#ngl I didn’t check on the layout of buffy’s house before writing this but i’d rewatched the body recently so... sorry if i got it wrong

[wombathos]

so a while back I started thinking about an AU where Willow recruits Faith after Buffy’s death in S5 and since I wanted to play around with their relationship specifically I wrote something for that, specifically Faith arriving at Buffy’s house the first time. 2.1k words, POV Faith

Same old house. That’s the weirdest part. This place must’ve been smashed up a couple dozen times by now, but they put it together pretty much exactly the same. Faith half-expects Buffy the high school student to come and greet her, all blonde and perky in some floral shirt or pastel coloured tank top or… She swallows. Willow’s hovering behind her and she’s not going to hesitate too much around the little witch, so she enters boldly, as if she owns the place.

Does she? No. Of course not. Faith is just here to do a job. She’s not Buffy, could never be Buffy. Not for lack of trying. It’s hard to imagine trying any harder than Faith has.

There’s no Buffy anywhere. No Joyce either. Willow told her on the way, probably appraising Faith’s reaction all the while. Faith hadn’t let her, instead turning to stare out of the window, hiding her face from Willow, giving herself the moments she needed to compose herself. Joyce had always been good to her. Then Faith had punched her and held her hostage and stolen her daughter’s body and been given a false hug by her and…

Faith steps further into the house, and she’s unsure of where to go. She doesn’t want to let on that she doesn’t belong here, even though she doesn’t. Kitchen’s to the right, living room’s to the left. She should’ve let Willow go in first.

She chooses left, entering the nice, comfy, soft interior of the Summers’ living room. It is a museum of things she has never had, but it’s hard to stay jealous of a dead woman. This is where things are starting to look a little different to how she remembers. Mostly just portraits being arranged in a new way, the couch maybe placed a bit further to the right. She lets herself fall onto that couch, sinking into the soft cushions as she throws down her half-empty travel bag next to her - then wonders whether she’s being disrespectful. It’s hard to ignore Willow who’s moved to hover at a new doorframe - but she tries her best, looking around the living room as if studying it. Mentally, she’s doing a catalogue of sorts, separating the familiar from the unfamiliar items, wondering whether the unfamiliar ones were put there by Joyce before her death, Buffy before her death, or someone else since then. She suspects there’s not much of the latter. This is a house of dead women.

But not entirely. Willow had also explained about the whole Dawn sitch before instructing her never to bring it up again - and it’s an easy instruction to follow. The thought that the girl she knows was never real, or that Faith had never in fact known her at all, that it was all just false memories… That the girl who had acted all sullen around her before suddenly embracing her on Christmas Eve, who was withdrawn and then exuberant and then furious when Faith’s treachery was revealed, the idea that all that is just a lie…

This town’s too weird. It’s mostly terrible memories, anyway, but if she lets herself acknowledge that those ones are lies, where would that lead? How much more would she prefer to forget?

“Would you like something to drink?”

Faith looks around, meets Willow’s eyes. She’s changed too, in ways Faith can’t quite place. Whatever it is, Faith doesn’t trust her - and she knows the sentiment is entirely mutual. “Sure.”

A pause. Willow hasn’t stopped hovering. “What would you like?” she asks, tilting her head from one side to the next and waving her hands around a bit - and it’s all very Willow, somehow, in a way that makes buried resentment flare in her.

“I don’t mind,” says Faith, with a little shake of the head. She almost cringes at the self-conscious gesture.

“Water? Coffee? Juice? Dawnie goes through cartons a week so we’re always well-stocked. I say it’s important for a growing girl.” That whole bit is accompanied by a jaunty raise of a fist and a smile and a change in voice for the last two words and it’s obvious Willow is just as unsure how to act as Faith is. Strange. She’d have thought the long bus ride would’ve been enough to get at least slightly used to the other’s presence but… no such luck.

Faith is about to say that she doesn’t care, but makes an effort. Tries to remember what the polite thing to do would be, though she never was quite sure what that’d be among these people. “I’d love some juice,” she says, aware her lips are twisting into a half-smile.

“Great! It’ll come in just a minute,” says Willow in a tone one might use for a toddler and flees to the kitchen. Faith almost laughs, even though she’s not much better. Dealing with hardened convicts is somehow a lot easier than this.

It takes her about ten seconds and the sound of a fridge opening for her to get restless, so she gets up and decides to have a poke around. They haven’t moved much of Joyce’s knick-knacks around, probably unsurprisingly, and there’s a familiar blend of newer and older objects interspersed between the photos. There’s not a speck of dust to be seen, which means someone here is cleaning more rigorously than Joyce had. Faith wonders who: she doubts it’s Dawn, could imagine that Willow has made the jump from neat to obsessive. Or perhaps someone else. She draws closer to one of the photos, inspecting the grinning faces of Dawn and Buffy Summers looking back at her. Buffy looks younger than Faith ever knew her, and she wonders whether this might still be an LA photo. Dawn’s still a kid, eight maybe by the look of her, possibly a bit older. Buffy’s holding Dawn close, but Dawn doesn’t seem to mind. They could be plenty acrimonious in real life from Faith’s recollections, but here - frozen in time - they’re happy sisters. Or… she supposes she doesn’t remember the two of them, and this photo must also be… is it fake? Just a remnant of some weird-ass magic? How had Buffy felt, looking at this photo and knowing it had never really happened? How does Dawn feel every time she walks past it now?

Speaking of.

