that it comes part and parcel with the very essence of who you are.

That wasn't the only piece of herself that Faith found in the other girl. She'd slowly come to recognize that the Cordelia that she'd known back in high school and the Cordelia that had been rubbing her nerves raw since that first day almost four months ago were just as much for show as was her own ultra-hyped up attitude. All of it there, the defense mechanism automatically thrown into place to guard against anything or anybody who might have the potential to hurt you, because you've been hurt so much already that you just don't have the energy to keep on taking the hits.

And, despite the vow she'd made to just hold her, things had once again quickly moved beyond that. It was somehow natural, somehow right for them to turn to one another, to seek the comfort of physical satisfaction in each others' arms. Not always gentle and loving, but not always quick and fierce either, just the freedom that came with being able to touch someone and the undeniable sense of ease that arose from the knowledge that there was going to be someone waiting for you at night.

She even found herself opening up, telling Cordelia in a halting voice about her childhood, about watching the only person that she had in the world to love slowly destroy herself, though she hadn't been able to bring herself to divulge all. She told the other girl about making a name for herself on the streets of Boston even before she'd become a slayer, about fights that made her reputation, about the fear that she'd wind up as a statistic, one more kid from the wrong side of town dead in a dark alley. And, after a long time, she found herself talking about the events that had precipitated her flight from Sunnydale, her conflicting memories of the mayor, her sense of betrayal and the pangs of regret that she still felt over the episode with the Alan Finch.

Of course, not every conversation was emotionally laden. Like everyone discovering someone new, they spent time learning the basics… favorite foods, favorite books, favorite childhood cartoons. Spending almost every second of the day together provided ample time for self-disclosure, and it wasn't long until Cordelia felt like she knew Faith as well as she had ever known anyone before.

And that, well, that was scary because it turned out that Faith was someone that Cordelia could really, really… like. Not that she hadn't tried not to. Even after she'd agreed to break down the walls, to let the other girl into her life, no restrictions this time, she'd still kept in the back of her mind a little bit of bias, a little part of herself that swore that no matter what, she wasn't going to forget what had happened. But it turned out that she didn't have to forget, because suddenly she understood, and with the advent of understanding, she felt her animosity slip away. Faith had been a kid when all that happened, a confused, scared, lonely kid, and her screw-ups might have been rather big ones, but ultimately that's all they were. Screw-ups, not evidence of a deep-seated evil, not indicators of a fundamentally misogynistic personality, just mistakes that she'd been too embroiled in to fix.

One of the worst things that she'd realized was that with Faith, she could just have fun. She could be herself, no fronts for the satisfaction of others. She'd finally succumbed to the lure of the comics that Angel had brought, and found, surprisingly, that they were actually quite interesting. And, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that she could have frivolous conversations about which X-man character was the biggest hottie, because Faith wasn't going to look at her like she'd lost her mind. No, the other girl would just pick someone else, discussing his or her relative merits with the seriousness that Wesley would afford a new species of demon. There was another part of her that relished the fact that she knew that Faith had always had a crush on Jean Gray, or that if she could have any mutant power, she'd want unbreakable claws and a metal reinforced skeleton like Wolverine, because things like that, little tidbits that seemed to have no value at all, were really what defined a friendship… a relationship.

She also enjoyed the fact that Faith could understand what it was like to be in her shoes. The Powers That Be had obviously decided that it was useless to send her visions when she wasn't in a position to do anything about them, but even absent that, she didn't have to present a brave face round the clock like she felt she had to do with Angel and the others. Not that she was a sniveling coward by any means, but Faith didn't expect her to be the one to hold everything together, to coordinate everything smoothly despite what might be going on in her life. Gunn and Wesley didn't know what that was like, each too wrapped up in the hunt and the chase to really see how the visions set her apart, put her just barely on the outside, forever doomed to be looking in at a world in which she didn't completely belong. Fred was, well, Fred was Fred, and there wasn't really much more she could say about that, and Angel had his own set of problems to deal with. Even though one might think, from a superficial examination, that Angel would have the insight that Faith possessed, he didn't. So for the first time, she'd found someone who not only understood her and accepted her, but who didn't expect anything more out of her than to be who she was, no apologies necessary.

What all that added up to was the fact that she had more in common with the dark Slayer than she would have liked to admit. The differences were there, obviously, but deep down, they were the same animal, complimentary foils to one another despite apparent disparities. And it was that realization that made Cordelia examine the other girl in an entirely new light, eyes finally seeing things that her mind didn't want to accept.

