True Faith

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*

Tru slid the last of the nine bodies into its drawer in the crypt and wandered back into the office, where Davis was pecking at the computer. He looked up as she entered the room.

"Nothing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm still here, it's not yesterday."

He paused to consider that. "Oh. Right." He stared blankly at the computer for a moment. "I was pretty sure...nine people, all with the same cause of death, all discovered in the same area..."

"I guess you can't second-guess Fate," Tru said. "Next time, I think I'll wait for my shift to start before rushing in." She plopped down on the sofa, noticing that Buffy had left her bag. Did that mean she was coming back? Tru felt her cheeks warm at the thought.

"I wonder what happened," Davis mused. "Gardan says the police think it might have been some sort of cult activity, due to the similarties in their deaths."

"Mmm-hmm." Tru tuned him out. Buffy had said they should get together tomorrow--and, at this point, it seemed likely that they could, since no body had asked for her help. She thought about Buffy's last words, wondered what it would be like to kiss her. A little late for college experimentation, but--

But what?

She'd never felt that way about a girl before.

The way Buffy looked at her--

The only problem was, she didn't know if Buffy was really looking at her.

Faith. The crass, vulgar, sarcastic friend, who flirted as hard as she could, as long as she could. The leather-wearing friend. The friend who'd gone off to Cleveland with Buffy's old boss. The one, the only one, who called Buffy 'B' and got away with it.

Tru had heard enough about her, in the middle of all of Buffy's stories, that afternoon at the teashop and at dinner.

And Tru? What did Buffy think of her? There had been an instant when Buffy had really seen her--Tru, as herself. When she was doing the exams, Buffy had been impressed.

But was that moment enough to let her distinguish between Tru and Faith? Maybe Buffy only wanted an acceptable substitute. Or, worse, Buffy might think she was over Faith, and not even know that she was using Tru as a stop-gap replacement.

A hand, gently shaking her shoulder, woke Tru from her doze. Davis was standing over her, rubbing his eyes. "Gardan's got another pickup," he said. "Same area as before. He's on his way."

Tru rubbed her eyes and sat up. Davis handed her a cup of coffee.

"It's a Jane Doe, no identification found on the body. Apparently people driving by heard the commotion. They thought it was a gang war." Davis sighed. "Sorry to wake you."

Tru shook her head. "I should have gotten some sleep earlier. My fault."

Davis went out to meet Gardan while Tru prepared the standards room, getting out her implements and pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves. When Davis returned, he stared at her like the first day they'd met, his wide brown eyes solemn, his mouth sad.

"Tru--" Davis stopped, shook his head. "I-I think, um, you shouldn't--it's, uh--maybe you should sit down."

She felt her heart stop, like her blood had frozen over. "What?"

"It's--it's your friend, Tru. Buffy."

Tru shook her head. "No--she had some work...she had a hotel. She was going to meet me tomorrow--"

"I'm so sorry..." Davis spread his hands, a that's-life gesture, a what-can-you-do gesture, and Tru shoved past him, into the hall. Gardan was waiting there with the gurney, covered in a sheet that was splotched with blood.

"No--" Tru started forward, but Davis grabbed her arm and held her back.

"Tru, Gardan and I will do this. You don't want to see." Davis stepped between her and the gurney, but Tru pushed him aside.

"I have to see her."

Gardan looked at Davis; Davis shrugged. Gardan pulled the sheet back.

It couldn't be her. This body was torn apart, like she'd been mauled by a wild animal. Her green eyes, wide and staring, were filmed over with dirt. Blood and mud smeared her clothes, her skin, her hair.

It was her. It was Buffy. Tru reached out and closed her eyes. She couldn't help noticing that the time of death must be very recent, because Buffy's eyelids stayed down.

Tru turned on her heel and ran back to Davis' office, grabbing up Buffy's bag and spilling out its contents. She tossed aside makeup and gum, a hairbrush, Kleenex, bits of trash, a--a stake? Tru stared at the sharpened bit of wood for a second, then went back to her search. She seized Buffy's passport and wallet, and any other papers that looked important. Sitting at Davis' desk, she went through them, slowly, committing everything to memory. Phone numbers and photographs. A business card for a law firm in Los Angeles.

She mumbled the phone numbers to herself over and over again, not realizing that her hands were shaking, her vision blurred by tears.

One day. That was all. But she had to ask for help, she had to...

Tru swept through the last of the papers...a Visa receipt for their dinner...Buffy's fortune. She crumpled it in her hand.

Davis hovered in the doorway. "Tru...I sent Gardan home. If--if she hasn't asked you yet..."

"She will." Tru went past Davis without a glance and headed back to the crypt. Buffy's body was white and still, cold, empty.

Lifeless.

Tru opened the fortune. It said, "In life, as in luck, the third time is the charm."

Buffy's head swiveled towards her and her eyes shot open. "Tru...save me."

And the world dissolved.

Buffy turns and looks up at me, recognition and challenge in her eyes.

Buffy's hand grasps mine and I feel its warmth, its hardness, its strength.

Geese flock over pieces of thrown popcorn. Buffy leans next to me against the sea wall, her expression bittersweet, remembering. She hugs me and I want to wipe away her tears.

Buffy sits in the morgue and watches me take samples, cut hair, do dental impressions. She is wide-eyed, interested, impressed.

Buffy stands half-way out the door, asks me to meet her again, tells me she wants to kiss me.

I want to scream at her to be careful, to stay safe.

I can only watch her leave.

*


(Yeah, bet you saw that coming. But now the really fun part starts!)