Trials and Restorations

~ Part 7 I (of II)~

Finding herself having to go around to the back of the house for lack of answer at the front, Joyce looked up at the window through which she had first gained access to the Rosenberg-Rodgers household. Seeing it open, the ex-soldier took hold of the drain pipe using its sideways protrusions to propel herself upwards and scale up the back of the house. Looking down at the clear and inviting swimming pool almost beneath her, Joyce inhaled sharply and turned away from the large drop she would make, should she fall.

Under the cover of dusk, the blonde slipped inside the six bedroomed home, jumping into its bathroom. A little edgy noting the darkness inside the home, Joyce made her way through the small near-mansion.

"Faith," she called, walking slowly and lightly in a bid to hear the slayer call for her. Turning on light-switches as she found them, the blonde continued through the rooms of the upstairs.
Unsuccessful, she proceeded down a level to the downstairs of the house. Bracing herself, the youth tried the back room. Illuminating it, she cried out when she saw the brunette huddled in the corner of the room, surrounded by broken glass.

"Oh my God, Faith, what have you done?" Joyce asked, removing the pieces from in front of the slayer with her foot, to allow herself space to kneel.

Unable to speak, the brunette grit her teeth, shielding her eyes from both the glare of the light and that of the young girl.

"Faith, I'm sorry," Joyce told her, holding onto the older woman. "I'm so sorry."

Throwing her head back against the wall, the slayer wailed out, her cries coming out in short, strained sobs.
Holding tightly onto the brunette, Joyce tightened the embrace gently rocking the despaired slayer.

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"We should call the police," Buffy suggested, opening the curtains and looking out of her living room window.

"Or maybe you should calm down," Scott replied, standing up and taking his wife by the shoulders. "She's twelve years old, she can handle herself. We have things to talk about."

"She's not twelve yet and she's out there... God knows where and you're telling me to calm down? Do you care so little about her?"

"You're asking me if I care little about my wife's daughter," Scott asked. "Of course I care about her, but Buffy when she took off, she left you a message. That's more than most kids. And she's not alone."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

"That's not what I mean," the older of the two clarified. "She's traveling with someone; a woman."

"What? How do-"

"She was the one," Scott interrupted. "She came to our house a few days ago looking for you and she was with someone."

"Joyce came here?"

Scott nodded.

"And you turned her away?"

"I didn't know who she was."

Shrugging out of his hold and turning to him, her disgust clear, Buffy asked, "Does it matter? A little girl came to you for help and you turned her away."

"Wait, you kne-"

"Scott, how do you really feel about Joyce being back in my life?"

"I'm happy for you, you know that."

"You're happy for *me*?"

Exhaling angrily, the brunette rephrased, "I'm happy for the both of us."

"Are you? Scott, do you not want her here?"

"What? Buffy, you're twisting things."

"Am I? Are you honestly telling me that you'd be okay with Joyce being out so late if she was yours?"

His exasperation exploding, the man raged, "You know what?! You want her back here? I'll go and look for her. God knows it's better than staying here with you right now."

With that, the psychiatrist left the home, ensuring he slammed the door on his way.

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Faith looked into Joyce's attentive hazel eyes. She shivered, continuing, "And all those days when they would hurt me, I told
myself that I was taking it for her. That when I saw her again that it would have all been worth it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," the slayer uttered, drained of energy, her voice hardly audible. "It's hers. Everything. All of it. It's hers. They tortured me... because of what I did; because I killed him...and it was all for her." Faith used her hands to mop the tears coming in short streams from her eyes. "She used me," she told the youngster in a whisper, exhaling sharply and audibly before repeating, "She used me."

"Faith, no. She doesn't know. I didn't tell her. She doesn't know."

"She doesn't care. She's always got some boy-toy screwing up her mind and I got caught in the fucking crossfire." The slayer paused, laughing. "She really did a number on me. I did all that fightin' when I could have just walked away." She looked to Joyce, her expression menacing. "I even brought back her kid all safe."

"Faith, you're scaring me," the youngster confessed.

Taking the youngster by her sides in a bid to move her aside, Faith lifted the blonde, forcing her to stand.
"Go home, Joyce," she ordered.