The summons to the warden's office had been unexpected. She hadn't seen the slim, meticulous man since her first day there, and wasn't sure what she might have done to warrant his attention. But, she followed the guard dutifully, shooting a confused look back over her shoulder at a suddenly apprehensive Faith. She'd had to wait to see him, sitting with her back ramrod straight on a couch outside his office, a secretary shooting her nervous glances every few seconds despite the fact that the guard had decided to take the opportunity to get off her feet and was currently propped up in a wingback chair, reading an outdated, ragged copy of People magazine.

She hadn't been surprised by the neatness of the office. After all, Warden Buckley was a neat man, slightly shorter than her with close-cropped silver hair, an orderly, manicured beard, and a collar with so much starch in it that she was surprised that he could turn his head. Taking a seat nervously in the burgundy leather chair he indicated, Cordelia waited, watching as his fingers templed under his chin, as he turned warm brown eyes toward her.

"I've got good news, Miss Chase." His voice was light, yet false in a way that told her that he was long-tired of his job, and that he didn't really give a damn about the supposedly good news that he was about to convey.

"Yes?" She couldn't sit passively, idly waiting on him to decide to move forward. Whatever it was that he had to tell her, she wanted to know now.

"The appellate court has reviewed your case, and due to certain errors made by the trail judge in regards to the admission of certain evidence, have decided to overturn your conviction. I've spoken with the ADA, and he has no plans at the moment to retry your case," the Warden said cheerily, looking at Cordelia expectantly. When she didn't say anything, didn't move, he felt compelled to add, "That means you're a free woman, Miss Chase; your record is expunged, and if you are never brought to trial and convicted again, it will be like this never happened. We've called the contact listed on your paperwork, and someone should be by to pick you up shortly. A guard will escort you to your cell, where you can gather together any personal effects that you might have."

"I… I'm going home today?" she croaked, throat suddenly dry. Not now… not yet…

"You most certainly are. And, I might add, with the sincerest apologies of the California judicial system, though it is reassuring to know that justice is fair after all, isn't it Miss Chase?" She needed to get out of there, needed to be away from the fake kindness of his voice, from the eyes that seemed disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm. It was too much, all at once, too soon…

She must have made an appropriate response, because she was once again in the custody of the guard that had taken her to the Warden's office in the first place, once more walking down the narrow hallways, eyes suddenly aware of just how bleak the gray stone was. There were going to her cell, but that's not where she needed to go. She needed to go to the library, to go to Faith, to tell her what had happened.

"The library," she said, her voice sharp, turning on her heel and expecting the guard to follow. When she saw Faith's face, she wondered if somehow the other girl knew, somehow sensed, that something was happening. If she hadn't gotten to know her so well, Cordelia wouldn't have seen it, but it was so clear now, in the minute tightening of the skin around her eyes, in the stiffening of her shoulders and the barely perceptible raise of her chin, that Faith was nervous.

"Were you hiding contraband or something and didn't tell me?" She tried to joke, but the words sounded flat, limp.

"They're letting me go," Cordelia said blankly, eyes watching Faith intently. "Some kind of procedural thing. I'm not really sure what it is, but they tell me I'm leaving this afternoon."

"This afternoon, huh." She tried to sound unaffected, but she wasn't sure if she pulled it off. There was a sudden pain in her gut, almost like someone had landed a solid blow, and it took everything she had not to double over, to keep the low keen of animalistic pain behind her teeth.

"I'm supposed to be packing my stuff as we speak." Why was Cordelia still talking, why was she still standing there, calm words spilling past her lips as if she weren't tearing Faith apart.

"Then I guess I should tell you good-bye, seeing as how you're going to be a free woman, and all that." Was that her voice, the tone unwavering, the words light with an enthusiasm that she didn't possess?

"I guess you should," Cordelia said slowly, the three feet between them three miles for all she could read Faith now. Everything had been packed up, shuttered eyes and tense body the only signs that this was affecting her at all.

"I… Its… Good-bye, C." It was all that she could offer.

"Good-bye Faith." And then she was turning, was walking out of the room and Faith wanted to call out to her, to make her stop, but she couldn't do anything more but watch helplessly as she walked away.

