Title: Erase/Rewind (4/?) 
Authors:   Dolores Labouchere and Faithtastic 
This part: Dolores 
Email: dolores_l@h... & faithtastic@j...
Summary: Faith adjusts to life after jail and meets a familiar face. 
Rating: R for strong language. 
Spoilers: If it happened to Faith, it's probably here. So general 
season   three Buffy, season four episodes `This Year's Girl,' 
and `Who Are You' plus first season Angel episodes `Sanctuary' 
and `Five by Five.' 
Distribution: UCSL, Dolores' Domain. Anywhere else, ask and you shall 
receive. 
Feedback: We should bloody think so! Otherwise, what's the point? 
Disclaimer: Faith and Oz are copyright to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 
Kuzui Productions, Warner Brothers and presumably numerous other 
faceless corporations. We intend to make no gain from this fic, we're 
just trying to redress the balance of the fates of, in our humble 
opinion, the most neglected Buffy characters. 
Notes: Right, this was thrown onto the backburner when work kind of 
got busy, so apologies for this next part taking so long. Hopefully 
it won't be this bad in the future. 

*** 


I waited for Eve's reedy voice to finish the last note, and then my 
fingers closed around my strings, silencing them, and the gig ended. 
The crowd, less tonight than in either of the last two gigs, 
applauded. You could tell they were being polite as much as 
expressing their enjoyment. But we had done three nights in a row in 
this dive, and you had to expect diminishing returns. Still, we got 
paid. Not much, which is probably why the owner kept asking us back. 
I think, though, that this is us. Any more gigs here will only result 
in booing at the end at best, but probably halfway through.

At least I played better tonight. I'd dropped so many notes last 
night in a futile search of the crowd for Faith I might as well been 
playing the triangle. Eve had been seriously pissed. Which was an 
unwelcome change; Devon would just have shrugged it off as a bad 
night but Eve was different. I got a lecture about the fact that she 
could get another bass player real easy, that I'd better watch my 
step or I'd be out. She was probably bluffing; but either way she 
wasn't happy. Given that she lets me crash at her place – well, you 
don't bite the hand that feeds you. Or in my case, shelters you.


I'd looked for Faith tonight as well, but it's hard to look for a 
person dressed all in black in a dark club if you're trying to 
remember what chords come next and where to put your fingers. Was she 
there? I don't think so. I think I blew it the other night by 
rejecting her. Not that I think I should have responded, should have 
taken advantage of her. But I should have handled it differently.   
And now? I just hope she's doing OK. Not killing anyone, or fucking 
idiot jocks.


We packed away the instruments and the amps in the van, then head 
back to   the club for a beer. I'm driving so I just order a soda, 
which I finish quickly. It's a scummy place and the smell is 
nauseating. The rest of the band want to stay and drink some more, 
then maybe go off to get stoned round at the drummer's place, but I'm 
just tired. I want to go home. I make my excuses and leave, glad to 
be out of the club, even if LA's air really isn't that much more 
fragrant.


I walk around the corner to the alley where the van is parked.   
Above the fetid smell of the trash there's a new smell, a musky smell 
that sort of   floats on top of everything else. Perfume. I near the 
van, and it's stronger. . .


I smile, because I'm glad she's decided to come back. Even if I am   
disturbed that she got into the van so easy, because I can't see any 
broken windows. I open the door at the driver's side.


"If you want to surprise me in future, don't use that perfume. I can 
smell you two blocks away."


Faith's eyes glitter in the reflection from the streetlamps, even 
though much of the rest of her is hidden in the shadows. She grins, 
chewing her gum.


"Damn, I thought I'd surprise you. Wicked sensitive nose ya got 
there." 


"It's one of the few benefits of lycanthropy." 


"The others being?" 


I pause. "I actually can't think of any." 


"So it's kinda like bein' a Slayer." 


"You have a better sense of smell?" 


She snickers, face screwed up in laughter. "No! I mean the shitty 
aspects sure outweigh the good things."


"You think that?" 


Her face becomes more serious. "My life wouldn't be this fucked up if 
I hadn't drawn the winning ticket in the Slayer raffle, that's for 
sure. I wouldn't have killed anyone, I wouldn't have been in jail... 
well, OK, I mighta been jail, but not on murder in the first, y'know?"


"I thought they didn't pin the charges on you." 


"No, but that's only cuz the Mayor saw to it otherwise. I he hadn't, 
I'd be the first Slayer to celebrate my 95th birthday."


I decide it's best to change the subject. "I'm glad you turned up.   
Didn't think you were going to."


"Yeah, sorry 'bout the other night." She looked out of the side 
window into the alley. "Guess I felt a bit dumb, coming on to you 
like that. S'why I didn't come along last night. Sorry, and 
everything."


"It's OK. I was mildly flattered, which is a good feeling." 


She turned to face me again, a sardonic expression on her 
face. "Don't shit me. You saw a very drunk, disgusting girl and ran a 
metaphorical mile. Don't blame you."


"Hence the term mildly." 


She grins again. "Fuck you." 


"I thought we already discussed that wasn't happening." 


She flips me the bird. 


"So, what made you come back?" 


"Well, we figured we didn't have a clue. So I thought, y'know, we 
could decide together."


"We became a we?" 


The grins fades a little. "Well, it'd be cool. I mean, the gals at 
the halfway house wouldn't really understand the whole Chosen One 
thing. Anymore than your bandmates must dig your hairy half."


She had a point. For all that I want to forget about the lycanthropy, 
I never can. I certainly can't tell Eve or the others about it. At 
least she'd understand, up to a point. "Faith, what I said before 
about not looking for attachment... I meant it."


"Hey, it's cool. This is a buddy thing, like... Dorothy and Toto.   
Y'know, with you being Oz and everything." She's grinning again; she 
must find that funny.


I don't smile. 


"Ah, c'mon, you must have a sense of humour... OK, OK, no more Oz 
jokes. Jeez..."


"Agreed." 


"I guess it just helps talking to someone who knows about the Slayer 
deal. I mean, Angel's cool, and all, but... I think he wants to save 
my soul cuz he can't save his. Puts a lot of pressure on a girl.   I 
figure you're not the pressurising type."


"Not known for my pressure." 


"So you don't mind if I hang with you for a bit?" 


I shrug. "Yeah, it's cool." I turn the key in the ignition, and the 
van rumbles into life. "I've got some weed back at my place."


"Oz, man, I love you. Haven't got wasted in a long while." 


"OK." 


I drive off. 


*** 


The journey across town is slow. We talk a little in the van, just 
about me playing in the club and her not really knowing what to do 
with herself ("Somehow I doubt they'll let me be a cop or a prison 
guard, and what else would I be good at?"). Then the conversation 
drifts off.


So does Faith. By the time I reach the apartment, she's asleep. 


She talks in her sleep, not very loudly, but... well, she's either   
dreaming about bunnies, or... oh. Buffy. Interesting.


The van splutters to a halt, and I shake Faith awake. 


*** 


Continued in Part 5