Looking solemnly, Joyce knelt in front of the slayer again.
"This is my home, Faith," the youngster replied, taking the brunette's hand, emphatically clarifying, "My home is wherever you
are."

"You've got your mom now," the slayer told her. "That's where your home is. So, go."

"I'm not going to leave you like this, Faith. I can't."

"I won't tell you again." The slayer paused, softening her tone. "I'll be alright," she reassured. "And I'll call."

No other argument coming to mind, the former soldier remained silent. She looked into the slayer's eyes; so full of anguish.
"Do you promise?" Joyce eventually asked, unsure but aware of her inability to make Faith change her mind.

"Of course, kiddo," the Missouri native assured, avoiding eye contact. "Now get out and make sure you go straight home. My
wallet's on the table in the hall, take some money and get a cab. Or take a key and drive yourself, I don't ca-.. Mind. Turn the light off on your way."

Wiping at her eyes and with a shaky voice Joyce told the brunette, "I'll be back in the morning. Please don't hurt yourself,
Faith. I love you."

Forcing a smile, Faith confessed, "I love you too, kiddo. I'll be ok, I promise."

Nodding, Joyce weakly gestured a wave and left the room, turning off the light.

Sat in darkness, Faith felt more untamed tears stream down her cheek. Utterly bewildered, she cried.

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Opening the front door, a relieved Buffy allowed Joyce inside, "Where have you been?" she asked her daughter, taking the
girl by the cheeks before hugging her.

"I... I was just..." Joyce could not find an excuse.

"It's ok. We don't have to talk about it now," Buffy decided, not wanting to cause the girl discomfort. "C'mon, there's some pepperoni pizza in the kitchen with your name for it."

Following the slayer, Joyce took a seat at the kitchen counter and watched as she was served.

Taking a pizza slice from the box, Buffy put it onto a plate, re-heating it in the microwave.
"So," the slayer started, in a bid to coax the truth from her daughter rather than force it. "Scott seems to think that you were
going to see someone that you were traveling with."

Pensive, Joyce felt obliged to reply, "I did," before looking down onto the empty plate in front of her to avert her mother's gaze.

"Is she from the army too?"

Joyce merely shook her head.

"Okay," Buffy told her. "I won't pry. As long as she's a nice person. Maybe I could meet her sometime?"

Looking uncomfortable, the younger female shuffled in her seat. "I guess."

"Joyce, what's wrong?" Buffy asked, attempting to be as inviting as she could, to allow the girl to share. "Maybe I could help."

"I can't tell you. I kind of promised I wouldn't." Joyce's features gave her away before she confirmed, "But I'm really worried."

"About the woman?"

The youth nodded again.

"Okay, you can't tell me," the slayer summarised, nodding and keeping her tone light whilst putting the heated pizza slice on a
plate. "But I can guess, right?"

Thinking about it, Joyce felt she should agree.

"Okay. So this woman... Did you know her from before or after you left?"

"Before."

"Right," the older blonde replied. "Do I know her?"

Joyce nodded emphatically.

"So, well." Removing the pizza box from the counter table, the slayer knocked over the package she had left there earlier, spilling its content. Bending to pick it, she paused, a realisation striking her as she stood. Looking into the sorrowful eyes of her daughter, she uttered, "My God... Joyce. Who is she?"

"I can't-"

Desperately needing confirmation, the slayer begged,
"Joyce please tell me." She took a deep breath before venturing, "Joyce is she Faith?"

The blonde youngster slowly nodded.
"She came with me to the clinic and she found out from the clerk that you were married."

Near dumbfounded, Buffy could only ask,
"How? No... Where is she?"

"She made me promise."

Locating her car keys, the slayer screamed,
"Joyce you don't understand. I have to see her. Now."

Appreciating this as the truth, Joyce relented.
"She's at Willow and Kennedy's house."

"Stay here," Buffy instructed. "I have to go and talk to her."

"Mom, I don't think that's a good idea. She's really mad."

Ignoring the statement, Buffy gave her daughter a kiss.
"Finish up your dinner and get some rest, okay," She replied, taking her jacket and rushing through their back door.


