𝓲 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 ₜₕₑ 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

She stands still for a moment, contemplating whether to hit back. She decides no, because she has about one more chance in her bones before she stops giving a shit. The corner of her mouth ticks up and her eyes, now bloodshot and dark, flick back toward Buffy before she starts to turn back. On the turn, the veins that swim beneath her eyes subside, her features fade back to human but her pointy little smirk goes exactly nowhere. She licks a little blood off the corner of her mouth, bleeding already stopped, and gently tilts her head to the side. "So much for 'on guard', huh? Thanks for the warning."

Faith doesn't retaliate. She kinda wants to know what's up with this, because this isn't a spar, that was an attack. She reaches up to get hold of her chin and gently cracks her own neck joints then rolls her shoulders like she's trying to loosen up. The reality is that she's trying to control a ragoholic vampire's temper. Something in her wants to believe that Buffy was being honest about understanding what went down with her and Angel, that the fights were over and she could move on, live her unlife in some kind of peace. At least where Buffy's concerned, but reality's sharp and loud, and the way Buffy's staring her down has 'I lied' written all over it in stark crimson.

Let’s hope your little friends know where we are.

Buffy hears it and her stomach tightens. Banter? Or warning? Meant to land playful, maybe, but instead it lands wrong. Her pulse ticks up in a way it shouldn’t. She doesn’t move, doesn’t give anything away. Just holds Faith’s gaze, steady and sharp, tracing the shift in her friend’s stance, the faint twitch in her shoulder, the smirk. Something’s off.

For a beat, it’s all silent pressure. The air itself seems to hold its breath. Buffy calculates, assesses, letting her instincts hum low beneath the surface. She can almost feel the old rhythm of their sparring, the one that used to feel like a game. But this? This is different. She knows it, just as much as she knows the next move is coming whether she wants it to or not.

And then — she snaps forward. A quick right cross, testing range, testing reaction. The hit lands with that familiar crackle of power under her skin, the same song it’s always sung. And it feels good. Too good. But Buffy doesn’t pause to savour it. She spins with the rhythm, lining up the second strike before the first even settles. Only somewhere deep in her gut, she feels that prickle. The one that says this isn’t a spar, not really. This is something else. And she’s about to find out just how much.

She steps forward, eyes narrowing on the fresh shadow moving in the dark. Bigger, meaner, all bared teeth and hungry growl. Figures. Crystal-eyes may not be her favourite drinking buddy, but tonight he’s the one not trying to kill her, which puts him in the temporary ally column. Stake twirling lazy in her palm, Buffy plants herself between Eric and the thing that blindsided him, "Okay, mystery meat," she says, voice sharp, "Round two’s with me. Hope you like splinters."

"Then what was the plan? Where were you going to run?" She'd been running her whole life, never coming to rest. Elijah was part of the blame for why this had all happened in the first place and he would always blame himself until… she came to rest. Until she could build a life without constantly living in fear. Of his damn brother. His hand lifted to brush a strand of hair from her face, just lightly touching the skin on her face. It was a feeling he would never forget.

Katherine huffs a soft laugh, the kind meant to sound effortless and almost does. "There wasn’t a plan. Just a few… detours." There’s that glint in her eye again. Playful, practiced. The kind that says keep guessing. But when Klaus’s name lands between them, her chin tips up - a small defiance, or maybe just a defense, "I know Klaus isn't here," she adds, casual, like it hadn’t taken her three days, six aliases, and a few very persuasive threats to be absolutely sure, "If he was, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation." Then, as his fingers trail through her hair again, she catches his hand in hers and presses it lightly to her cheek. Not soft. Not pleading. Just… deliberate. Like she wants him to feel what he does to her, and what she still won’t say out loud. "I came because I wanted to."

She shifts her weight against the bar, steady as bedrock. There’s no challenge in her voice, no heat. Just the kind of steady that makes people listen or leave. "You don’t want a babysitter? Good. I don’t play mama unless I have to. Just don’t mistake a little backup for someone tryin’ to clip your wings."

"Sure. Loads of times." But Elektra would never say it's easy. Abandon family and friends. Never come back to face judgment from them. Go by a different name. It'd work for a while.

"Always something," she says, gaze fixed on the city. "I once had to decapitate a lunch lady possessed by rage and meatloaf. So, you know. Demon dean? Ivy League evil. Very elite." Her mouth quirks. "If you ever need backup, I come with my own stakes and years of experience in demon-adjacent extracurriculars." A beat. "Just saying."