I can leave, Cordelia told herself, feeling those eyes burning into her back. I can walk away from this place and put it all behind me. I can get my normal little life back, and this'll all be just like a dream.

But then there she was again, her feet having changed course, bringing her back to stand in front of Faith, those liquid chocolate eyes boring into her as if trying to memorize her features, her walk, the way she stood.

"I think… I think I'm in love with you." Oh my God, had she actually said that? Had she put voice to the words that she hadn't even really admitted to herself. The sharp intake of breath from her companion seemed to indicate that she had, and in those few seconds she understood what people meant when they said that time stood still.

"I thought I told you there ain't no such thing as love, C," Faith rasped, her voice raw, harsh, her head falling forward, eyes focusing blindly on the floor.

She heard the gasp cut short, the long moment of silence, and then the sound of agitated footsteps. When she looked up finally, twin tears burning their way down her cheeks, she was alone.

Who knew that a month could feel like a year? The top bunk had been claimed by a newbie, one who was slightly frightened by her silent, moody cellmate. No one had been assigned to the library, which was just as well because it took a lot more effort to pretend like you were alone than one would imagine. She'd never known that a bed that had always been far too narrow to comfortably hold two could seem so impossibly wide and empty when she had it to herself, and she'd forgotten just how long sleep could be in coming when you had only yourself and your demons to keep you company.

Not surprisingly, no one had been to visit her. Or actually, no one had been to visit her yet, but here she was now, following the broad back of a disinterested guard down to the visitor's waiting room, the sharp pull of nervousness twinging through her guts. She knew it wouldn't be her, knew that she wouldn't see that familiar dark head when she rounded the corner, but some part of her continued to hope even as her mind told it to be quiet.

She was right of course. It was Angel, shifting uncomfortably on the hard metal seat, looking as pale as ever underneath the unforgiving harsh florescent lights. He didn't smile when he saw her, for once not greeting her with the tinge of warmth that she was accustomed to as she slumped down bonelessly into her seat.

"How have you been?" Perfunctory, empty words.

"Fine." Her reply was sharp, her tone harsh. They sat in silence for a few minutes after the exchange, each glancing at the other and then away, two non-communicative souls in search of the beginnings of a conversation.

"So how's Cordelia adjusting to life back on the outside?" There, she'd asked it, unable to keep the question in any longer.

"She got a new tattoo. One of those white ink ones that are apparently all the rage now. Right here," he said, pulling his sleeve up. The spot he pointed to was about an inch below the bend of his elbow, a patch of milky white skin on the inside of his forearm. "Five little letters, all about one centimeter high. F-A-I-T-H, and if you didn't know it was there, you wouldn't be able to see it. I asked her what it meant, and do you know what she said. She said that there were some mistakes that you should never be allowed to forget, that you should have to look at every day and remember. Have any idea what she's talking about?"

"Fuck," she muttered, one hand coming up to rub at the back of her neck, futile against the hard knot of tension gathered there.

"You're in love with her." A statement, a fishing expedition… whatever it was, she wasn't going to grace it with a reply. Those weren't his words to hear, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. When he got no reply, he continued on, his voice monotone. "I've been in contact with somebody at the Board of Parole. You're going to have a hearing in about two months."

"A hearing?"

"Yeah, you know. One of those things where they review your file and decide whether or not to let you out early. Generally used because prison overcrowding has become such a problem, and they need to dump old prisoners out on the street to make way for new ones."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," Faith said coldly, pushing back from the table, the screech of her chair scraping across the floor echoing loudly in the room. "Tell… everyone that I miss them, will you?"

She made it all the way back to the library without consciously thinking about taking a single step, one lone thought chasing its way through her head. Cordelia hated her. A year ago, she would have laughed had anyone told her that those three words would have the power to take the long, jagged tear in her heart and rip it a little further. Not that she shouldn't have expected it, really. Most people didn't respond well when their declarations of love were thrown back in their faces, and Cordelia certainly had more pride than most. But she couldn't say it back, couldn't trap her lover in yet another prison just as she was leaving the first. What good was she, in here? C had enough problems in her life without Faith bumping herself up to the front of the list, and had she admitted that she returned the sentiment in those hesitantly offered words, it would have been the height of unfairness on her part. It was easy to remain steadfast to someone when there weren't any options, but had she given Cordelia reason to believe that she would expect the same, it would have precluded the girl from finding someone who might be able to offer her comfort, a commodity scarce enough in the seer's life without her adding further restrictions.

