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Buffy and I collapse on the bed for a well-earned break. We've been moving things to the basement, organizing the closet, and cleaning out drawers. Making room for my stuff in Buffy's room. Not that I have any stuff to speak of. Since I can't go out shopping, I'm stuck wearing what I went to prison in. But this activity is important to Buffy. She wants to help me so bad, just like Dawn, and she can't. So it's important to be doing other stuff that makes it seem like I'll be staying.

She looks at the clock. "Almost eight. Time to gather the troops!"

"Patrol? Do you have to?"

"I've skipped two nights. I have to. And Dawn's coming, and we're meeting Willow and Tara and Xander and Giles. The whole gang!" She looks at me, hoping I'll be jealous and want to come. And I am a little jealous. But mostly I'm afraid. Not just for me–I'm afraid to let her go do what scares me so much.

"I don't want you to go. Or Dawnie either!" Or Willow or Tara, or Xander...

"You still don't believe Dawn can fight, do you? I've trained her well. She can take care of herself. And so can I, baby."

I shake my head. "It's too dangerous!"

She kisses me, and I seize the opportunity. I roll on top of her and get into it. Soon I have her shirt unbuttoned and her pants halfway down.

"Baby!" she gasps when I allow her to breathe. Her hands slip inside the back of my pants, pulling my pelvis into hers. "You sure you wouldn't like to try that instead?" She nods at the long box on my nightstand. Her anniversary gift to me, opened but never used.

"I love it, B, but I don't need that kind of toy to get hot for my girl!"

My fingers find her wetness. She follows my lead and finds my... not-so-wetness.

She rolls me gently aside. Her eyes shine with tears and she clenches her jaw angrily, looking up at the ceiling, not at me. "I know what you're doing."

"Just trying to do my duty as your wife, B," I lie. Bad choice of lie.

"If you think you have to have sex with me out of some obligation, then that makes me sick. But that's not what's going on here, is it?"

I don't answer. What can I say?

"You think I'll blow off patrol and stay here to do the nasty with you. You're trying to have sex with me just to make me do what you want!"

I feel like shit. "I'm just afraid, Buffy."

"Well making love means something to me. But only when it means something to you too."

"It does. It did. I mean... I'll probably want to again sometime... it's just... you know you could die tonight! You could!"

Her arm is tense when I touch her. She's so deeply hurt. I know she's been feeling really rejected, and now I've given her a slap in the face she won't soon forget. I tricked her about something that should always be honest and beautiful.

Maybe we just can't have sex anymore. Maybe a big lock, a crappy trailer and a time limit are the only way my body can hunger for her that way.

She gets up to leave, pulling a knit cap over her hair. "Yes, I could die tonight, Faith. So could Dawn. Anyone could, any time." It doesn't scare her? Is it because she's died already, twice? Doesn't it scare her to be taken from me? Is fearing for my wife's life just some little thing?

It seems like all we can do is hurt each other anymore. It was better when I was in prison.

"I'm sorry, Buffy." As usual.

"It's OK."

She leaves quickly. Not storming out... she leaves so that I don't see her cry.

I call after her. "Be careful, Buffy!" And then a whisper to myself. "Please don't die."

 

---

 

I waited and waited, but Buffy didn't come back. Or Dawn. I called the Magic Box in case the gang was there for some reason. No answer. Eventually I drifted into a fitful sleep.

Buffy wasn't in bed in the morning, either. But she must have come back. I found her downstairs with Dawn. She was very quiet. Didn't respond much to anything. Rushed out the door with Dawn to go to the school.

Is she angry? Guilty? Worried about some new threat from last night's patrol? She's alive, at least. I called her at work to talk, but I chickened out, afraid to know how she feels about me after last night. Instead I asked her if she thought I could get a job at the high school. She checked, and there aren't any openings I could qualify for. I think she's still mad. Otherwise, wouldn't she have said it would be cool to work in the same place, or something like that? But she hardly said anything.

I've been spending the day on the phone, calling numbers from my parole officer and trying to get interviews I could never go to. Haven't gotten any anyway. I can lift stuff, I can fix cars, I can build web sites, I can work in a factory... lots of things I could do. But nobody wants to hire someone with my record, and I don't blame them. And the one thing worse than not getting a job will be when and if I do get an offer. Turning down a job could be a one-way ticket back to prison, if the parole board wants to get strict. So I don't really try that hard to get an offer.

The phone rings. About a job? I hope not.

