The empty echo of metal clanging against metal rang through the cellblock, and Faith looked up expectantly. Like clockwork the guard came down the hall and rapped on her door before sliding it open. "Visitor for ya princess ..."

Faith cringed at the nickname. The guard's derogatory tone, dripping with venom, just continually reminded her how ill fitting it was. Crossing her arms and rubbing her hands against the coarse fabric of her uniform, she stood and obediently placed her hands out, waiting for icy bite of steel around her wrists.

'High Security Risk', 'Extremely Dangerous'. Those words were constantly being bandied about around her. She saw it in the way guards eyed her uneasily, the way she always had double the guard of any other prisoner. It should have felt good to know that she struck that sort of fear, but instead there was nothing, just this terrifying blankness eating away at her.

As she walked down the hall, her gaze remained focused straight ahead. Gray as far as the eye could see. "Industrial drab" she had nicknamed it on a day when she had been feeling pretty good about herself. In her mind she had begun to call those 'dark days'. Those days when she would slip back into her old kick-ass first ask questions later attitude. Today, however, she was just neutral; a gray day to match the décor.

The door ahead swung open, and her least favorite guard stood in threshold, a rather satisfied smirk on her face. "Hey beauty, seems like your date stood you up." Standing aside, she let Faith walk into the visitor's room.

A figure sat in the room, but it wasn't the one she had expected. First thing she noticed was that it was too early ... still light out. He just sat there unnaturally still, so tense that she swore she could touch it all the way across the room.

"Wes ..." The name caught in her throat, choking her. Her first impulse was to turn run back into the safety of the emotionless cellblock where she could choose not to feel.

The figure behind the glass brought out a rush of sensations within her. He had looked up when she whispered his name, and while she couldn't yet meet his eyes, she had taken in his face. Faint scars trailed at his lip and along his cheekbone, small discolorations nothing more, barely noticeable-unless you knew where to look.

She looked very much like a deer caught headlights, ready to bolt at any moment, and Wesley realized much to his chagrin that it would be up to him to soothe her. Dear God, he didn't want to be here. Silently he cursed Angel for having to save the world on this particular evening of all evenings, he cursed the demons for attacking, and he cursed Cordelia for having the guts to say 'There will be ski-jumping in hell before I visit that bitch' when he didn't. But mostly he cursed himself and Faith for their present situation.

Finally, after he had run through what he felt were a sufficient amount of epithets lodged at a sufficient amount of people, he managed to the find his voice. "Hello Faith."

That seemed to decide it for her. Uneasily, she took a seat across from him. "Where's Angel?"

"He had to go sl ..." Glancing up at the guard, he took a deep breath and re-chose his words, "Take care of some business. We've had a rather busy week."

"And he sent you ..."

"Well, Cordelia made it rather plain that she would not be coming ..."

"So he sent you ..." She hadn't yet looked up at him.

"I came, yes." They faded into uneasy silence. Which stretched on into minutes.

Wesley sighed. He knew why he was here. He understood the logic of it. If Faith was ever going to trust again and feel that she deserved other's trust, she had to have something solid, something constant to start with. So Angel had become that, coming every Thursday just after dusk, skirting the edge of visiting hours. Only this Thursday Angel had been unable to make the trip. He had been insistent that they could not just wait until the next week.

*"She's clawing for each minute. Just trying to survive an hour at a time. Leaving her hanging for a week wondering if we've abandoned her? That's an eternity."

"Strangely, not worried about psycho bitch's pain." Cordelia crossed her arms and stared Angel down.

"It would be pulling the rug out from under her just after she had regained her footing. Now I can't think of anything more dangerous."

Cordelia snorted, "You're going to have to pay me a hell of a lot more than you make to get me down there."

"Wesley ..." Angel turned to look at him.

"Oh, you can't possibly be serious ..." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I don't even think money could make him ..."

"I'll go."*

He had never regretted two words more, but all the same he knew that this was a necessary thing. Now however he was wondering how much longer it would be necessary to stay before he could manage to beat a hasty retreat. Bowing his head, he let out another deep sigh, and began to rub the side of his neck.

"Oh, God ..." It was more a strangled sob, than actual words, but there was no mistaking the feeling behind it. Wesley's head snapped up. "That's where I cut you. Over and over and ..." She lifted trembling fingers up to the glass as if to touch him, but a cough from the guard stopped her. Letting her hands drop, she lowered her eyes and took a hard swallow. "I can't ... can't do this ..."