TBC...

~ Part 7 II (of II)~

The blaring music barely masking the smacking sounds created by the talent less mouth of her prospective lover, Faith pulled away looking into the eyes of the female next to her in the booth of Sunnydale's infamous nightclub.

"Less tongue," she whispered to the woman. When the blonde nodded, Faith took her by the jaw, drawing her mouth closer and kissing her.

Having missed the intimacy that she had been unable to enjoy for so long, the slayer slipped her hand from the position it had acquired on the girl's thigh and held her by her bare mid-section. Breaking their contact, the blonde whispered, "Faith, I'm really wet," taking hold of the slayer's arm, intent on showing her.

Pulling away, Faith took hold of the drink in front of them. Downing it, she stood up. "Let's go," she ordered. Walking toward the exit, she felt her latest conquest tug on her arm.

"My sweater," she remembered.

"I'll be here," was all the slayer would say, scanning the perimeter of the club. Waiting, she turned, obstructing the entrance of one of the regulars.

"'Scuse me," she asked, walking past the dark beauty.

Inhaling and approving of his scent, Faith glared at the brunette, holding his own gaze.

Mouthing a, "Hi," and with a smile, the brunette carried on walking, making his way inside. Her curiosity piqued, the slayer followed the man who was walking in the direction of the bar, crossing the dance-floor after him.

Dressed in the tightest leather trousers she could borrow from Kennedy's closet and a shirt that left little to the imagination,
Faith found herself shimmying between a dancing couple. Pressing herself against the elated male of the pair, she laughed as his
expression quickly changed under her shove, as the slayer stole his dance partner.

Shaking his head at the woman's audacity, the six-foot tall stranger watched as the femme took his ex-partner by the hips, dancing with her. Unwilling to cause a riot, he decided to leave her to it. Watching as the scuffle caused her target to turn to her in his seat at the bar, Faith kept eye contact with him as she gyrated on the dance floor. Smiling at his visible excitement, the brunette left the dance-floor and made her way to him, leaving her startled dance partner in her wake.

Approaching the bar next to her mark, she leant over it. Purposely exposing her midriff whilst doing so, she beckoned the bartender.

"That was not unpleasant," the brunette complimented, the observation a drastic understatement.

Ignoring the comment from the stranger, Faith asked for, "Another beer - iced."

"It's on me," she heard from behind her. With an added, "And can I get a Tequila?"

"Sure," the bartender replied.

"Save your money, man," Came Faith's reply to the offer as she took her beer. "I'm leaving."

"Not on my account, I hope."

"If you must know," Faith told him. "It's not. But let me save you some time and tell you that you're not going to get into my pants."

"Whoa," the stranger replied. "That's not even close to what I hoped to do." He raised his left hand, pointing to his third finger and
showing his wedding ring. "I just thought I'd buy a beautiful woman a beer."

"Uh-huh. So if you're not interested, why does it matter that I'm beautiful?"

Smiling, the man placed his hand over his heart. "Why don't we start over? Hi, I'm Scott. I'm only sat here because this is the only place that you can get alcohol in Sunnydale at this time." He prompted, "Now you."

Putting the name to the face, she grinned. "Thanks for the drink."

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, as the slayer sat next to him. Turning to her and looking as if in a bid to remember the sexy brunette, the married man asked, "Have we met?" Realising himself, he laughed. "I'm sorry that sounded like such a line. Let me rephrase,
I feel like I'm having a bar deja-vu; like I've bought you a drink before."

"We've never met," the slayer replied. Satisfied that her outfit along with the layers of make-up and the lack of lighting were
helping conceal her identity from him, she returned to facing the bar and took a sip of her drink.

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"Did she say she was going somewhere?" A worried Buffy asked her daughter.

Joyce shook her head.

Beginning to pace, the slayer abruptly turned to the smaller blonde.
"I don't understand this. How is it possible? Amanda was called. She could have only been called if Faith had died."

"The night that they took us, the doctors made Faith's heart stop," Joyce explained. "They wanted you to scare you, so that you wouldn't come and look for us." The youngster looked down, unable to keep eye contact with her mother.