I pick it up and choke on my words. "Hello... Buffy's... Summers... Um... hello." Ugh. How do people answer the phone? Like if you live in a house, and someone calls the house, what are you supposed to say?

"Hello it's Xander um hello."

"Xander! Nobody's home. Buffy's at school still."

"I figured. I kinda wanted to talk to you. How's life outside the big house?"

"Wish I could tell you."

"Look, Faith, I just wanted you to know I had lunch with Buffy today. She broke down. I mean really broke down. It was scary."

"I know she's mad at me."

"Faith, she's not mad at you! She's terrified. She thinks you're not going to get a job and you're going to go back and serve out your full sentence! And she thinks you don't know how much she cares."

I stay silent, feeling pretty bad. She's not mad at me. She should be, but she's not. She loves me no matter what.

"I know she does. Deep down, I know."

"Then take it from someone who knows how to screw these things up–a three-time Olympic gold medallist in hurting people I love. Tell her. And get a job. I don't care what it takes. It seems like I've spent half my life trying to stop people from hurting Buffy. And now I see this coming, you leaving her, and her falling apart... Faith, I can't watch that happen!"

"I know, Xander. I've been trying to just open a curtain all day, just an inch, and I can't. I hate myself for it, but I can't." I think about all the things I can't do. Go outside. See the garden Dawn made for me. Get a job. Slay. Spar with Buffy. Make love. "I'm the most awful wife ever."

"You're great for her. You're the only person I can imagine her being with for a lifetime. You're the perfect wife, for Buffy. That's why you have to stay free. You just... have to."

 

---

 

Knocking.

"Who is it?"

"Giles."

"Wait a little before you come in."

I've got this down to a science. I vanish into the kitchen, wait for the door to open and close, and then come out to greet Buffy's Watcher. "Thanks for coming, Giles. There isn't anybody else who can help."

"I'll do what I can. Buffy's been very worried about you."

"I guess you know the whole story, then."

"I think so. And there are things that can be done, rituals that can be performed, to help a Slayer find her focus, her strength, and renew her energies. Unfortunately they require travel. The closest sacred place is hours from here, out in the desert. Here and now, the only thing I can offer you is advice and experience. Which, thanks to the Watcher's Diaries, goes back quite far."

"You've been in touch with the Council?"

"They have called twice. As far as they are concerned, I am now your Watcher as well as Buffy's. They are anxious to know how well you have returned to your duty. But I have not answered their questions. I don't know what to tell them yet, and it's up to you whether I tell them anything at all. I owe them nothing."

"Tell them I want to undergo the trial. The one I would have had when I turned eighteen. I want the injection, and I want to be taken to a place with no escape, and be locked up with a really nasty vamp!"

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Can you get the potion from them?"

"Probably. But I firmly oppose that trial. It's a stupid risk, even for Buffy, and even more so in your... condition."

"Just get me the injection and I'll do it my own way, then. I'll go out on patrol without my powers. Or I'll invite a vampire in here! Whatever."

His eyes narrow. After a long moment, he sighs. "Faith, I don't want you to take this the wrong way. But I sense that you are not being entirely honest with me. You can be honest with me, and I think it would be best if you were."

"What? I want the trial! I'll be fine. I think I'm about ready to fight again anyway. Just get me the injection!"

"I won't be a party to anything so senseless. So you may as well tell me what you really want."

I roll my eyes and stay silent for a long time, not meeting his eyes. But I can tell he's never going to buy the trial thing. "OK. I want the injection for Buffy. I don't want her to be a Slayer anymore either."

Giles frowns, almost angrily. "Faith, if you want her to understand what you're going through right now, being unable to slay will barely scratch the surface."

"I don't want her to understand." A tear rolls down my cheek. "I want her to live. I want us to live. She's done so much. She's died! She shouldn't have to be the Slayer anymore! She should just get to live her life!"

He looks down, embarrassed but sympathetic. "Faith, the injection isn't magic. It's only a drug. It wears off on it's own. And even if you persuaded her to give up her powers, she would still be a Slayer. It's her destiny. And yours. Nothing can change that. The Call is older than history. You both know it."

"Then it's someone else's turn! Someone else should be called!"

"Someone was."

Kendra. And then me. "But I can't be a Slayer. I can't, I can't, I can't!"

"Perhaps you can't slay. I'm in no hurry to place blame on you for this crisis you face. But you are a Slayer. You are the Slayer."

I clench my jaw, resolved. "Then I need to die. I need to call a new Slayer so Buffy can retire. I love her so much, Giles, and there's so much we want to do! Look me in the eyes and tell me you think we'll both be alive in five years! In ten!"

