What She Needs

Part One: A Return

"We're going to have to take measures for her protection, Miss Chase."

Cordelia frowned, for once not caring if she would wrinkle. She ran a shaking hand through her long hair and stood.

"Whatever it takes. Don't rough her up," was her reply. Ever the queen, she did not wait for her commands to be accepted. She left.

In a cell nearby, one Grace Collins, nicknamed 'Rat', paced restlessly. She worried as well. In the past, her cellmates had been one of two things: her bitches, or dead. Sometimes, they ended up being both. She was a big woman, a lifer, and she didn't care about anything but satisfying her needs. Why care about anything, really? But when Faith Lehane walked in, she knew that her apathy had nothing on this girl.

It was fine for the first two weeks. Faith was quiet, she stayed out of Rat's way, and Grace didn't think much of her. She was unusually young for a murder charge, but nothing Grace hadn't seen before. A lot prettier than most of the 'mates, sure, yet she made no move to use that to her advantage. Usually the cute girls went straight to the gangs, trading sex for protection. Grace thought Faith was an oddball.

Then, another inmate decided she wanted Faith as a pet. A girl they called 'Jaybird', head of the coke gang in prison, came up to Faith at lunch and told her loud and clear that she planned to have Faith on her knees for her. The moment her boast left her lips it was replaced by Faith's fist. Jay got away with a couple fewer teeth. Faith stood staring at her bloodied hand for the rest of the break, and when she looked up, Grace saw something different in her eyes. Before, they had been unfocused, which she had taken to mean that Faith didn't give a shit about prison. These eyes were dark with anger. Faith's brow remained furrowed for the rest of the day, even as she was left in solitary for the night.

That was the first night that Faith dreamed. The entire cellblock knew it, too, because she screamed a few times. When she was back in her cell with Grace, she tore apart some sheets and gagged herself at night. It was then that Grace began to respect her cellmate. She was a fucking weirdo, but she had balls.

Another month passed without incident. Faith continued to keep to herself, reading all day and spasming all night. Once, Grace asked her what her problem was sleeping. Faith spoke to her for the first time ever:

"Nothing a rabid bear like you would understand, bitch. Back off."

Grace took no offence. She'd heard worse.

Over time, Faith got worse. She got jumped in the showers, fought back, and went to solitary. There, she dug her nails into her own arms and pulled. The result was disgusting. After that, the inmates named her 'Tiger', for her stripes.

Each time that Faith got blood on her hands, she punished herself. Grace didn't understand. In her mind, Faith was a cross between a pussy and a bull: she wouldn't fight for what she wanted, but she could fuck you up for good if she needed to. For a con, that was practically angelic. In prison, you could be a shark or a minnow. Faith chose to be neither.

The latest crack had been by far the worst. Jaybird, angry at Faith's rejection, had taken her time to stage a showdown. She'd bribed some guards to stand by as she took Faith on from behind with a shiv. Two of her girls had grabbed onto Faith from each side to hold her down as Jay came at her with the weapon. A single, long slice had marred Faith's skin before she broke free and, instinct firmly in control, twisted Jay's makeshift knife into the shocked girl's throat.

It wasn't Jay's death that had caused Grace's worry. As Rat walked back and forth across her cell, she cringed at the images in her head. She'd seen violence. She'd played God once or twice above the prone body of a man. What Faith had attempted was something altogether different.

She'd tried to take her own head off.

She'd nearly succeeded. Her hands had grasped either side of her jaw. She had forcibly turned her head past normal limits on either side. She'd gouged long tears on her face with her fingers. Grace had been able to do nothing but watch and scream for the guards. She'd been rooted to the spot.

And now, in her post-shock haze, she paced.

This wasn't the first time Cordelia had come to visit Faith. She had made the trip regularly over the past few months, stopping by to see what she had come to believe was one of her closest friends, a younger sister perhaps. Was Faith the young one or the old one? It was hard to tell. Cordelia knew that according to birth certificates, she stood a year and two months Faith's senior. But her mind knew that Faith far surpassed her experientially.

Cordelia had first seen Faith at the behest of Angel. She hadn't protested only because she knew that Faith had begged for death from that same Angel. Her curiosity brought her to the prison gates. Her first question to Faith had been:

"What's up with the emo face? Hoping Buffy came by to finish you off?"

Tact was never her strong suit.

"I wouldn't say no if she did," came the sobering response. This was not the Faith she had known. This voice was rusty from lack of use. This skin was pale and fleshy. These eyes were bloodshot. This girl was lost. "I'm past any chance of forgiveness."

"No one should hope for death. Not even you, Faith," Cordelia had whispered through the phone. Faith had just smirked - even her usual cocky grin lacked in luster.

"Tell me how the dykes are treating you," Cordelia had settled on eventually with forced lightheartedness. Faith had caught her humor and smiled just a bit. For Cordelia, that was a success.

