It's all over, for now at least. The Ascension. High school. Angel. I honestly don't whether to cheer or cry; I think I could settle for both, but I'll settle for lighthearted joking as long as the gang is around. I don't want to cry in front of them now; it doesn't seem right.

We walk slowly in a comfortable silence through Sunnydale's streets, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Willow walks next to Oz, her arm intertwined with his, occasionally glancing at him with a happy smile of contentment. He just smiles a little and keeps looking straight ahead. I often can't help wondering what it was he sees that's invisible to everyone else; a ridiculous thought, I know, but it persists. I also can't help feeling a lit bit jealous when I see them together.

Xander and Cordelia walk on my other side, both trying to avoid looking at the other. I sigh.

"Tired?" Xander asks, glancing over at me, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I answer, not lying entirely, but coating my words with exaggerated enthusiasm, "playing tag with 60 foot snake demons will do that to ya."

He smirks a little, then returns back to his reverie. We reach Cordelia's house a few minutes later, and we accompany her as far as the lawn. She turns and looks at us, but says nothing. We stare back, waiting in awkward silence for a few moments.

"So..uh.. we'll see you around?" I ask finally, too worn out and emotionally drained to endure the pause any longer.

"Yeah, sure," she said a little too quickly. She gives a false smile. "Around."

Xander smiles wanly, Oz nods his goodbye, and Willow gives a little wave. She smiles a fake smile again, then glances at all of us quickly. Her smile fades, and she looks almost solemn. "Bye," she says, but when she says it, her gazed is fixed on Xander. She turns and proceeds up the walkway, entering her house without glancing back.

I don't know if it was the way she said it, or the looks she gave us, but we knew right then that it was goodbye for good. I fight the urge to look at the house again, or at least say something silly to break the tension. I begin to walk away, my pace quicker than before, and the others follow.

I don't look back either.

Xander is the next to be dropped off, and he departs rather unceremoniously. I suppose there's really no need for a fancy goodbye, though; I know we'll see him again.

Willow, Oz, and I walk the next two blocks making idle chitchat, and I hate the feeling of being the third wheel. I'm almost relieved when we finally reach Willow's house. I leave them alone to croon with a small wave, and continue up the street.

I keep my eyes fixed on my house as I approach it, but at the last minute, I bypass the walkway and keep going. I'm really not sure why I do it. I really am exhausted; I haven't slept for two days, unless you count the coma, and I could really use a shower. But, something in me tells me to do it, and I've learned to listen to that.

My feet begin to get sore after a few more blocks of walking, but I continue. I've known subconsciously where I'm headed, although, for the life of me, I can't figure out why I'm bothering. I despise the place.

But maybe I feel bad. Maybe I just don't want to go home to an empty house after everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe I just need someone to talk to who won't interrupt or tell me I'm pathetic. Maybe I want to see her, see how she's doing. Maybe that's why I'm visiting.

Or, maybe I just think I owe it to her for ramming a knife into her gut.

I approach the sign proclaiming "Sunnydale General Hospital", and frown at it.

Whatever the reason, there's no turning back now.

The automatic doors slide open with a load scraping sound, and I stare hesitantly at the annoyingly white, sterile floor a moment before stepping in. My ears are immediately assaulted by the sounds of phones ringing, doctors yelling orders, and the occasional shrieks from patients.

I hate hospitals.

My first instinct is to turn back, to flee, but I force myself to keep going. I have to do this, even if I'm not sure why.

I make my way down the corridor slowly, carefully measuring my steps. I pointedly ignore the nurses and orderlies that are whizzing by me at a constant rate and concentrate on my destination: the ICU, right at the end of the hall.

One step at a time.

I stare at the doorway to her room for a long time before I approach it. It suddenly hits me just how ridiculous it was for me to come here. What am I going to do? What do I say to her? "Hey, Faith, we won today. Killed your boss. Oh, sorry about that thing with the knife too; hope you get well soon"?

I can't help a self-degrading smirk at that thought. I know it was silly to come, but I decide to ignore the knowledge for now; my instincts don't usually fail me. So, I enter the room.

Slowly, maybe, timidly. But I do.

I'm instantly greeted by the sickeningly sterile smell of medication and cleaning supplies, and I flinch at the severity of the odor. A stone-faced man in a blue uniform grunts as he pushes past me, rolling a bucket filled with dirty water in front of him. He exits the room, dragging a mop in his tow.

Nice place.

I approach the bed nearest to the door and push the privacy curtain aside, preparing myself for the worst. I can't help the sharp intake of breath that comes when I see her.

She looks terrible. Her head is swollen and bruised, covered in several places by pieces of thick, white gauze. Her eyes are swollen shut, and her breathing is hollow and shallow.

I can hear the respirator very clearly as I approach her bed, and the steady beeps are an unnerving reminder of the severity of her condition. God, there are so many tubes. They're everywhere. Attached to so many little bags and machines.

They're all that's keeping her alive, I realize.

I feel a flash of pain and sadness at this thought, and I nearly shed the tears I've been trying to keep in for the past two days. She looks so helpless; so oddly and terribly serene. It's not right. It shouldn't be like this; not with the girl who always wore the confident smirk, not with the non-conformist who was hardened to the world. She shouldn't be lying here like this. Not Faith.

And then the terrible little thought comes from somewhere in the back of my mind. I try to stop it, to catch it before it can surface, but it breaks through. It's your fault. You did this.