It still hurt though, to have proof that she had reclaimed her post one rung beneath pond scum. If anything, she could add Cordelia's name to the ever growing list of people for whom she'd only proven to be a mistake. But, she didn't want to think of it like that, didn't want to take everything that had passed between them and reduce it to generalities. Instead, she wanted to revel in the particulars, the long nights spent in each others arms, the secrets and memories shared with a blush, the random bits of trivia that she eagerly collected and jealously guarded as little bits of the other girl that belonged exclusively to her.

She hated this, hated the self-pity, the self-recrimination, the what-ifs and should-have-beens. She hated feeling weak, and powerless, feeling as if time was slowly stealing chances from her as she was forced to sit idly by, unable to halt its inevitable progression and the distance that came with it.

But most of all, she hated the fact that beneath her mental excuses and objections, it all really came down to the fact that she was a coward.

She didn't remember the city being this big. The rumble of the old truck seemed abnormally loud, the passing scenery raced by in a blur, and the stiff figure of the near stranger sitting behind the steering wheel was making her nervous. Or actually, was making her even more nervous than she already was.

For two months, she'd been the best damn prisoner to ever move through the California Corrections system. If there was a rule, she followed it. She was in bed at lights out, in her own little corner of the yard during their daily time outside so that no one would bother her… hell, she'd even done her damndest to memorize the Dewey Decimal system. Sitting in a chair across from the three people who held her fate in their hands, she'd been repentant, demure, and full of promises that her life had made a 180. She was worth the risk, her eyes pleaded, while her hands lay folded calmly in her lap and she gave voice to reassurances that she was rehabilitated. They'd believed her.

After four years of institutionalized living, she found herself suddenly on the verge of freedom. A meeting with her parole officer, a long list of rules that she had to follow, and suddenly she was standing in front of the prison gates, the new pair of blue jeans that they had offered her sticking to her flesh in the blazing California sun. The clothes that she came in with were in a crisp paper bag, neatly folded. She planned on letting them stay that way. Bits of fabric could hold bad memories just as easily as anything else, and today was a happy day, not to be marred by their presence.

Angel had promised to send someone to pick her up, but it had still taken her a while to realize that the rickety truck and its bald, friendly owner were there for her. He said his name was Gunn, and he smiled and opened the door for her, and she eagerly scampered into the cab, sliding easily across the ripped vinyl seats of her ride out of this place. Conversation had flowed easily, at least on his side, until he realized that she wasn't listening. It might have been the death grip she had on the top of that poor paper bag, or the way that her throat kept working as she swallowed convulsively, or the fact that she was wound so tightly that it was a wonder that she didn't implode, but he got the distinct impression that small talk just wasn't on her mind at the moment.

He'd heard the rumors, the stories, and wondered for a moment if he'd accidentally picked up the wrong girl because the chick sitting beside him, eyes twitching with barely restrained nervousness, didn't quite match up with the mental picture that he was carrying around. For someone who had once conspired to end the world, she seemed a bit high-strung. Of course, he imagined that he'd be nervous too if he'd just gotten out of a four year stint in the pen and was headed back to live among folks that he'd tried to off last time he'd been sans hand-cuffs.

"Where are we going?"

The words had been said so fast, jumbling together in a rush of barely recognizable consonants and vowels, that he almost had to ask her to repeat herself.

"Uh, I figured the hotel. Don't reckon you have a place to stay yet, and Angel's certainly got more than enough room."

"Will Cordelia be there?" Please, please, please, she begged.

"Nope. I think she took the day off," he offered, dividing his time equally between her tense features and the road.

"Will you take me to where she lives?" She hated to sound like this, so needy, almost begging, but she had to see Cordelia, had to try and set things right. The fact that the other girl had taken the day off wasn't in the least heartening, but she wasn't going to back down from this without at least trying. It was all she had been thinking about since Angel had given her a tiny spark of hope that she'd get out, and she had to do it before she lost her nerve.

"I can do that. You wanna give her a call? Make sure she's gonna be there?" he asked, holding out a cell phone.

"No," Faith replied stiffly, head jerking out a quick negative, afraid that if given warning, Cordelia would flee. "I'd kind of like to surprise her."

"I'm not so sure that she's big on surprises." He sounded wary now, as if he wanted to back down.