I can tell I've hit a nerve, but his expression darkens further. "Say you call a new Slayer. Change some stranger's life forever, not by destiny, not be the natural order of life and death, but by your whim–however selfless your motives. What will Buffy's life be without you? How will she feel if you die in some misguided attempt to spare her?"

"I know. I want to die and be brought back. Call a new Slayer and then just be with Buffy forever."

He sighs. "You can't just go to a doctor and ask for a near-death experience. And you can't stop Buffy from being a Slayer. You know her better than that. That's why you're asking me before you've asked her."

"Look at me," I say softly. "I stopped. She can too."

"No, Faith. She can't. Because she's not afraid."

"Just help me! Please, Giles! Call the Council, pull some strings! Get me a doctor who will help me die and come back! You can't tell me the Council hasn't considered doing that!"

"You and Buffy deserve the greatest happiness. And perhaps the Council does have such a plan. But I won't help you risk your life. And I won't call a Slayer who's time has not truly come. And furthermore, I won't help you try to make Buffy something she's not. I love her too much. And so do you."

I break down in uncontrolled sobs. "But Giles... she'll die! Even if I could just walk out that door and help her patrol every night, she'll still die! And so would I, maybe before her, maybe after! And don't think I wouldn't die a hundred times for Buffy! But whoever is killed first, that's the end of us! No future, no kids, no seeing Dawn grow up! Don't you care? Don't you care that she will die?"

His eyes are shining. "I do care, Faith. It's the worst thing that can happen to a Watcher, but you know I care. If I knew how to deal with that fear, I'd tell you. But I've never learned to deal with it. Not before my Slayer died, and not after!"

"You won't help me!"

"I wish I could." He puts his hand on my shoulder briefly on his way out. "By the way, there's a job for you at the Magic Box if you want it. Just call Anya. We could use a hand."

Shit! That is not a good thing. I can't accept the offer... and refusing a job offer is the worst thing I can do stay free. I hope word doesn't get back to my parole officer!

 

---

 

"Anya... it's Faith... I'm calling about that job."

"You have very good timing! We have lots of new inventory to organize before tomorrow. Come over and we will load you up like a camel!"

"No... I can't take the job. I can't leave the house."

"Oh. You're still crazy? You were crazy before, when you came to Sunnydale. But this is different crazy, right?"

"Right. Different crazy." But the fact is, the fear that fills me is a lot like the fear that sent me fleeing from the vampire Kakistos. Only Buffy helped me through that terror. Nobody can help me this time.

"What if I burned down your house? Would that help?"

"Sweet of you, but no thanks. Look... who knows about this job offer?"

"Just me and Giles I guess."

"Thank God."

"And your parole officer, of course, it was her idea."

Shit. Shit!! I thought I'd have a few days to drag out this job search thing!

I hang up the phone, feeling hollow inside. It's just sunk in that things are gonna catch up with me sooner rather than later. And then it's all over.

 

---

 

"Buffy?"

She comes into the kitchen, setting down a bag of folders from work. She looks at me for a long time. Not with anger, or even worry. With love.

I open my mouth but she shakes her head very slightly. She knows everything I might have to say already. And I know everything she might say. This moment is like when we were first together, so long ago. We don't need words.

Then her head is on my shoulder, her breath is on my neck, and we're rocking slightly, dancing without music.

We kiss, without greed or lust. Only love. It's not the passion we once shared, but it's enough. It's more than enough. It's everything.

"You're late, B. Where's Dawn?"

"I had some stuff to take care of. Dawn went to her friend Cassie's after school."

I look at Buffy, trying to figure out if she knows what Dawn feels for Cassie, but I can't read her expression. So I keep Dawn's secret.

Buffy hangs her jacket up. "What did you do all day? Job hunting?"

"Yeah. no luck. And laundry. And I scrubbed the bathroom floors. And I changed all the beds. And I threw out the gross stuff in the fridge." I hope I didn't throw out anything Dawn cares about. I know she likes to leave things sit and see what happens to them. "Made some crappy dinner, too. Hungry?" Just pasta. Boiling water I can handle.

"Faith, I've seen a lot of creepiness in my time... but you as the housewife has to be the creepiest thing ever!" She smiles.

"Just trying to pull my own weight, B!" While I'm still here, anyway.

She tugs my shirt–the only one I own. "What did you wear while you washed your clothes?"

"Socks."

"Sorry I missed that. You figured out the washer and dryer OK?"