Faith hears the footsteps thundering down the stairs and a moment or two later she’s faced with little Dawn Summers herself. She’s still short and still got that massive scowl and it’s like nothing has changed - except, obviously, everything has changed. When she stops several feet away from her, the look she’s giving Faith is enough to make her turn away from the photos.

“Hey Dawn,” she says, just as Willow too enters the living room, her trepidation obvious. Faith assumes Willow must have let Dawn know, but that can only do so much. She wonders whether she should offer condolences, knows that might be a bad idea but is about to do so anyway - yet Dawn cuts her off before she has the chance to.

“Here to murder more people?” she asks. Her arms are folded so tightly she might as well be hugging herself and Faith decides to cut her some slack.

“I hope I can save some,” she say, doing a forced smile. Willow watches them like they’re two grenades that might set each other off or… could grenades do that? Well. Two things that could make each other explode, anyway.

“Faith is here to help,” says Willow and it sounds like something she’s repeated a hundred times already. Her smile is no less forced than Faith’s.

Dawn takes a step towards Faith in a very ‘I’m not scared of you’ way - and maybe she isn’t. Must take a lot to frighten a girl like Dawn. “Didn’t do a lot helping last time, did you?”

Lifetime of amends, Faith reminds herself. It’s her first time back in Sunnydale. Time to do the whole damn guilt tour. “Yeah, well, I’ve changed.”

“You should still be in prison.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “But the Hellmouth needs a slayer so… here I am.”

Dawn shakes her head and she’s giving Faith a look of disgust that would put her sister to shame. “You think you can just come here and play the hero?”

“I’m not -”

“You’ll never be half the slayer my sister was!”

And with that Dawn turns tail and sprints back upstairs. Willow yells after her but Faith isn’t paying attention any more, exactly as stunned as Dawn wanted her to be. That kid sure knows how to deliver one hell of a kill shot.

Willow’s turned to Faith and it’s time for the platitudes. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, she does.”

For a moment the witch considers arguing, wisely realises there’s no point. Instead she weakly says, “She’ll come around.”

It’s tempting to make a stinging remark, but Faith just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

Willow hesitates, looking as if she wants to say something else, but decides against it. Instead, she gestures towards the kitchen. “Your orange juice is ready.”

Faith almost laughs because Willow makes it sound like she’s prepared a fancy meal or something, but that’d be rude and she’s determined not to be rude. She nods and enters the kitchen, picking up the glass and sipping at the sickly sweet liquid. Willow has poured in a generous amount and Faith isn’t sure whether she’ll get it all down. With slight irritation, she realises Willow is hovering behind her again.

“Tara will be back soon,” she says and Faith turns around mid-sip. Once the sip’s all done, she nods her comprehension. “You remember Tara, right? You briefly met when - well, I guess technically it wasn’t you then, except it was when we were with Buffy, and that was actually Buffy-you, and - and…” She trails off. They’ve finally reached peak awkward.

“Yeah, I remember her,” says Faith, doing her best to salvage the unsalvageable. “You two still…” She waves her free index finger from one side to the other. Willow stares at it, almost blushing, and Faith is tempted to clarify that she meant ‘Are you still together?’, not ‘Are you still boning?’.

“We’re dating,” says Willow. “You know. Two girls, dating, all normal style.” She jiggles her hands around again.

Faith very nearly does laugh then. She’s curious whether Willow is still this self-conscious around everyone or whether it’s a special privilege reserved for her. “Right,” she says. She gives Willow an ironic salute with the glass before sipping at it again. Willow stares at her as if trying to figure out whether she’s being mocked. She does a little shrug, then gestures at the door before heading out, which is probably her way of saying ‘I’ll wait for Tara’.

So Faith is left unsupervised, for pretty much the first time since leaving LA beyond the occasional restroom breaks at whatever miserable pitstop they had to change buses at. Willow had been watching her even then, maybe thinking that Faith would make a run for it. Maybe she’s waiting outside right now, magic held at the ready. Faith wonders whether she could take her. She’d like to think so, but magic’s a messy business and from the scant indication she’s gotten, Willow hasn’t been idle in developing her powers. No wonder they sent her. She wonders what Buffy thought about that. She wonders what Buffy thought about a lot of things.

Faith takes another gulp of orange juice because for some reason she can feel tears coming and she doesn’t even know how to begin dealing with that. She can’t let herself think about how Buffy and her had parted ways, how Buffy had never forgiven her, how she would probably hate for her to be here and would much rather Faith were still stuck in her cell. Faith is here because she has a job to do. She’s here to take responsibility, to fulfil the role she was always meant to. This is the best chance she’s going to get to make amends.

Some orange juice spills down Faith’s chin. Willow’s talking outside. Presumably Tara has arrived. Dawn must still be upstairs, sulking. Or maybe grieving. Who knows when she’ll come down again. Faith needs to wipe away the juice before the two witches come in here. First impressions and all that. Instead, she’s just staring out of the window of Buffy Summers’ kitchen in Sunnydale as she hears the voices of Buffy’s friends. She’s never belonged here. None of these people have blood on their hands like she does. Buffy went to her death a better person than Faith had been in a long time.

But she’s here now. There’s nothing else for her to do but try to make this work. Faith swallows and finally wipes away the orange juice - which had begun dripping down from her chin onto the spotless floor. She wipes her shoe over the spot. Time to meet the witches. Time to do her job. She can’t ever be Buffy. But maybe, just maybe, Faith could be the slayer.