Sitting on her bed beside her child, Buffy took the eleven year old's hand.
"Is that what you think? That I stopped looking for you?" She asked. "Joyce, I looked everywhere, contacted the police, the
government. They just denied that the Initiative even existed and told me that I was crazy. I had lost my baby girl and the love of my life and everyone was just telling me to let go. Eventually I just shut down. I just hoped that one day, when you were old enough that you would come back to me." The slayer smiled. "And you did."

"Because of Faith. Mom, what are you going to do about her?"

Sighing the slayer admitted, "I don't know. She must be hurting so much right now."

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"No way!" Faith hollered. "She said that?"

"Like I was the one being unreasonable!" I mean, why do you women do that? When I say 'Sure, you can go out tonight,' I mean 'Sure, you can go out tonight.' When a girl says it however, it means 'You go out and you're dead.' I mean, why can't you just say that?"

"Because it's our way," Faith told him, feigning a laugh.

"Well it just causes complications," Scott told her, downing his tequila. "Like tonight, my wife and I had this huge fight and over the silliest thing."

Ordering a refill for the man, the slayer told him, "I know it's none of my business, but maybe if you tell me, I can help you out."

"I shouldn't need help," he told her. "I'm a psychiatrist, this is what I do. Just goes to show that it doesn't matter how much you study and learn about the human mind, as a man, you can never understand women."

"Maybe I can help, give you our side of things," Faith offered. "What's the problem?"

"Okay," Scott decided, nodding. "So, my wife, has this friend who just brought home her daughter from another relationship and she wants her boyfriend to just accept her daughter just like that. But it's complicated you know."

"So what does that have to do with her?"

"She thinks I don't care," the brunette told his drinking companion, guzzling down another spirit. "And I said to her, 'Buffy', that's my wife's name. I said, 'Buffy, I do care. I'm happy for you.' and she got angry with me because I didn't say I was happy for us. I mean, what did I do wrong?"

"Doesn't sound like you did anything to me," the slayer judged. "Sound's to me like your wife's trippin'"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, man. It's not a girl thing, it's a Buffy thing."

Smiling, Scott repeated, "It's a Buffy thing, I like that."

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"Some days they wouldn't let me see her," Joyce explained to her mother. "They'd tell me that she wasn't feeling well or make up
something else. But then a few days later, I'd go to her and she'd have her arm in a cast or her lip'd be swollen or sometimes worse. It seemed like when the soldiers had a bad day, they'd just go to the containment room and take it out on her."

"My God," Buffy uttered.

"And those were the days when she was conscious. Some days I'd be talking to her and she'd just black-out-"

Not wishing to hear any more, the slayer stood abruptly, interrupting the youth. "I'll be right back," Buffy excused.
Leaving her daughter's room and turning into her own, the slayer attempted bravery but could not stop herself bursting into tears.

Stood weeping for as long as she could not control her sobbing, Buffy took a deep breath, attempting to steady her emotion and
display strength in front of her child. Unable to shake the harrowing accounts that she had been told, the slayer's course back to her child's side, was altered by the knocking coming from downstairs. Proceeding downstairs to answer it, she opened the door and let Xander inside.

"Sorry it took so long," he apologised, adding, "How is she?"

"She's fine," Buffy answered. "She's upstairs."

"Okay," the construction worker replied, with a nod. "How are you doing?"

"I'll be better as soon as I find Faith."

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Stood outside her acquired home, Faith led Scott to her front door. "Thanks for the ride. I don't think I would have made it back otherwise, I am so wasted," the slayer lied, taking house keys from her pocket.

"Not a problem," Scott replied. "Thanks for listening. It's nice to just talk to someone with no strings."

"It was a pleasure," the slayer declared. Opening the door and letting herself inside, she listened as Scott followed her.

"This is a great place you have here," he complemented closing the door behind him and looking around.

"Yeah," Faith said in a whisper, unexpectedly turning to face him. Inching toward him, she placed her hands on his shoulders, running them down and rubbing his arms. She looked up and into the eyes of taller brunette.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked softly, the question lacking power.

"I thought I could do this," Faith asked, pulling the psychiatrist by his shirt and pressing her lips against his.


TBC....