"Please…" He could tell by the way she said it that it wasn't a word that she used often, and despite himself, Gunn found that he wanted to give her this gift, whatever it was. Maybe it had something to do with the way she looked, so lost, clutching at that bag as if it were a lifeline, every line in her body taut, foot tapping nervously on the floorboard, eyebrows flinching inward as if she were thinking of something that worried her. Or maybe, he thought objectively, it was because a pretty woman had asked him with a please, and there was no sense in denying her.

"If she ain't happy about it, I'm expecting you to divert the wrath away from my hide. I'm just an innocent bystander here," he joked, throwing her an easy smile. It seemed to work, to calm her down a little.

"Don't worry… if there's any wrath involved, it'll all be directed squarely at me," she replied, feeling the tension in her shoulders loosen a little as she turned her gaze once more to the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright explosion of color, and with palm outstretched, ordered Gunn to stop.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling slightly out of breath as he searched the road in front of him frantically. He'd expected to see a kid dart in front of the truck, or a dog, or an old lady, or a demon, or something. There was nothing though, just the irritated honk of horns behind him, and Faith beside him on the seat, digging frantically into her little bag of possessions.

She'd entered jail with exactly $6.23. It was still there, tucked away in the pocket of her leather pants, and she jumped out of the truck, ignoring the shouts of outraged motorists as she headed for the front door of the small florist's shop.

She didn't really have enough money for anything, but the owner felt badly for her, the pull of those dark eyes prompting him to offer her a bouquet of wildflowers, the riotous colors loosely bound together with a thin, white ribbon, and she smiled at him before bounding out of the store once more, hopping back into the truck.

Gunn shot her a confused look, eyes trailing down to the flowers and back up to her face, but she shot him a withering glare and refused to say anything, until finally, with a snort and a shake of the head, he restarted the truck, merging back into traffic. And then, before she was ready for it, he told her they were there, giving her an apartment number and letting her know that he'd wait in the truck.

Cordelia wasn't sure why she had agreed to this. It had been three months since what she'd come to call the rejection. For the last two of those, she'd been dodging invitations from her upstairs neighbor Kevin. Dating was definitely not the first thing on her mind at the moment, but earlier this week she'd found herself saying yes. Maybe it was because she knew that Faith was getting out today, and she didn't want to sit in her apartment alone, with nothing but her own bitterness and painful memories to keep her company. Maybe it was some sort of useless revenge, or maybe it was a misplaced attempt to prove to herself that she was over Faith. No matter what it was, she was dressed for it, her lithe body encased in a soft blue sleeveless dress, her long legs accentuated by the boost of heels.

The knock at the door brought her to her feet with a scowl. He was early, and since she didn't want to be going out with him in the first place, that made her unreasonably angry. The agitated tap of heels on hardwood echoed through the apartment, and with a jerk of the chain and a hard twist of the knob, she flung the door open, fully intending to hold onto her bad mood. But it wasn't Kevin, and her hand came up to cover her lips, lungs collapsing on a gasp as she stared at the figure in front of her.

Faith, a small bunch of wildflowers clutched firmly in hand, shifting nervously from foot to foot and staring at her with expectant, shy eyes. And, oh God, she was achingly beautiful, standing there in front of Cordelia, with her hair tucked behind her ears and her teeth closing over her bottom lip as she pressed the little bouquet forward, and all of the emotions that had taken three months of pushing and denial and self-imposed blindness to subside came rushing back to the fore with a force that left the seer breathless, and for a moment, she hated Faith for that. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair that she could stand there with a look of hesitant hope, a tentative smile and a bunch of flowers as if they might absolve her, and Cordelia refused to let the raw, ugly streak of pain that had been pulsing just beneath her skin for so long go that easily.

"Can we talk?" She couldn't do anything but nod, but push the door away and step back far enough to let the other girl enter. Moments later, she found herself firmly ensconced on her couch, Faith having deposited her bundle of flowers on the coffee table before settling down next to her, hands clasped together tightly in her lap. They were turned slightly, facing one another across the length of a cushion, and it was all Faith could do to keep her hands in her lap. She wanted to reach out, to just let her fingers brush along that agonizingly soft skin, to draw courage from the warmth of the other girl under her fingertips.

"I wanted to apologize to you." She'd practiced this hundreds of times, but here, when it mattered, it all came out so awkward, the words forced. Cordelia wasn't helping, just sitting there in silence, wide hazel eyes watching her intently.

