"Should I?"

*scream*

"Would I?"

*scream*

"Could I?"

*scream*

"I think I answered that one already."

Light, tinkling laughter drifted to his ears, a morbid accompaniment to the dry heaves that wracked his rapidly failing body. Distantly, as though watching through a tankful of murky water, he could see her, holding a wickedly long knife bathed in blood --- his blood, laughing at her own questions which needed no answers but those drawn forth by each slice of the blade.

"B? Buffy?" Hesitancy underlaced with fear. He allowed his head to loll the other way, not because he wanted to see the speaker but because he desperately wanted the last image burned into his brain to be anything but that of the blonde haired demon in front of him. "I ... I don't think he knows anything."

Silence except for the drip, drip, drip of red copper onto the puddle forming at his feet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Really?" Finally came the reply, the biting sarcasm making the other woman wince. "You actually *think*, Faith? Wow, I had no idea."

"I ... "

"If I ever want your opinion on *anything*, which I doubt very much, you'll be the first to know."

His chin was grabbed so hard that he thought he could hear his jaw breaking under the pressure. Vaguely, he wondered how she expected him to answer her inane questions if she broke his jaw.

"I'm not finished with you yet."

If he still had the presence of mind to understand, he would have quivered at the implications hidden behind those green eyes that would have been pretty if they weren't so dead.

She hated cleaning up afterwards. There was always so much blood on the floor. Caked with blood. Bathed in blood. Every drop another extra minute she'd have to spend scrubbing out.

Would it really kill 'The Insane One' to use a dropcloth?

So much easier to dispose of and she wouldn't be down on her hands and knees all the time with a steel brush in her hands and a permanent scowl on her face. But of course, she knew better than to bring it up. Especially if it coincided with one of the Queen Bitch's bad moods which were always poised right around the corner, waiting for the slightest justification to rage out of control.

'Justification'.

What a laugh. Maybe it had been about that in the beginning. Maybe it had even been the best path to choose. But now?

Too much blood for justification.

She scrubbed harder, eyes unfocused as they stared at the pinkish foam that would soon be washed away, glancing up only briefly when the men came to move the body from the floor. He wasn't dead yet. If he was, he'd be a pile of ash on the floor waiting for the broom.

Spike. She remembered his name only because it seemed to be the dumbest name you could pick for a vampire. Other than that, he was just another featureless face swimming in a sea of them.

It was easier that way.

She scrubbed harder, obsessively focused on getting the stains out.

He knew he had to get up soon. He knew the sun was about to rise. Knew that half his cell would soon be bathed in light. Knew that he would burn if he didn't move to a safer spot.

He also knew that he didn't much care anymore. Dying would be a respite to the pain. Every bone in his body had been broken at least once. Every muscle had been stretched beyond the point of snapping. Every inch of skin --- burned or sliced. His mind screamed at him to let it all end now.

And yet, even as the scorching rays of the sun licked at his fingers, he found himself rolling slowly out of the way.

Something stronger than pain, stronger than despair would not allow him a willing death. Maybe that's why she put him in a cell with a view, he thought, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth.

Another form of torture.

She was getting really good at that. Maybe better than even him at his prime. Angelus and Buffy --- there would have been no stopping them and for a moment, he allowed himself a wry smile that hurt his face.

If only.

If only.

If only she didn't hate vampires so much.

"Aw, man, Xander, it stinks in here."

He answered with a grunt as was customary for him now as they tossed the limp body carelessly onto the unforgiving floor.

"We need to hose down this place, pronto."

Another grunt as the cell door banged closed. He was right about the smell though. Smelled too much like decomposition.

"So did she get anything out of him?"

A shake of the head signifying the negative as the two of them walked back up the hall, past several lifeless bodies locked up in grey cells.

"I'm sure he'll crack. Nobody holds out for long against Buffy." There was a hint of pride in the statement which was dutifully acknowledged with another grunt that sounded painfully lackluster even to his own ears.

All he wanted to do right then was to run from this place --- this place that stank of death. Run away and never come back as if everything were dictated by a childish whim. But he'd learned to hide it well --- his desires *and* his morals. Hide it so well that oftentimes, he had trouble finding his way back again.

"We'll have Anya clean up down here," he said, the first words out of his mouth all day.

The murmur of conversation droned on behind her. Nothing important --- just a report on the happenings of the morning. She was much more interested in what was in front of her. An image forever captured, a moment out of time. And every time her eyes landed on it, she would remember Xander's words.

'She wasn't always like this,' he'd said in one of those rare moments when his eyes weren't shuttered against the world. 'She wasn't always dead while living.'

Faith had liked that term. It described all of them perfectly although she wasn't so certain about the first part of his statement. She couldn't imagine Buffy acting any differently than how she was now but Xander *did* know her the longest out of all of them. Her eyes lifted to the picture again with a reverance some would reserve only for prayer.

The image of a smiling young woman gazed back at her, surrounded by several other people she didn't recognize but that didn't matter because they were long dead anyway. What continually amazed her was that smile --- Buffy never smiled now without a cruel twist curling her lips. As she continued to stare, an arm wrapped around her waist from behind and she let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

Maybe if she got up the courage one day, she'd ask Buffy to smile like that for her.

"Come here lover." The words were whispered harshly into her ear and she felt whatever courage she'd gathered abandon her. As of right now, she was content to lie in that coffin Buffy had built for her, waiting for the day when she could break free.