She had a few places that were her favorites, but she figured she’d let Cordy decide on one.

there  was  a  lot  on  buffy's  mind  recently.  none  of  it  was  anything  she  wanted  to  deal  with.  college  was  ...  terrifying.  new,  almost  uninviting,  no  where  she  truly  felt  like she belonged.  maybe  that's  why  she  was  practically  hiding  her  head  in  shame  inside  of  the  locker,  hoping  to  be  invisible   —   huh,  just  like  high  school.  suddenly,  a  friendly  voice  greets  her  and,  oddly,  she  instantly  relaxes,  like  she  can  breathe  again.  buffy  pulls  her  head  out  and  looks  directly  over  at  oz,  frown  drooping  her  lips  and  sinking  her  eyes.  ❛  that  bad  ?  ❜  she  asked  before  glancing  over  at  the  mirror  hung  inside  of  her  locker  by  magnets.  she  suddenly  slams  the  locker  shut  and  leans  back,  arms  folded  over  her  chest.  ❛  is  there  something  i'm  not  getting,  oz  ?  ❜  she  asked,  finally  looking  over  at  @hellmouthisms.  ❛  i  thought  ...  i  didn't  think  things  would   —   change,  so  much,  coming  to  college.  ❜

willow  was  racked  with  seemingly  endless  nervousness,  a  sea  of  worry  with  a  tide  that  swallowed  her  whole.  she  couldn't  control  her  fingers  twitching,  her  stutters,  and  tension  that  held  her  body  captive.  a  lump  was  caught  in  her  throat,  but  instead  of  swallowing  to  try  and  alleviate  the  uncomfortable  feeling,  she  continued  to  ramble  on  senseless  words  with  no  cohesiveness.  she  was  so  distracted  with  her  own  worry  that  she  hadn't  noticed  @hellmouthisms  simply  staring  at  her,  smiling  and  beaming  at  her.  finally,  she  stops.  swallowing  the  lump  that  was  in  her  throat.  her  cheeks  heat  up  with  a  rosy  pink,  slightly  embarrassed  by  her  own  dorkiness  that  overcame  her.  she  sighs  softly  at  tara's  words,  ❛  what  ?  ❜  she  asked  quietly  when  tara  hums.  her  body  practically  goes  limp  against  her  girlfriend's  loving  touch;  finger  tracing  the  crease  that  is  present  between  her  brows  by  her  anxiety.  her  shoulders  drop,  tension  is  released,  but  cheeks  are  still  heated.  ❛  i  feel  like  you  should  be  worried  too.  why  aren't  you  worried  ?  should  i  not  be  worried  ?  ❜  she  jumbled  out  through  a  soft  tone,  hand  reaching  out  to  tara's  free  hand,  caressing  misshapen  circles  across  her  smooth  skin.  touching  her  always  grounded  her.  ❛  i'm  sorry  i'm  such  a  worry  wart.  i  just   —   i'm  new  to  this,  you  know  ?  i  don't  want  to  screw  it  up  by  being  just  willow.  ❜

She knows she explained that wrong. Fuck, she still doesn't entirely know what happened, only that it was the second most terrifying thing she's ever been through in her life. The pressure, the intense heat, the way the haze was so bright it was blinding, moving so fast it nearly snapped the tethers that held her. How the only reason they even found Angel is that Willow showed a bravery that Faith never forgot. How the heat started dusting her, and she's not even that species of vampire. The way Elijah panicked and pulled her back so fast that she almost didn't get close enough to Angel to save him.

She forces herself to swallow, to blink, to keep her voice level even as it drags rough in her throat. "Decades," she repeats, quiet. Like she’s testing the shape of the word, how it feels against her tongue. It tastes wrong. Bitter. "For him, it was decades...." And that explains so much, doesn’t it? The shadows Willow skirted around. The half-truths, the way she trimmed it down, like she was handing Buffy the kid-safe version of the story. The… distance. Not just his, but hers too, because she didn’t ask hard enough, didn’t push. Her eyes soften, not pitying, but close. Understanding in a way only she could, maybe. "No wonder he’s not okay." She looks down, her voice barely above a whisper. "How could he be?"

When she looks back up, her eyes are steady, but they’re heavy too, "He’s still fighting to come back," she says, more to herself than to Faith. "And I wasn’t even there to see it." And yeah, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, maybe she couldn’t have made a damn bit of difference. But that doesn’t stop the feeling. Doesn’t stop the part of her that believes she should’ve been. That it was supposed to be her. And now she can’t un-feel it. Angel, her Angel. Broken in a way she’s never even let herself imagine. And it wrecks her. Her jaw works, tight, and she lets out a slow breath. "Guess I didn’t know how much I didn’t know."

The next words catch in her throat before they even make it out. Buffy doesn’t thank Faith. Not easily. Not often. Not like this. But right now, staring at the person who went into the fire when she couldn’t, who pulled Angel out when no one else could, she can’t not say it. Her voice is quiet, but it lands heavier than anything else she’s said tonight. "Thank you… for what you did. Just the thought of…" She shakes her head, swallows the rest, because if she says it out loud it might break her. Instead, she steadies herself on the only words that matter. "Thank you"