"When you told me… when you said that you… loved me, I didn't say it back." Well duh Faith, she thought, mentally slapping herself on the forehead. Why don't we bring up a painful memory that she's already quite aware of, just to break the ice.

"I wanted to." There, that was better. Or at least, it was supposed to be. But the harsh ragged breathing coming from the other girl, and the stiff, almost unnaturally still set of her body didn't necessarily provide the gleeful reception to her declaration that she'd been expecting. Maybe she didn't believe it. It certainly wasn't as if Faith had given her much to indicate that this was so the last time they'd talked. So, taking a deep breath, she pulled out the one thing she had to offer, hoping it was enough.

"When I was little, my mother used to get drunk, get stoned on whatever she could wrangle out of whoever she brought home with her. When she'd get wasted, she'd get violent, and sometimes… well, a lot of the time really, she'd hit me," she started, pausing a minute to see if Cordelia was listening, if she had realized the import of these words. It was everything that Faith had refused to share before, everything that she kept locked up and hidden away from the world, and for the first time, she was offering it to someone freely. Not for compassion, not for pity, but because so much of her was wrapped up in the terse words, and she wanted to give it to the other girl, to give herself. "Usually it wasn't so bad, just maybe a few bruises or a little cut or two, but she came to me this one time, and I don't know what I'd done to set her off, or what she'd been taking that day, but she was so, so very angry…"

She caught herself trailing off, felt her eyes unfocus as she went back to the moment, and pulled herself in, determined to get through this without expending any more messy emotions than she had to. "She had this belt. It was made out of the thickest leather that I'd ever seen. My Dad left it behind when he cut out on us, and I think she got some sort of perverse satisfaction out of using it to hurt me. Anyway, the buckle had one of those curved, spike-like pieces of metal that would slide down into a hole in the leather, and when she came into my room that night, I guess she wasn't paying attention because when she started to hit me I could feel the sting of that buckle. Usually she was careful about stuff like that, not leaving any real marks that might get her in trouble, but this time she was out of control."

She shivered slightly remembering. The wild look in her mother's eye had been scary, as if she weren't really inhabiting her body, as if she were in another time, another place in her mind. "I was curled up in the corner, just wanting it to stop, when she got me in the shoulder. The spike got caught in my flesh, and when she pulled back it ripped through the skin all the way across my back down to my ribs."

The scar twitched, as it always did when she thought about this, one of the many wounds that Slayer healing couldn't fix. "When you asked me about it I just… I… didn't want you to know how pathetic I'd been, how weak, how I'd let her treat me like that, how I didn't fight back. And it just… I don't know. I never did tell anybody about it back then, just stayed out of her way until it healed up and then tried like hell to forget about it. And once it had, I could pretend that it wasn't there, that it had never happened, that my mother… my mother had never done anything to hurt me. But then you came along, and you looked at me like you actually cared about me, and I wanted so badly to tell you... I was still scared though, afraid that if I gave you that power, that I'd only get hurt again."

Pausing to take a deep breath, she continued on nervously, eyes searching Cordelia's face for any hint of a reaction. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to love you back, but I did. And when you told me… well, what did I have to offer you? A convict with a less than pristine past, no real assurances that the future is going to be any better, and I thought that you deserved better than that. You do deserve better than that. You deserve to be free to find somebody who can give you all the things I can't. But see, the only thing is, I don't want you to find somebody else. I want you to love me. I don't have much… well anything really, to offer you. Just myself, that's all, and I can certainly understand if I'm not enough. I just wanted you to know, though, that you're the only person I've ever trusted enough to let see just how weak I was… and still am. You're the only person I've ever loved enough to throw my stupid pride away and beg them to love me back, and if you'll forgive me for being a fool, then you'll be the only person that I'll ever offer those things to."

Strong fingers reached out, no longer content to be that close to the flesh they craved without touching. Cupping the other girl's jaw, bringing her eyes even with dark brown, Faith opened her mouth to say the one thing she hadn't been able to before, "Cordelia, I…"

The sharp rap of knuckles on wood cut through her words, and with a startled jerk, Cordelia pulled her head free, inwardly cursing whoever it was. The plea had been so utterly Faith, raw, with a hint of inelegance, but nothing less than her heart, ripped out of her chest and laid bare in front of her, a painful offering of all that she had. And Cordelia didn't think she was weak, had never thought she was weak, and cursed the insensitive bitch who had done that to a child, who had made the other girl ashamed of something that wasn't ever her fault. Part of her wanted to pull Faith into her arms and hold her until all the bad memories were just phantoms, wanted to protect her somehow, this girl that was physically stronger than three of her but still so fragile when it came to anything else. But that annoying little tap, tap, tap at her door made it hard for her to think, and she jumped up from the couch, intent on making it go away.