"Dawnie left a million notes down there. She even reminded me to do the washer first, then the dryer."

"I'll have to remember that tip!"

"I think I shrunk something of yours. But it looks like it will be OK."

We sink to the kitchen floor, leaning against the cupboards and holding hands in thoughtful silence.

"I don't know how to fit in, Buffy."

"Here? With me and Dawn?"

"No. This life, being free... job interviews, and neighbors, and grocery shopping, and bills, and..." I shake my head, bewildered. "I don't feel any connection to anything but a few friends."

"Give it a chance, you might like life out here even better than prison." She smiles to soften her sarcasm.

"I wish I could make you understand what it's like. I wish I could understand it myself!"

She squeezes my hand and pulls my head sideways to rest on her shoulder. "You know, it took a while, but I think I do understand. I think I might even understand better than you do. Now, what's for dinner, sweetie?"

 

---

 

I'm pacing my territory, running my hands over objects that aren't yet as familiar as I'd like. Everything smells like lavender. Like Buffy. Especially here in our room.

Buffy's out helping move the stuff at the Magic Box, and Dawn's still at Cassie's for dinner. I glance at the closed curtains. The very thought of the night outside makes me shiver. Especially while I'm alone. Guess I'm pretty well screwed up.

But even if I somehow get cured of my agoraphobia... even if I can get a job and stay free... I'm not going to be a Slayer anymore. And neither is Buffy. We can't afford to risk everything every night of our lives. Not anymore.

Something's not right. I freeze.

A moment later I hear wood splintering, and the door bursts open downstairs. Heavy, shuffling footsteps. A growl so low I can feel it more than hear it. The blood runs out of my face.

It's coming up the stairs! I want to run and slam the bedroom door but I can't move!

A horned shadow looms on the wallpaper out in the hall. I can't even breathe.

A louder growl, a sudden snapping sound, and the shattered door to the hall closet falls into view with a thud. I'm shaking now. Paralyzed with dread and incapable of useful thought.

I try to call for help. "Buffy...!" But my voice is barely a whisper.

More smashing sounds as the unseen creature tears at the closet shelves. Searching for something? Buffy's things are scattering across the floor. I'm shaking in utter terror.

"Dawn!" I call out hoarsely. But nobody's home to save me. I'm alone on the Hellmouth, and the outside has gotten in.

Am I about to be killed? Maybe that's the way out for me. I can't go back to prison and I can't function here. I could never kill myself–too many people care about me–but maybe I could just... let myself be taken. And then Buffy could retire. A new Slayer would be born.

The destruction continues, just out of my sight. Something inside me snaps. My jaw muscles clench.

"This is my house!" I whisper, felling an unfamiliar kind of anger building, and suddenly I find myself out in the hall facing a towering, muscular demon with three spikes on each shoulder.

It growls again, so low I can feel it through my shoes, and tears out another shelf, taking some wall with it.

"This is my house!" I kick the intruder in the side, fueled by rage and not even stopping to think. Then again, under its bony chin, driving it back.

It roars and fights back, slashing at me with long claws and forcing me to jump away.

For something so big and stinky, this demon is quick. It has me against the wall, held by the throat. Now I remember that I'm terrified!

"The talisman!" it roars, spattering me with drool, "Where is it?"

Gasping for breath. "I don't... know what... you're... talking about!" Disgusted and fighting for my life, I kick the thing away from me with both legs.

"Deliver the talisman and I might let you live!" It advances on me again.

I punch it hard. Once. Twice. Again. "What talisman?" I kick it in the chest, and as it falls to the carpet, I grab a sharp piece of the closet door. I press the point into the monster's throat. "Talk!"

"A leather case, bearing pentagrams the color of blood," it hisses. "I know it's in this dwelling! The talisman inside will make me strong! It's of no use to you, human!"

It slips aside fast enough to escape my thrust, and kicks me halfway down the hall. It continues rummaging through the closet, slashing at old boxes and some of Buffy's shoes and purses. I rise shakily to my feet. Seeing me approach, it turns and tears off one entire side of the bathroom door frame, wielding it like a staff.

That does it. Now I'm mad. "THIS... IS... MY... HOUSE!!"

 

~ Continued with "CV-19" ~

 

If you're enjoying this story, try I Have Never Been to Boston. Dawn sets out to say goodbye to someone she loves–but who she knows never even existed!

I always appreciate feedback in my Guestbook, or by email. Reader responses will determine whether I publish more stories, and will help improve them! Thanks for reading! (If you'd like to be notified when I post new stories, let me know.)

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