Disclaimer: What do I own? Nothing. What does Joss own? Everything.

Summary: What if, the summer Buffy was dead, the Watchers brought Faith back to guard the Hellmouth?

Author's Notes: My very first novel-length fanfic. Poorly plotted, the villains aren't as good as I'd like--but it has some shining moments, in my opinion.

Sometimes, jail could be a redemptive experience.

At least that was what Quentin Travers sincerely hoped, right now, sitting and waiting for Faith to join him in the stiflingly hot visiting room. Every ounce of instinct he had told him this was a very bad idea, one that could easily get him killed, or worse.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and the raven-haired Slayer stepped into the room. She looked blankly at him for a long moment, then turned to leave.

"I have a release order for you right here," he said loudly, trying to keep her attention. He could have just let her go, but he wasn't unnecessarily cruel.

She froze. "A release? So you can drag me back to London? Kill me?" she asked coldly. She didn't turn to face him, but he had no doubt that she could hit him without turning to look and see where he was, that he would be very dead if she decided to kill him. He wished he could have sent somebody else to do this, but who could he trust with something this delicate?

"Buffy is dead," he said, and Faith flinched.

"B bought it again, huh?" she asked as flippantly as she could manage. "Great. Fine. So another chump got called. Go bother her." The muscles in her back gave the lie to her words, locking up solidly, showing the tension so thick in her voice. The anger, the grief, the things unresolved between the two girls.

"There is no new Slayer," replied Quentin calmly. Well, this was going quite well, actually. In his mind most scenarios had either involved her screaming and not listening or diving through the plastic barrier and trying to kill him, turning her inner rage on him.

Which was why he had a tranquilizer pistol in one pocket. One that he was certain would be almost no use if she lost it completely, but one that was his only hope of surviving if she did lose it.

"No new Slayer?" asked Faith. Now she turned her head slightly, looking at him in disbelief.

"When Buffy died the first time, the line passed from her," said Quentin. "Her subsequent death did not call another Slayer. Only your death can call another Slayer."

She processed it, hearing the unspoken threat. "Is that why you're here? To kill me?" There was bravado in the words, but also a certain amount of fear hiding behind it.

Quentin sighed. "That remains to be seen, Faith."

She arched an eyebrow grimly. "Oh?"

"It depends on you," he said firmly. He glanced at the sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him. "We're giving you a second chance." The words were like ash in his mouth.

"So who's twisting your arm?" she asked, actually crossing the room and sitting down opposite him. He glanced at her in surprise.

"Let's be clear; if it were up to me and the more conservative elements within the Watchers, there would be no second chance. But we have a great need for you now. Buffy was facing a Hell-God when she died, and we need a Slayer to fight that. If you die, a new, inexperienced Slayer will rise. We don't know at this time if the Hell-God is still active--Rupert Giles reports that it is dead, but how does one truly kill a God? If it is still active, we can't risk activating a new Slayer. According to the reports of Wyndham-Pryce--"

Faith arched a slim brow. "Even ol Wes?"

"He says that you have a desire to reform."

She shrugged. "And you're going to Watcher me all up and send me into the field?" she asked, her eyes boring into him.

"That is the plan." He replied.

She leaned back slowly. "And if I don't you'll just leave me here to rot?"

Quentin hesitated, but then decided honesty was the best policy. Only because he was almost certain she would hear a lie, and probably tear his lungs out for it. She would have to be stupid not to hear the plain truth behind his words. His palms were sweaty, he noted distantly. "The Hellmouth needs a Slayer. If you cannot guard it, then we must... activate... a new Slayer."

She blinked, all too aware what that meant. "Okay." She flashed him a wide, sardonic grin. "I'm in, then."

He stood up. "Good. I'll file the papers, and you should be out by tonight. I have your new Watcher waiting to escort you to Sunnydale."

Faith let the guards take her back to her cell, fighting down any feelings of nausea. Holding back any tears. Not showing any pain, or any fear. In a place like that, you could get killed for any one of those.

Weakness was not tolerated.

Buffy was gone, and just like that everything came flooding back to her. Everything she thought she'd already gotten over. Every little pain, every little time she'd hurt Buffy.

Stolen her life.

And now she had to go live that life she'd tried to steal. Had to go back and fight the good fight, face all of B's friends, and the look on their faces as she once again came back and stole Buffy's life.

It wasn't going to be easy.

Sunnydale, five minutes later.

Giles nodded. "Yes, I understand." He said, then hung the phone up. "Faith has agreed," he said to his lone companion, exhaling. "Her new Watcher will bring her out here later today."

