"I'm never going to find him here."
Faith stood alone in the desert, and she squinted in the glare from the sun.
"Of course not," Tara said, walking towards her. "That's the reason you came."
"You're not my dream," Faith replied.
"I was borrowed," Tara explained. "Someone has to speak for him."
"Let him speak for himself," Faith said. "That's what's done in polite circles."
The man approached from behind, but did not speak, rather, let Tara speak for him.
"Why do you follow me?" she asked.
"I don't," Tara answered.
"Where is Sam?" Faith demanded.
"You're asking the wrong questions," Tara told her.
"Make him speak!" the Slayer said firmly.
"I have no speech. No name. I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute... alone."
"I'm not alone," Faith replied.
"The Slayer does not walk in this world."
"I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There's trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don't sleep on a bed of bones." Faith glared. "Now give me back my boyfriend."
~*~*~*~
"Don't lie to me, Faith," Sam said firmly.
"I don't know what you expect from me right now," Faith replied.
"I don't expect anything," Sam frowned, confused.
Faith threw the knife and watched it lodge in Sam's stomach.
"Now you don't."