Pulling open the door with a jerk, she was surprised by a bundle of dark red roses, and over six feet of blond, blue-eyed, khaki-clad annoying neighbor Kevin, who hadn't once crossed her mind since she'd opened the door the first time to find Faith.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, in what she imagined he thought was a sexy voice, but it rankled down her spine, making her even angrier at his intrusion.

"You ready to go?" he asked, and she looked back over her shoulder. There she saw Faith, her velvety eyes looking from the doorway, and the man who probably represented all of the things that she told herself that Cordelia deserved, to the impressive and beautiful dozen long-stemmed roses that he held out, putting her own pitiful offering to shame, and stood, her movements slow, as if her joints refused to work, refused to accept that this was how things were.

"I think," she rasped, somehow making her way to the door, somehow sliding between the well-matched couple, "that I shouldn't have come here. It was good to see you, C. Have a nice time tonight. I won't… I won't bother you again."

She made it all the way to the truck, had managed to pull the door open and was ready to climb in so that the man looking at her with curious eyes could take her away from here, when she felt the clamp of a strong hand on her shoulder, felt herself being turned until she was facing the woman that had just broken her heart, and her eyes dropped down, focusing on the tips of her shoes scuffing against the dirty pavement.

"Don't you dare do this to me again," Cordelia said, her voice rough with emotion, her fingers hard against Faith's chin as she pulled her head up, catching her eyes and refusing to let go. "Don't you dare sit there and tell me all of those things and then get up and leave without even putting up a fight. I tried so hard to hate you, but I just can't… just can't do it, and you have no right to come back into my life, make me believe that you love me too, and then just run away. No right, and I swear to God, if you get in that truck and drive away, then there won't be any more chances."

When Faith didn't answer, she continued on, pretending that she didn't see Gunn's interested face peering over Faith's shoulder, that she wasn't standing out in the middle of a parking lot with her emotions on display for all to see. "You don't know what you did to me. God Faith, I hurt so much, and for so long, and it was just now getting to where I could wake up in the morning without that dull ache in my chest. Do you know what that feels like? To open yourself up completely, to be vulnerable and exposed, and to get, as your reward, a kick in the gut and cold eyes telling you that your feelings are worthless?"

"Apparently you somehow managed to move on." They were the first words she had spoken since Cordelia had caught up to her. Bitter, angry words that the hurt deep inside of her threw out.

"I choose you, and you walk away from that right now, you walk away from it forever." Hard words, hard eyes, the tight grip of fingers on her chin, and Faith stopped listening to all the voices in her head that kept reminding her how much it had hurt to see Cordelia open the door for someone else.

"I love you," she said simply, shoulders straightening, chest heaving as she tried to pull air into lungs that seemed to have stopped working.

And then those lips were on hers, burning into her, and she could feel the wetness of what she assumed was tears on her cheeks. It was a short kiss, one of reassurance and reintroduction, a visceral need to know that it was all really happening, and when Cordelia pulled back, shaky fingers reaching up to trace over the lush line of Faith's bottom lip, the Slayer wrapped her arms tightly around the figure in front of her, desperately needing the calming reassurance of that familiar flesh on hers.

"I'm so sorry." She mumbled it over and over again, her lips buried in the crook of a shoulder, the tease of fingers lightly stroking her back.

Cordelia reached out, catching hold of the door frame and swinging it shut. She jerked her head to the left, a delicate brow arching as she silently asked to be left alone, and Gunn complied. A wide smile broke across his face as he started the truck and a hard swipe of the hand put it into drive before he sped away, eager to return to the hotel and claim the throne as king of hot gossip.

Disentangling herself from Faith's tight grip, Cordelia pulled back slightly, her eyes taking in the sight of her lover standing there, the hint of a smile teasing the corners of her lip. Reaching out with one hand, catching Faith's fingers in a tight grasp, she gave a sharp tug, sweet words that she had never anticipating using spilling past her lips.

"Let's go home."

The End

Harper

Buffy

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