My face, My Heart
Originally posted by kelpyfinners at My face, My Heart
Title: My face, My Heart
Author: kelpyfinners
Word Count: 4893
Rating: PG-13 (for some sexual innuendo and coarse language)
Characters: Faith, Spike, Dawn, Connor - mention of Scoobies & CAngel
Summary: Will Faith go to LA for Chrismas?
Author’s Notes: Part of my own AU/head!canon in which Dawn moved into Phantom Dennis' apartment to go to college. All other chapters/drabbles in 'verse here: Life: An Experiment but it's not necessary to read in order to follow what all is going on
Lyrics interspersed from the Duhk's : "Heaven's My Home"
When I was born
My Daddy said I was broken
The beginning of the end
Of a life I hadn't chosen
He taught me how to give up
He taught me how to work the system
But I never had the time
I never had the luxury
Beep!
Hi sis. Look, I know it’s a long way and all, but Buff-well, she’s not-
Faith craned her neck and peered at the answering machine. The sound of the phone ringing, her alarm, her answering machine - these things did not wake her once she was asleep, but that sound - that sound of loneliness and frustration that seemed to accompany every message she had left on her machine the past couple of months - that one, long sigh followed by a short sniff… it sent Faith’s body into almost complete, rigid shock. She closed her eyes and waited for the voice to continue speaking, begging - trying so hard not to sound needy and alone, almost seeing there in front of her the girl’s quick shake of the head, her hair spilling over her eyes and jarred loose from being tucked behind her ears, the quick movement that told the world she was okay, even when she really wasn’t.
Anyway. The voice was bright, cheerful, too-peppy. It’d be great to see you if you can tear yourself away from all the work and the bad guys. It’s Christmas, you know. …
And then there was a hesitant click, Faith could once again hear the muffled sound of shouts and sirens emanating from the alley outside her dingy studio apartment. She groaned and buried her face back in the pillow. An arm - large, muscular, tattooed, snaked across her back and pulled her into an embrace, a quick nip on her shoulder, hot breath warming the back of her neck. A low voice whispered teasingly, “I thought you said you were an orphan. Is your sister as good in the sack-?”
In seconds, Faith had him pinned to the bed, face down, her knees pinning his legs and head in place, while one arm lifted his awkwardly - and painfully - back and up over his head. With her other hand, Faith traced lazy circles over the man’s back, “Finish that sentence... I dare you.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. Nothing, Faith had found, warned men more than the harsh juxtaposition of physical pain and the little schoolgirl-voice she was still able to dreg up when the situation called for it. The man moaned in pain, his voice muffled by the mattress. Faith was just about to release him and kick him out the door when-
Beep!
Look you, the little bit’s all frantic about this Christmas thing. Making me go bloody tree shopping this afternoon. Had to make some very outlandish threats I didn’t mean to the boy just to get a number for you…
The voice coming through the answering machine was gruff - and decidedly British - Faith was frozen in place. Below her, the man with the tattoos… What WAS his name again? … had stopped struggling, his ear cocked to listen to the sound of - competition? More family secrets?
… Here it is straight, Slayer. SHE can’t take the time out of her busy schedule of saving the world from the big bad - to visit the little bit here for even an hour on Christmas. The witch is stuck on some assignment and the boy… Listen. I know where you are. You’re coming if I have to drag your bloody corpse down here myself. CLICK!
Faith didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Somewhere in her gut she wanted to laugh at the picture she must make at that moment, straddling the back of … Well, his name wasn’t important anyhow… clad in only, she looked down. Clad only in an old Sunnydale University jersey-tee and pink panties (the package had said “boy shorts” on them , everything about her life was economical and strategic, she had bought them for a laugh in an otherwise mundanely-gray life). Faith pulled her hair out of the ponytail at the back of her neck and straight, smooth blonde hair fell over her shoulders.
“SLAYER…” The tattooed man beneath her growled and she looked into his eyes. They had turned from a basic brown to yellow, cat-eyes at the sound of the word.
That word, Her job title. Her name.
Faith smiled down at him, “Nice to meet you.” In a flash, she lifted her knee and slammed it down on the demon’s neck, breaking it before he knew what was coming. She stood up and lifted the jersey over her head, dropping it on the ground and staring down at the answering machine light blinking. Her hand hovered over the phone, behind her she could hear and smell the demon corpse rotting away at an exponential rate. She furrowed her brow, there were always so many things to do, so many tasks that had to be completed. Just as she turned away to find another shirt, the answering machine clicked on again.
Beep!
I’m sorry if I came off a bit harsh, Slayer it’s just -
She could hear him take a long drag from a cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. The sound made her look, reflexively, around the room for her own pack.