Wesley exhaled with relief at being provided with an easy out, "I shouldn't have come. Angel will be back next week ..." He opened his mouth a few times searching for something to say, but came up with nothing. "I should go." Quickly he stood and turned to make his way out.

"Don't ... please," It was wrenched out of her before she even had time to realize what she had said. When she finally did, she slumped over pressing her forehead against the bracelets adorning her wrists, "Oh, man ... oh, man, I'm sorry Wesley ... I don't ... don't have any right ..."

The scrape a chair caused her to lift her head again. Wesley sat across from her once more, his mouth set in a firm line, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Every muscle was tensed, and he looked ready to sprint at any moment, but there he was all the same.

Her eyes immediately went to the spot on his neck that he had been rubbing earlier. Focusing on those faint lines, she murmured, "I've got no right ..."

"No ... you don't ... and I don't have to be here. You're not holding me prisoner this time." He emphasized the words, needing to hear them as much himself as for her. Letting another semi-cleansing breath run through him, he forced himself to at least relax his hands, spreading them flat across the table.

She finally managed to move her eyes from his neck. Lifting her head she met his gaze for the briefest of moments, but obviously finding whatever she saw there unsettling, she let her eyes drop back to the table, "Then why are you here?"

Wesley leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling. Why was he here? If he closed his eyes, he could still feel every god dammed hit, cut, slam, and burn. Every night he had gone to bed a little later, hoping to put off seeing her in his dreams. There were days when he would start to train with Angel and would have to stop halfway through because his right arm couldn't support the weight of the crossbow. Hell, there were days when couldn't even walk into Cordelia's apartment because he was certain Faith would be waiting just around the corner. So why was he here?

Letting his head drop, he surveyed his splayed fingers. It seemed that they didn't spread quite as far as they used to. "Perhaps ... perhaps we all have failures ... that we must face."

"Failures." Faith repeated the word, "Well I guess that pretty much sums up me."

"It could. If you let it." He looked up at the bowed and utterly conquered form, of a slayer who had once been so proud, so ready to take on the whole damn world. It struck a chord with him. Granted there were a few sour notes mixed in, but still it didn't fail to connect with him the way she had connected with him when he had first met her. They had been outsiders, the intruders into a group, which had been perfectly happy without them and that had gone out of its way to remind them of that. How had everything gone so horribly wrong?

"Could? Let?" Faith scoffed, and held up her wrists. "I got news for you Wes. The deal's been made. I'm not exactly full of options here."

He shrugged. "No, you're not, but ... um ... I think the options that you do have are the important ones."

"Yeah ... maybe," She cocked her head to the side, turning her face into the sun. For the first time, he noticed how she wore no makeup, causing her to look heart wrenchingly young. "Hey, Wes ... you know what I asked you?" She paused and pained expression crossed her face, "About ... about Buffy and Giles ... you and me ... Did you ever think about it? Do you think about it now?"

He licked his lips and sucked in a breath. What could he say? There were so many whatifs. So many regrets. God, he had been such an arrogant prig, running roughshod over things he had no grasp of. What if he had taken Giles' lead instead of being so determined to prove himself? What if he hadn't tried to arrest Faith and truss her up like a criminal? What if he had had Buffy? Would he now be sitting across from her instead? Was this indeed his failure? And the list went on and on. What if ... what if ...

"I used to think about that everyday. Wondering if there was something I could have done." Well, as long as this thing was being painful, it might as well be as painful as possible. "Was there? Was there something I could have done?"

Faith shrugged, "Maybe. Maybe not." Bending down she ran both hands through her hair. "I think about it a lot ... now. You know. There were so many times. Just so many moments when I could have just said 'Enough of this shit' ... and they would have taken me back. I just keep playing them over and over again, change a little thing there, a little thing here, and every time it comes out better than this."

"The past won't do you any good Faith. Trust me. I know." He looked at her, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. For a long time they just stared at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to look away.

Faith let a small smile cross her face. "Little Wesley's grown up."

"So has Faith it seems."

"You look ... good"

"You look a little worse for the wear."

"Time." The guard's voice slammed down, shattered their tenuous, not quite of this world, moment.

Faith stood and moved towards the door where the guards waited to usher her out. At the last moment, she turned back to him. "We could have been good." She whispered, "We coulda kicked their ass."

He didn't have to ask who. Who else, but their antithesis? The first rate to their second. He met her eyes again, but there was really nothing he could say. Instead he gave the tiniest of nods, and only after she received the indication did she allow herself to be led away.