FIC: Putting the Damage On (BtVS, Faith/Illyria, R)
TITLE: Putting the Damage On
RATING: R
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
PAIRING: Faith/Illyria
SUMMARY: You laughed and called it my “amnesia gun”/ which it isn't/ unfortunately
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Post-series. Written for the femslash_minis a softer world round for brutti_ma_buoni who requested strange, charm, and peppermint. Title from the Tori Amos song of the same name.
Faith found the amnesia machine while scouring the ruins of Los Angeles looking for Angel. It was inside the basement of an abandoned building, sitting on a workbench surrounded by dusty papers-schematics for the machine, some outdated promotional material.
Faith had left the burning streets to come into the building. She went room by room, sword in hand, but there was nothing but dusty lab equipment and abandoned desks. It was a nice change from demon infestations and buildings littered with dead bodies.
Faith never thought she'd say this, but she missed the old LA.
The machine in the basement was about the size of an old-fashioned typewriter, and as heavy. It was light grey in color, smooth on all sides except for a panel of indicator lights on the top. Next to the lights was a single red button. The word “activate” was written beneath the button.
“Huh,” Faith said.
She ran her hand over the top of the machine, brushing off a snowball of dust. The indicator lights blinked.
***
It became international news when Los Angeles fell. Faith had been in Brazil, chasing down some cursed charm in São Paulo, when the story broke. She had broken ties with Buffy and her merry gang not long after Sunnydale collapsed into a crater in the earth; she'd never been one for teamwork, and Buffy's crusade to rescue and train up all the little baby Slayers was a little too feel good for Faith. And it wasn't like there was a shortage of evil out there; there was enough to share.
Faith had been on her way to beat up a potential lead when she'd passed an electronics store. The TVs in the storefront showed a world on fire. At first, Faith had thought they were airing some apocalypse movie-that shit was popular these days-but then the camera shifted to a reporter she recognized from the tube in lockup. The woman looked frantic, her hair a mess, makeup smudged, suit sooty. Faith stopped to watch.
The audio cut in and out.
“-no way of knowing the epicenter of-Los Angeles is in flames-reporting seeing monsters-travel into and out of the major highways restricted by the National Guard-”
Faith's breath fogged the store window.
“Angel,” she said.
***
Getting into Los Angeles with the National Guard in the way wasn't easy, but Faith managed. Faith had spent several years in jail, and several years on a Hellmouth, but neither prepared her for the state of LA. Some parts of the city were literally on fire. Smoke choked the sky. Most of the people had been evacuated, leaving a demon-to-people ratio of five-to-one.
This was hell.
***
Faith, armed with a flashlight, a sword, and a stick of peppermint chewing gum, investigated what was left of the Hyperion. It was slow going; the electricity had been cut off, and there were dozens of rooms to search. She was almost finished with the second floor when a noise startled her. Faith whipped around, sword and flashlight aimed at the source of the noise, a minty bubble popping past her lips.
A girl in pigtails covered her face with her hands, bracing for the sword. Faith lowered her weapon.
“Fred?” she asked.
The girl lowered her hands. “Faith,” she breathed.
“What are you doing here?” Faith asked. “Do you know where Angel is?”
“No. I was just-”
Something niggling caught on Faith's mind. “Why didn't you evacuate?”
The softness to Fred's face bled away. Everything about her became hard; her features sharpened, her eyes narrowed, and her posture straightened.
“It is mine to finish what has been started,” she said in a strange, detached voice.
Faith was rethinking this lowered sword thing when Fred began to change once more. Armor clicked over her fragile body; the pink drained from her skin, replaced with blue. Her eyes became icy blue and utterly devoid of emotion.
In one lightning fast motion, Faith skewered the creature on the end of her sword. The creature's armor, however, crumpled the blade, making a Slinky out of the steel.
“Shit,” Faith said.
“Perhaps you didn't hear me,” the thing said. “I am here to finish what Angel started.”
Faith blinked. “So...we're on the same team?”
The creature cocked its head, birdlike. “If you wish,” she said.
“I wish,” Faith said. Her gum popped against her teeth. “So, what do I call you?”
“I am called Illyria.”
***
Faith took up Angel's trail. She found Illyria a worthy partner; she wasn't the most genial, but she knew her way around an ass kicking, and that was what was important, especially in this wasteland.
One night, after a long fight with a vamp's nest, Faith dusted ash off her pants. She stuck her stake in her belt and regarded Illyira, who was, as always, perfectly composed, even with blood and ash staining her blue skin and matting her dark hair.
“Hey, Blue,” Faith said. “Why are you doing this? You're not really the cuddly type.”
“I am bound by duty.”
“Well, sure,” Faith said. “But I'm on it. I unbound you.”
Illyria waited a moment before replying.
“I believe Angel is dead,” Illyria said. “It is likely. But this possibility is...unsettling to me.”
“Yeah,” Faith said. “To me, too.”
“And,” Illyria said, “I find that I am also unsettled by the idea that you could be dead looking for him.”
Faith raised her eyebrows. “So you're here to make sure I don't die?”
“Yes.”
“Aw, Blue, you marshmallow.”
***
Days passed, nights. Nights stained with blood, days spent searching the charred city for a ghost.
As it often did for Faith, fighting led to fucking.
Illyria's iron grip, her lethal hands on Faith's body. Her mouth on Faith's was cold, but adept. Illyria made love like a snake-slowly, purposefully, viciously. With cold blood. There was no warmth, there was no tenderness.
And Faith was fine with that.
Faith rode Illyria's fingers, like a steel dagger inside her, cold and hard and perfectly aimed. They rutted, skin on skin, bone on bone, blood and come.
It wasn't love, but it was enough.
***
Faith could hear Illyria's feet on the stairs behind her. Faith's fingertips traced the candy red button on the machine.
“I wonder if it works,” she said.