Generously, he opened his bag of doughnuts and gestured for her to help herself. Faith gazed at the opened bag for a few silent beats before shrugging her shoulders and taking one for herself. She listened quietly to his story, and she had a strong inkling that he didn't mean the War in Iraq. She had done her research and learned that the war was still going on. By the look at him and the way he talked, she had a feeling he meant another war, an older one. She just wasn't sure which, and she didn't want to start guessing on her own. The implication that he was from a time much further away was unsettling, and for a moment, she felt a shock of sympathy for him. She had lost eight years. She couldn't imagine anything more than that.
"Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad," she said lightly, nudging his side gently with her elbow to tease him. Faith supposed that this was supposed to be her turn to tell her story and the circumstances that allowed her to end up here. Her lips dipped into a slight frown as she tried to figure out where to start. So far, she left out the whole ex-con, broke out of jail thing. She figured not a lot of people would be too keen on hanging out with a murderer, no matter how much she claimed to have reformed. "I was leaving Los Angeles, on my way to this town called Sunnydale," she answered finally. "One minute I'm in the car, next I'm here and eight years have passed since then."