- this is the first time I’ve seen her excited about something since-
The silences in their lives made her feel weak in the knees, made her stomach feel hollow.
I won’t drag you out. But I could you know. Please just, at least call. So that we all know …
Faith walked to the cracked mirror that hung over the sink in the space that doubled for a bathroom and kitchen. Hazel eyes, blonde hair, a small nose, white skin, and fine bones looked back at her. Large, dark circles hung under her eyes, the whole small face was taken up by those eyes. The thin… the too-thin body, these days, was hard and white, her small breasts barely filling the small sports bra Faith wore. She sighed at the reflection, the stranger that stared back at her. With a flick of her wrist, the gaudy, gothic-cross necklace she always wore now was on the counter and her face was her own again. Her wild, curly brown hair seemed to be reaching out as far as each tendril could go, seeking space and air and freedom after being trapped for so long. Her body, in comparison, now seemed so much larger, so much darker. The sports bra was now full almost to bursting, a small pooch of a stomach peeked over the top of the boy shorts, which stretched over wide hips and a full buttocks. The reflection was always exactly that, no matter how much rest Faith got, or how much she ate to fatten up the body that felt like thin skin rubbing over hard bones, the reflection got smaller, whiter, thinner… the eyes always hollow and tired. Meanwhile her own body plumped, thickened, got stronger and faster. She felt more and more like she was wearing a wet rag over a fat-suit. It was the only metaphor she could find that made any sense. Metaphors were usually for crap, but in this world - in this life that she pretended to live, they were the only things that seemed to make any sense.
Faith looked down at the cross and weighed it in her hand, looking up at her own, darkly-tanned face and then back at the blinking light.
This wasn’t her problem. They weren’t her family. This wasn’t even her fight. Giles had promised she wouldn’t have to fight anymore. But then Willow had come to her, persuaded her to go undercover, to be Buffy again - the way she had wanted to once. Six months. Six months walking around in that body and she was starting to go crazy. She was no where closer to her goal than she had been three, or six months ago. Xander arranged for her to work within the police department - part of the undercover unit. All of his messages were in a code Faith needed hours of Google searching in order to decipher, most only really making her realize how much of the world she had missed… This city was corrupt from the top down. Demons, humans, reality, fiction: the line had blurred for her so long ago it no longer seemed to be a straight line anymore. She wondered sometimes if it ever had been.
Faith laid the necklace on the edge of the sink and turned back to the bed… the demon, the corpse, the smell had all evaporated. She didn’t even know what kind of demon he was - she stopped asking that question months ago. Faith thanked the PTB for making demons so easily disposable, and sunk back into the bed, pulling the heavy quilt over her. Her bed smelled like beer, smoke, sex, sweat, and dirt. She enveloped herself into it, into the earthy smell and gave a long sigh.
She could go to LA for the weekend. It wouldn’t be a disaster if she left the city for a few days. She thought of the necklace dangling over the edge of the sink and shook her head. This was Her family and Her holiday and Her problem, there was no way Faith was going to-
Beep!
Faith narrowed her eyes at the machine - You’ve got to be kidding me! She groaned and stuffed a pillow over her ear.
Pick up this phone right this instant.
The voice was female and assertive, but not angry. Faith hesitated and then sat up. She heard a little bit of a scuffle and then more voices arguing a bit in the background.
Faith?
This voice was male, and soft. Faith closed her eyes and reached for the phone, “Angel?” Her voice cracked. She hadn’t really been allowed to contact anyone since she got to the city. “Is everything alright?”
She heard him sigh and then murmur something like okay and then Faith heard the phone being handed over to someone else and she gritted her teeth, “Faith?”
“Cordy.” The word came out almost like a sigh and Faith could feel her resolve starting to break.
“Faith. Christmas is in two days.”
Faith smiled, “So they keep telling me.”
There was a long silence. “I sent him to come get you. He should be there by sunrise. You’ll have to drive back most of the way but…”
“Cordy,” Faith interrupted. “You really, really shouldn’t have. I can’t -“
“Mission, shmishion - look, I got Giles to give everyone in the States the last two weeks of the year off. She can do what she likes with those poor girls over in England or whatever… “ Faith smiled, hearing Angel correct her quietly in the background. “But this is America and here, we give our Slayers a break.”
Faith looked toward the necklace, dangling there. She thought of the reflection she had to see everyday, staring back at her, so tired and small. “What about Her? I mean, if I stay in the field, surely she can take a day - “
“No,” Cordy’s voice was resolute. She sighed, “No. I don’t think that would do any good. Dawnie needs - “
“She needs her sister, Cordelia. Not me.”
“Who says those two things aren’t inclusive? Faith? Sister? Sounds like the same thing where I’m standing.”