And that's when I lose control. Everything that I've been holding in, everything I've been suppressing comes poring out. The tears come poring out, and I crumble to the floor, inadvertently curling into a fetal position. Sobs wrack through me, and continue until I have no tears left to cry. And that's when everything fades to black.

***

I'm hurtling through blackness, being bombarded by horrible images. Images of death, destruction. Images of the knife. It's terrifying, but I can't escape. There's no way out. Then, suddenly, I feel something hard digging into my ribcage. My eyes fly open, stinging from the tears I cried earlier. And I blink.

She's there, standing by the bed, looking down at me, small smirk on her lips. She moves her boot away from my ribcage. "Wakey, wakey, B," she snickers in a singsong voice. I blink again, though I am not all that surprised to see her, and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" I ask, though I pronounce it as more of a statement than a question.

She shrugs, and brushes a stray strand of hair from her face. "Doesn't feel much like a dream, does it?"

I rub the sore spot on my ribcage and pull myself up off the hospital floor. I groan at the pain and dizziness that suddenly courses through me. My neck has a crick, and my muscles are sore from the fight. I shake my head. "No. It doesn't."

There's a long pause, and she seems to be scrutinizing me. "You guys won." She states as she moves to sit on the hospital bed. I notice vaguely that it is empty, the sheets wrinkled, but, for whatever reason, this doesn't strike me as odd at all.

"How'd you know?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"Well, mainly because the town's still standing and you're not dead," she replies with a smirk.

I smile in embarrassment at my failure to notice the obvious and rub my eyes. "I need sleep."

"You are sleeping," she replies with a chuckle.

I can't resist laughing a little, too, but I frown as I watch her take a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook from inside her leather jacket. She ignites a match by running it across the wall, then lights a cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked," I comment, giving her a stern look.

She shrugs a little and looks down the cigarette, frowning. "That makes two of us." She brings it to her lips and inhales deeply, then exhales the smoke slowly. "Not like it's going to hurt me now." She holds the pack out to me. "Want one?"

I wince at the smoky smell and shake my head.

She withdraws her hand and chuckles again. "Whatever." There's a pause as she takes another puff. "So, you killed the boss," she states. "David emerges victorious again."

I frown at her metaphor, but nod, waiting for her to continue.

"And our beloved Sunnydale" she smirks. "is once again safe from harm. Plan worked, B."

I nod again, not quite understanding where she's going with this. "Everything's pretty much ok. Which, of course, begs the question of why you were watering my floor over there," she says, gesturing to the spot I had been crying on earlier.

"Because everything's not ok," I sigh, "Angel left, the school's in ruins, a lot of kids died today, and-"

She smirks and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, uninterested. "Boo hoo," she snorts.

"Boo hoo?!" I repeat, offended and angry.

She glances at me and smirks, rolling her eyes again. "Yeah, B, boo hoo. So a couple of your little playmates died. Big deal. Wasn't you fault. They went into this thing knowing they could bite it at any time," she says, her voice getting slightly higher. "They wouldn't have lasted at long here anyway. Something would've gotten 'em. You can't save everyone, you know. And Angel," she snickers, "Angel, don't you even get me started on him. Be glad the twit left."

I open my mouth to retort, but her words have knocked me speechless. My hurt and anger reflects on my face however, and her eyes soften slightly.

"Hey, I-," she starts almost apologetically, then pauses for a long time, shaking her head angrily. "Look, at least you're not doing time in Sunnydale General's fucking vegetable ward," she comments ruefully, gesturing at the room, and grinding her cigarette into the wall.

My anger at her previous little ramble fades a little, and I feel a pang of sympathy and guilt. I don't know what to say to her to make it ok, to make her understand that I had to. "I'm sorry," I reply weakly.

"Yeah, well 'sorry' doesn't get this shit out of my head, does it, Buffy?" she snaps warily.

I shake my head, and my need to defend myself kicks in. "I didn't do that to you. You brought that on yourself."

"Yeah, I did," she says, her voice rising a little. "Consider it paying off my debt to mankind. Your boy didn't deserve to be saved. He's a demon, Buffy," she states, glaring at me. "Shoulda let him die."

"You think I hurt you just to save him? You think that's the reason I did this?" I yell, genuinely surprised that she would think that.

"No shit, B!" she exclaims angrily, getting up and moving towards me. I back away instinctually, but she moves closer. After a few more steps, my back is pressed against the wall behind me, and she sneers a little. "Why else would you have done it, huh? Was it 'cause I had more fun than you?" she asks, only inches away from my face. "Yeah, I bet that had something to do with it, didn't it? You always were jealous of me," she snarls, poking me in the chest with her finger. "Never did find the fun."

"Fun? How can you call what you did fun?" I yell, my voice become shrill. I slap her hand away. "I had to do it. You betrayed us. You turned to evil, and you had to be stopped."

She laughs quietly, a low, amused laugh, and shakes her head a little. She puts her arm against the wall behind me, and leans forward till our noses are almost touching. "That's one thing you and your little groupies never did understand about me, B. This wasn't about them, wasn't about my slayer duties, wasn't about good or evil. I was never really out to screw anyone, ya know? Hanging out with the boss, that was fun, and that's what I wanted. A good time."

Her eyes burn into mine, and she's so close that I can feel her breathing. I feel a shiver go down my spine, and she smiles a little, a predatory gleam showing in her eye. "You only live once, B," she says almost softly, then plants a rough kiss on my lips.

And that's when the blackness returns.

To be continued