Title: Erase/Rewind (7/7)
Authors: Dolores and Faithtastic
This part: Faithtastic
Email: dolores_l@hotmail.com and faithtastic@jturner93.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: Faith adjusts to life after jail and meets a familiar face.
Rating: R for strong language, m/m slash, mention of f/f slash and
drug-taking.
Spoilers: If it happened to Faith or Oz, it's probably here. So general
season three Buffy, season four episodes up to 'Wild At Heart', then 'This
Year's Girl,' 'Who Are You' and 'New Moon Rising' plus first season Angel
episodes 'Sanctuary' and 'Five by Five.'
Distribution: list archives, Dolores's Domain. Anywhere else, ask and you
shall receive.
Feedback: Good, bad, ugly we don't care, we just want it.
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: This is a joint effort, our first such project so please be kind. Set
about six months after Faith's 'Angel' episodes. The title is from the
Cardigan's song on the Gran Turismo album.

******



Hunched over the low bunk, Faith stared at the crack on the wall, letting
dark hair curtain one side of her face. She swayed slightly, tiredness
tugging at her heavy eyelids, and she blinked to clear her vision. It was
starting to get light now, daylight gradually pushing at the shadows that
hid God-knows-what. Insects the size of your fist probably. She had a dim
memory of waking up one morning as a small kid to find a cockroach at the
foot of her bed. Unlike most girls would've, she didn't freak. Just prodded
and played with the damn thing. And she remembered the way her mom had
exploded, finding Faith with a dirty roach in her hand. she'd been black and
blue for a week. But, fuck, you gotta respect a creature that could survive
a nuclear winter.

She'd been awake off and on for twenty-nine hours. At one point she'd dozed
off and woken in the night, drenched in sweat from a recurring nightmare.
Unable to move, like her legs were glued to the sheets, she'd imagined the
flash of a knife and Finch coming for payback, a huge gaping hole in his
chest dried with blood. The Boss had appeared behind Finch's shoulder, his
face hard and clucking with disappointment. She wanted to reach out to him,
beg forgiveness, and ask him why he'd left her behind. He just nodded
gravely to his deputy and Finch brought the knife down with this wicked
freaky blank expression on his face.

The nightmares came every night now and Finch's repetitive words kept
ringing in her ears. "You can't run away from what you've done." But that's
the thing, because most of the time she was too tired to move, to think. She
couldn't run, physically, mentally, she was just being dragged under by the
feeling of helplessness. She knew, in part, it was the medication. Every
day, twice a day, Prozac, lithium to stabilise her moods, and Desyrel to
sleep at night. But she'd stopped taking the sleeping pills because there
was a weird kind of comfort in the panic and horror in those dreams. It was
a kind of punishment, a satisfying kind of payment that eluded her for those
six months in jail.

But, damn, if it didn't look like she was gonna end up back where she
started. Seemed there was an en suite room in the state penitentiary with
her name on it. The cops were making her sweat it out because she didn't
have a fucking clue what they were holding her for, except for 'questioning
in connection with a suspicious death.' In police talk that meant they
thought she'd turned homicidal again. She'd been picked up on the way back
to Oz's place, pounding the sidewalk during the early hours when LA was
washed out and grey and reminded her of back home. All she was doing was
minding her own business, wearing the scuzzy and smoky clothes from the
night before when a squad car pulled up beside her. That blonde detective
had jumped out, flashed her badge and cuffed Faith before she could say
'Cagney and Lacey.' Made some lame show of reading Faith her rights before
pushing her head down and into the back of the car. Next thing she knew a
couple of cops from Sunnydale showed up. Maybe they'd finally sussed what
the Mayor had been doing all along and wanted to place the blame.

There was the jangle of keys and Faith looked up see Lockley, the Sunnydale
cops and an uniformed officer outside the holding cell. "Detectives Thorn
and Newman would like to ask you a few questions," Lockley said, striking a
butch pose with her hands on her hips, making sure her holstered gun was in
clear view. That woman was such a closet case, Faith thought with an inner
smirk.

She allowed herself to be cuffed and went quietly because, fuck, she didn't
want a bullet wound to match that thin white scar on her stomach, a little
memento of the year she'd cracked up. She also knew the cops wouldn't
hesitate in pulling their pieces on her. Soon she was sitting in the
interview room with the Keystone Cops. Thorn was a sweaty, balding guy with
a huge gut that hung over his belly and Newman was thin and gaunt with a
ratty moustache and beady eyes. She could tell, just by looking at them,
that they were out for blood.

"So, you wanna tell me what this is all about? 'Cause I know my rights - you
can't hold me here without charging me for something." Faith cracked a
smile. "And if it's wearing leather pants without a license, I'm guilty as
charged."