Faith hung up the phone and stood in front of the mirror, the crack running from her right temple to her left shoulder, twisting the chain for the gothic cross between her fingers, and let the tears fall free.
Shining my shoes
Seems like time for wasting
'Cause this bright sun
Is the only shine I need
They say you only live once
And the lot you get's for keeping
But glory's gonna come
And make a new man out of me
Seconds after sunrise there came a loud banging at her door, Faith stumbled across the narrow strip of ground between the bed and the door and opened it wide. She never locked it. If someone was willing to risk their lives daring that narrow flight of stairs, they were getting in the door whether it was locked or not. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and stood in the doorway, yawning.
“Buffy?!” the voice was husky, incredulous, yearning.
She felt herself suddenly swept up in a cold, hard embrace that smelled like leather, smoke, and blood. A hint of whiskey touched her nostril as a bleach blonde head rested in the crook of her neck, the whole hard body shaking with relief. She pushed at him, she struggled to get away, to be free.
“Shh… shh pet,” he murmured into her ear. “I know, I’m sorry. Just let me…”
Faith relaxed into his arms and let him carry her frail, blonde-haired body to the bed. Let him cradle it in his arms and rock her back and forth. Let him stroke her back and pet her hair. She closed her eyes against his gaze, his raw need. She tried to escape what this body could do, how it could make others feel. She wanted to close in on herself, let this body do what it must, let it comfort others without her own needs interfering.
He leaned his forehead against her own and fumbled at the clasp of the necklace, pulling it away before Faith could snatch it back. He kept her pinned in his lap, the necklace disappearing into one of the pockets of his long, leather jacket. She tried to pull away, but then her face was cupped in his hands and bright blue eyes were boring into hers.
“They should not have asked this of you.” It was a growl. Faith squirmed under his gaze, under his presumption, under her confusion. She wanted to pull her face away, to declare defiantly how it was all her idea, how it was great fun, how easy it was to wear the costume of a Hero.
Instead, she asked the question that they had asked her, though it came out a whisper, part-whimper, a confession rather than a question: “Who else?” He let go of her face and sagged against the bed. She stood up, “Who else, Spike? I’m not seeing any volunteers for this gig.” She threw her arms wide and gestured at the cramped studio, the fourth in only six months, and each one more rancid than the last. With each lead, with each step of integration into the underworld of this city, Faith found herself in smaller and smellier quarters. “It’s not exactly glamorous.”
His head dropped into his hands, “I’m sorry.”
Faith shrugged and looked around for something to cover her narly-naked form. “Don’t be.”
“No.” She looked over at him, his eyes filled with tears and the need for forgiveness, the gothic cross resting gently on his palm, “I am sorry… for before - “
Faith cut him off, kneeling in front of him, and covering his lips with one finger. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to tell him, show him that she knew how much he needed to just to hold on to something, even if it wasn’t real… even if it would never really be real in the way he so desperately needed it to be. She sighed, “She means a lot.” He nodded and Faith stood, taking the necklace from him.
It wasn’t enough, she knew. Her words. Her words never really seemed to be enough.
She pulled a dusty pair of jeans off the ground and started to pull them over her legs, but they wouldn’t fit. None of the clothes she had actually fit her own body. She looked over at him apologetically, “I can’t leave right away. I need to do some things first… And…” She gestured at the necklace. His eyes widened and then he nodded ruefully. Faith quickly pulled the necklace over her head and started rummaging through the piles of clothing that were strewn on the floor. She slipped out of the sports bra and panties and into a red halter mini-dress that hugged the small body daringly.
She heard a small gasp from behind her and turned. Spike was staring at her legs in horror, Faith looked down and watched dark, purple bruises spread over her legs and arms. “Shit!” she muttered. They would fade, Faith knew, bruises never stayed on a Slayer body for long, but she needed this body tonight. She needed it whole and bruise-free, god-damnit. She bit her lip and considered her scanty wardrobe, finally pulling black fishnets out of a drawer and pulling them over her now-rainbow colored legs. She noted a small, purple bruise on her right arm and shrugged. Buffy had been making a concentrated effort to keep her arms and face protected while she… well, while she was doing whatever it was that she was doing. Faith had asked repeatedly and had been told just to keep at the game she was playing for a while longer.
Tonight, hopefully that game would be over for good. The gothic cross swung heavily on her neck and thumped her chest, always reminding her of its presence. Always reminding her why she was good enough to play, but never good enough to be. It’s all they’d ever ask of her and she was getting pretty damn good at it. Tonight, she’d win a fucking Oscar.
She shook her heel into a pair of bright red stilettos and was carefully adorning herself with jewelry when she remembered Spike, sitting on the bed - his face a whole new shade of gray. She snapped her fingers at him, “Do I have to leave you at home tonight, or can you actually be of use while you’re here?”