The rest of their time together had passed similarly: Cordelia snarked and rambled while Faith stayed mostly silent.

In time, Cordelia had come to trust that Faith was not evil, and Faith had come to trust that Cordelia didn't hate her. It was one of the few things that kept her going, kept her hoping, she told Cordelia once.

"If I can get you to forgive me, maybe there's a chance…maybe I can do right again."

Cordelia wanted Faith to have that chance.

She didn't want to lose Faith to her guilt. Seeing Faith in the prison infirmary again, this time with a suicide attempt, wasn't acceptable. Her hand traced the numbers of Faith's vitals on a screen and Cordelia willed Faith not to die like this.

Faith's jaw was broken on both sides. Her skull was misaligned with her spine due to her pulling it out of place. She had superficial injuries all over her face. The cut on her back was wide and long but not too deep. It needed eighteen stitches.

Cordelia called Angel.

"Angel."

"Yes?"

"Come to the prison."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Cordelia called Wesley.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, who may I ask is calling?"

"Wes. Get to the prison."

"I am on my way."

Cordelia called the office.

"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless."

"Gunn. Prison. Now. Get Fred too."

And so she waited.

Angel's entire crew soon surrounded Faith's bed. Cordelia knew better than to ask how they'd gotten permission to be here. They hadn't.

"When will she wake up?" Angel asked lowly.

"They're saying she'll be out for at least a day or two, so I'm guessing she'll be around in four hours or so," Cordelia murmured. Angel nodded back.

Cordelia stood at the head of the bed, gently parting Faith's hair again and again. She remembered what Faith had told her last:

"Queenie, if you haven't found what you want, keep looking. Maybe it's not at the top shelf of the supermarket. Maybe it's the cheesy bodega knockoff that's twice as good that you'd never consider before."

Faith was right. Angel didn't fit well with her, and she didn't fit well with him. In her own way, Faith was kind of brilliant. She turned food into romance philosophy.

Cordelia smiled. Faith would be okay. She had to be.

Gunn stood next to Cordelia. He didn't touch Faith – he barely knew her. He did know that Cordelia needed support right now.

"She looks like one hell of a tough bitch. I wouldn't worry about her," he supplied amicably. Cordelia didn't laugh, but she slapped him lightly on the shoulder, and he knew that she would be all right.

Wesley held himself taut at the foot of the bed. He fought his fear of Faith with his concern for a woman who was once his responsibility – something he had done a poor job of recognizing in the past. His torture was fresh in his mind, but so too was the look in her eyes as she begged for forgiveness and screamed that she hated herself.

Fred was removed from the group. She, like Gunn, did not know Faith well. However, she could see that the girl before her was vulnerable. She felt a kinship with Faith; she had ugly scars from Pylea that she would never want anyone to see, and Faith looked like she had the same problem. Her arms were riddled with scars between her 'tiger stripes'. The edge of what might have been a tattoo poked out of one on her shoulder. Fred knew what it was like to have marks. At one point, she'd been branded.

Angel held Faith's hand from her other side. He whispered to her,

"We just want you to get better, Faith, can't you see that?"

By the time Faith woke up, Cordelia was alone again. Since she was no fighter, she could be spared for longer. The wheels in her head were turning angrily. She would not stand for this from Faith. She would fix it.

She accompanied the guards as they wrapped a groggy Faith in a straightjacket and led her to an empty cell. Mattresses had been attached to all of the walls and floor.

"We don't have a psych unit," the guard explained almost sheepishly.

Faith dropped to the floor in her cell and shook. Immediately, Cordelia was at her side, asking her what she was thinking.

"I killed again, Cor. I can't live without killing people. It's in my blood, it's in my head, and it's on my hands. It's like I'm supposed to slay myself, ya know? So I tried. I fucking tried. Tell B that, woulja? That I did like I should for once."

Cordelia wept.

"I can't let you do that, Faith. You're not a demon to be destroyed," she whispered.

"And why not? Just get out, Queenie, while you still can. You'n Angel and all'a them. Need to give up on me. Can't you just let me go? Solve a lotta problems if I poof."

"No, I can't," Cordelia stated fiercely, "and I won't. Where did you go, Faith? Where did all of your spark go? I miss you."

"I can't spark anymore, Cordy," Faith mumbled, "not since I lost my marbles. Gonna have to raincheck on the fireworks display. But it's still pretty at night. Between me and you, I used to be afraid of the dark. Momma never forgave me for that."

Faith's eyes glazed over as she rambled, her medication sending her straight to sleep. Cordelia watched her for a few moments before she stood and left the room.

She needed help. It was time to go back to the beginning.

"Angel, you know as well as I do that she'll only recover if she can forgive herself."

"She's not ready to face them."

"It doesn't matter. We don't have time."

"They'd feed her to wolves rather than help her.

"So we give up? We let her die?"

"She won't necessarily die…"

"She'll find a way."

"Fine."

Cordelia always wins in the end.