Spike sat in the opposite corner, watching the former Watcher. He was silent, his face devoid of anything remotely human. He couldn't have made a more perfect mask out of the face by letting the demon out.

Giles considered the vampire. "Where's Dawn?" he asked, finally, avoiding any deeper questions. There wasn't an ounce of trust for the vampire in him, but there was too much need, too much hanging on this, for him to alienate the creature.

"School," said the vampire. "Gets out in half an hour."

"Xander?"

"At work."

"Anya?"

Spike tilted his head slightly, a very human gesture. One so very out of place on that particular creature. "Demon-girl should be on her way to the Magic Box," he decided finally. "Unless she's running late again."

"Willow and Tara?"

He could almost see their class schedules floating across the vampire's eyes. "They're in Mythology. They have a Wiccan group tonight." There was almost a flash of some emotion in his eyes, but he buried it.

Giles considered choking the vampire to try and get some of his former life into him, but decided against it. Perhaps it was better to have the vampire grieve like this; less destructive than some of the other things he might do to express his sense of loss.

"Plan of action?" asked Giles. He hated relying on the vampire like this, but when you came right down to it Spike remembered everything, every little detail, especially the hateful ones, and he was much better than Giles at pretending normalcy. It was that or start writing everything down, and Giles hated to do that.

"You pick up the Bit. I'll be lurking around the house when you get home." Spike touched the side of his head. "The whelp will probably want to patrol. Tell him a full 'scooby' meeting tonight. Tell them all about the crazy bird coming back to us."

Giles nodded. "I'll do that. Er...will you need any money for blood?"

Spike looked up at him, and Giles already knew the answer. "No," said Spike.

Giles cringed. It felt somehow wrong to offer money for Spike's help, wrong to offer Spike money at all, on several levels. First, because Spike offered his help freely, and offering money was debasing it.

Secondly, because Spike was a monster, and Giles knew that he shouldn't have done anything with Spike except stake him.

Except that Spike had been helpful. Beyond helpful. Every night he patrolled with them, and even acting the way he was now he was more a warrior than any of them, more than a match for any of them, with vampiric strength and those terrible eyes that saw every weakness. He watched Dawn, when none of them could. He calmed Dawn, when none of them could. Comforted her.

He did everything they couldn't. He was just a monster, just a vampire, Giles had to remind himself.

He left without another word to Spike. Spike left too, heading for the entrance to the sewers.

Considering Buffy's death and other recent events, Giles thought that they all took the news about Faith rather well.

Willow's eyes hardened. "I'll kill her!" she muttered. Tara touched her shoulder soothingly, and the witch just glared at her.

Xander's eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally he just shrugged. Anya glanced at him, surprised, not understanding.

Dawn scowled.

Spike, of course, already knew. But even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have shown anything. He just sat in the darkest corner of the room, keeping his face hidden.

Giles nodded calmly. "There's no reason we should, er, have any troubles with her. With her here at least the burden of patrolling will be lifted from our heads."

And I'll be finally left without any shred of a mission, he added to himself.

Xander shook his head. "No, no troubles. She just went crazy last time and tried to kill us all. Me, especially." Anya's eyes widened.

"I don't like this plan!" she blurted out.

Giles coughed. "It's been done. She should be here in a few hours."

The walk out of the prison was longer than it had any right to be, all things considered. Out through the courtyard, now on the right side of the chainlink fence, wearing the clothes she had arrived at prison in. Through the large gate, past the guard standing there with a wary hand on his gun. The guard escorting her out stopped there, glaring down at her, and turned back.

She took a deep breath of the air, closing her eyes for a second.

"Any different than the air inside?" asked a British voice from her right.

"No," she said. "But I've been holding my breath since you people said you'd get me out, and that was this morning." She glanced at the Watcher, frowning slight. He appeared to be older than she had expected, with short-cropped white hair. His eyes were different colors. One was a light blue. The other was a milky white, and there was a scar under the eye. He wasn't wearing tweed, for which she grateful, but he was wearing a black suit.

"Ah. I'm Peter Gwinn." He extended his hand.

She glanced at it, debating whether or not to take it. She knew she should, trying to get off on a good start and all that, but somehow she just couldn't offer it to him. Couldn't reach out.

He gazed at her for a moment, then glanced at his hand and withdrew. "Shall we go? My car is right there."

She followed him to the car. "Yeah, let's book. You got us a place in Sunnydale to stay?"

"Indeed."

The seats were leather and roomy, and she leaned back into it, wondering what they had told this Watcher she had done, wondering what he knew about her.

They headed for Sunnydale, and every step closer they took felt like a curse to her.