She glanced at Lockley as she spoke, giving an exaggerated wink and the
detective shifted uncomfortably. Score.

The sweaty cop cleared his throat, his jowls wobbling slightly. "When was
the last time you saw Elizabeth Anne Summers?"

Faith blinked, her brain still foggy. "Who?"

A file was opened and pushed towards Faith and the smile slipped from her
face as she stared at the recent monochrome yearbook photograph. "B?" She
swallowed, searching all their faces. "What's going on?" The detectives said
nothing, just watched her with interest. Faith's eyebrows came together in
distress. "She's.?"

"Miss Summers was found dead outside her mother's residence two days ago.
The coroner has yet to complete his report but she suffered a severe chest
wound with what appears to be a sharpened wooden object," the thin cop
supplied, his voice cold and precise. "You've been known to have a personal
vendetta against Miss Summers. So, maybe you can tell us where you were on
Tuesday and Wednesday this week?"

Faith was having difficulty separating her thoughts, but that question
brought her mind sharply into focus. "You think I killed her? Fuck, I." Her
mouth clamped shut and she shook her head bitterly. Of course they thought
that. As far as the cops and B's friends were concerned, Faith had set out
to systematically destroy Buffy's life in every way. All they had to go on
was that Faith had hated Buffy, they never knew about the rest. What is was
like to love someone so much that you hate them, to have that used and
dismissed, to be left behind.

She closed her eyes in resignation. "Can I have my phone call now?"

Lockley nodded. "Follow me."

Maybe Faith should've called Angel. He had connections, hell, he'd been
tight with Lockley at one point. He'd know what to do about this. But she'd
thought of Oz immediately, because he was a friend in the way that Angel
could never be. Angel would always be caught up in his own pain, because
everything he did for people was designed to put him that one step closer in
the grand plan of redemption. It was all about him and his destiny, whether
he meant it or not. Guess if she'd been a two hundred and something vampire
she'd be preoccupied with becoming human again too.

So she picked up the receiver with slightly shaking hands and dialled the
number from memory. It was early still and when Oz picked up after the fifth
ring his voice was sleepy and disorientated. "Hey."

"Oz? Oz, it's Faith. I'm at the cop shop. . . Oz, it's bad this time."

There was an infinite pause and she knew that in that moment Oz was making a
conscious decision about their friendship. "I'm on my way."

She let out a small breath of relief as she gave him directions. There was
something about his complete calm that made her suddenly feel a little less
lost.

******


It was hours later before they finally emerged from the police station and
some part of Faith was glad it was dark again. The cops had to let her go
after Oz and his roomie Eve had corroborated her alibi, she'd been staying
at their place and there was no way she could've got to Sunnydale and back
to kill Buffy. A call to her probation officer also confirmed that she'd
been in LA yesterday for her weekly appointment. Without any evidence the
cops couldn't pin a thing on her and Lockley had unlocked her cuffs with a
terse warning not to leave the state in case she was needed for further
questioning. So now she wasn't the prime suspect, it begged the question
'who was?' There had to be fucking hundreds of demons and monsters who'd
like to see B taken out and somehow Faith doubted any of them would appear
on the official pyschologist's profile.

Oz was so typically calm about the whole thing, as if one of his former
classmates died every day. Which. . . they kinda had when he was at school
but this was different. Buffy was supposed to be invincible, she was a
slayer. It was almost inconceivable that anyone could take her out. Then
again, slayers didn't exactly have a long life expectancy.

And all Faith could think was that it should've been *her* not Buffy.
Mostly, what bugged was that she hadn't got to say any of the things she'd
practised, the apologies (sincere this time), the regrets, maybe even the
confessions that she'd shoved down deep. She was just left with this taste
of nausea in her mouth, she felt so damn sick. She wanted to lean over the
sidewalk and wretch until there was nothing left in her gut. Her eyes itched
with unshed tears and sheer exhaustion.

Oz was watching her, his expression thoughtful. "Where do you want to go?"

There was something about his tone that made her think he meant more than a
choice between McDonalds and Burger King. She couldn't go back to the
apartment, not without climbing the walls. She had the urge to get stoned,
to let loose and just allow lazy detachment to wrap around her bones.
Another part of her just wanted to revel in the pain that came from
somewhere deep in her chest.

Faith dragged stray strands of hair away from her mouth, taking comfort in
the chill of the wind as it penetrated her thin clothing. "Let's go, man.
Let's just get the fuck out."

"Where to?" But he didn't really need to ask. Faith just gave him a
half-smile and he nodded in understanding. "I need to pick up my stuff and
say a few goodbyes first."

As they sauntered towards the van, Faith couldn't help thinking that all
hell was gonna break out when they reached Sunnydale.


Continued in One Way Ticket