The sun won't be coming up for another hour or so, and Faith's a little cold. She pulls the sleeves of her jacket down to cover her hands, and crosses her arms over her chest. Wind picks up bits of sand, and it gets in her shoes, grits in her teeth. She doesn't much like the desert.
Buffy doesn't seem to mind it, though. She doesn't seem to mind the cold, either - just keeps walking, eyes scouting out over the bone-white dunes, looking for trouble. Maybe just looking.
So Faith doesn't complain, just keeps going. They're in Nevada, a little bit south of Reno, while Giles and Willow figure out whatever it is they're going to do. About the Slayers out there, about Cleveland picking up all that residual Hellmouth mojo from when Sunnydale got sucked into the ground, about not having anything but the clothes on their backs. It's still B's crew, not hers, so Faith doesn't say much, just kind of hangs back and watches as everyone else makes plans. She's always been better at improvising, anyway.
Buffy doesn't say much either, is what's strange. She just kind of nods every now and then, and stares out the window, over the desert that spreads itself out across the horizon - flat and pale. Faith doesn't know what she's looking for. Late that first night they were out here, though, Buffy tucked a stake into her sleeve and asked Faith, "You want to patrol?"
So they did - patrolled the desert like it was one of the Sunnydale graveyards. They talked a little, bantering back and forth uneasily like they were playing at being very best buddies. Maybe they could have been or should have been or something and Faith thinks they both know that.
After that night, things have pretty much been silent, and Faith doesn't mind it so much. She kind of likes the peace of it, and the way the land stretches out all around them, open.
It's quiet - serene, even and Faith digs on that, even if a desert isn't what she'd pick, given her landscape of choice. Maybe a field or something, with lots of grass, all green and sweet smelling, and a couple of hills to keep things interesting.
The wind blows a little harder, makes a kind of low keening whistle that hits Faith's ears wrong, makes her uncomfortable. "Eerie," she murmurs, rubbing her arms.
"A little," Buffy agrees, cocking her head to the side, listening, her brow folded. "Sounds kind of like after you stake a vamp but before they go all dusty. You know, the kind of whiny breathing thing they do?"
Faith blinks. "Way to bring in the morbid, B."
Buffy smiles, a sad-angry twist of her lips as she pushes her hair behind her ear. "A good eight years devoted to killing things will do that to you."
"Guess it will," Faith says, shrugging as she looks over at Buffy. She's too skinny, too tense - looks like the girls who've spent more years than they'll admit to behind bars, the kind of girls people keep their distance from to avoid getting stabbed.
And she's so little, too, Faith thinks, looking back out at the dunes. Just this tiny little blonde thing, all filled up to the top with all kinds of negative - anger, loss, but it's more than that; Buffy's still battle-ready, Faith realizes. She probably always is.
It's a little bit like looking through some kind of window and seeing herself, a couple years back - except tougher, more together. B's just as hair-triggered as Faith's ever been, she's just got a better grasp on the trigger. If it wasn't so sad, Faith'd be a little bit jealous.
Faith wants to reach over, and touch Buffy's shoulder, and tell her to let go. She wants to maybe hug Buffy, or give some kind of life altering speech, something to light a fire under Buffy, and make her see what she has now - a family, a future, all kinds of things. She wants to get Buffy to talk to her, tell her what's going on. She wants to be for Buffy what Angel was for her, once.
She doesn't know how, though. She doesn't know if Buffy will let her. She thinks Buffy probably wouldn't - there's too much between them. There's too much time, too many mistakes, and Buffy doesn't forgive. Or, at least, she doesn't forgive Faith, who she didn't like too much in the first place, and who fucked up too many times, in too many ways that can't be undone. Even now.
So what Faith does is walk with Buffy until night warms into morning and they're back in the parking lot of their hotel. Outside their rooms, she reaches over, touches Buffy's arm.
"Gets easier if you let a little bit of it go, you know," Faith says, and even she can hear how timid she sounds. How shy she is, trying to teach Buffy something that matters.
B's looking down, her slight jaw all clenched tight, and Faith thinks for a minute she isn't going to say anything, until she looks back up, eyes green and flat.
"Which part should I let go of? The parts where I killed or the parts where I was killed or maybe the parts where I just watched people die?" she asks, voice sharp and brittle and hard.
Faith flinches back, holds her hands up in surrender, looking down. "Hey, sorry, I shouldn't have - "
"I want to," Buffy interrupts in a near whisper, and now she sounds soft and lost. Faith looks back up again, and Buffy takes a step toward her, all that tension seeming to just bleed off until Buffy looks just as small as she really is - and maybe younger, too.
"I really want to. I just. Don't know how," she admits, and Faith smiles a little, hesitantly, bites her lip.
"Maybe I could. Maybe I could try and show you or help your or something? I mean, not like I'm some kind of expert or anything, but I got practice with this kind of thing, you know? Kinda like AA or something, right?" she offers, even shyer than before, and Buffy smiles back, brushes her fingers over Faith's.
"Maybe that'd be good," Buffy says, before turning away and letting herself into her room. The door closes behind her with a very final sounding thud. Faith stands there a little longer outside Buffy's closed door. She breathes the dry air deeply, and stares out at the desert in the grey time before the sun rises.