The vampire blinked up at her, “What did you have in mind?”
Faith smiled and cringed inside when she saw his breath catch at the sight, “A mission.”
When I was born
My face was like the angels
I took my father by the hand
He said life won't be hard now
No, life's hard, I've always known that
I've never been handed no welcome mat
When I die, please don't cry
'Cause heaven's my home anyhow
Faith laughed at a hulking mobster leering at her over her dirty martini and surreptitiously scanned the room as she took a delicate sip. She had nearly uncovered what linked the human mobs to the demon gangs in this city, but until this past week… well, until this morning, killing that demon in her bed, she had begun to question whether there was a connection. But then the man she took home the night before had turned out not to be a man - and that’s when she knew for sure that the end was in sight. She felt as though the answer had been staring at her in the face the whole time.
That’s how they had decided this game was going to work. Them. The Watchers and the Chief of Police. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was going to screw her way up the chain of command until she figured out where the connection was. Faith thought the plan was ridiculous - like something out of a bodice-ripping romance novel or a really old spy movie where all they let the women do was either screw, or die - or sometimes both.
“It’s a very basic seduction narrative,” Giles had intoned while cleaning his glasses with a pristine handkerchief. At times like these, Faith wished he’d just wipe his glasses off on a shirttail like everyone else. Buffy had nodded. Willow had nodded, biting her lip. Xander had nodded… and then blushed and excused himself from the table. “Make them think they’re seducing you.”
Buffy had raised an eyebrow, “I’m sure you can handle that.”
Faith shook her head, “Want. Take. Have. Remember? I’m not one with the subtle. I don’t know the rules of this game.”
“Faith, there is quit a lot at stake here, we need them to truly believe that Buffy has been taken in by them, seduced by them, and wants to be a part of their world. Only then will they trust her… ah - you, enough to bring her in fully.”
“No guns blazing on this one,” Buffy said seriously. “It’s not just about this one city. If I - well, if there’s a Buffy in the underworld, we could make a difference for a lot of people. We could stop it all from the top down instead of just bagging the little guys who stumble across our path. Once you’re in, I can take over operations but… I have stuff ,,,” Her voice trailed off.
A little voice nagged in Faith’s ear, telling her how she was already worthless and dirty: what’s a few more mobsters in her cootch, after all she’s let in, right? After all, this is for the greater good.
“Why can’t I just go as me? Once a Rogue Slayer, always a Rogue Slayer, right?”
Xander guffawed from behind her, “Because Angel’s a braggart, that’s why. Can’t stop telling everyone about his precious Prodigal Slayer.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and… something else Faith couldn’t quite place.
“Faith,” Willow’s voice was hesitant and shy, after all this time - and even with all that power - the little witch was still a mouse when the grown ups were talking. “I know… I know this sucks. It’s basically the worst thing we could ever have asked of you. But…” she looked askance at Giles and he nodded an assent. “But once this is all over, it will be all over for you. You can retire if you want.”
They had all looked so pleased with themselves, as if telling a Slayer she could retire was the best news a girl could ever get.
Faith narrowed her eyes almost imperceptively as a tall, muscular man walked into the bar from a private room. She had been playing poker with him and his buddy last night. She had thought the guy she took home… was it Gary? Steve? … was the hotshot. She had let him convince her to let him walk her home. She had acted the part, simpering and smiling up at him, as if he was her hero for walking two city blocks. And then she’d drugged him. She found the drug months ago, it was of demon-dimension variation, made the user feel like they’d had a long night of Passion. Oh yeah, she made up her own rules to this game. Her bed was full of gangsters who swore up and down she was the best lover they had ever had. She had tried, and probably would have been successful, playing by the rules laid out for her under Buffy's blushing gaze. But that body... it hadn't been meant to be touched that way, she knew.
She giggled at the man seated next to her and clumsily spilled her drink on his arm as she struggled to stand, calling out to the man from the night before. "Yoohoo!!" he caught her just before she fell into his arms. Faith beamed up at him.
"You're drunk as a skunk," the man drawled with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
Faith shook her head and grabbed his face with her hands, "Not quite yet." She looked around frantically and then pouted, "But I was waiting for you both, where's your friend with all the wicked tats?" She gave him a playful shove in the shoulder and then feigned losing her balance again so that he would be forced to hold her more tightly.
The man chucked her chin and smiled, "I thought he was with you last night."
Faith took a deep breath, thinking over this ploy and then decided to go all in. Her lips started to quiver almost uncontrollably and then she was batting her eyes furiously to stop the tears. Within minutes they were in a back room, Faith draped over his lap, crying into his shirt, her heels abandoned on the floor. She wailed about the injustices of being a girl just trying to get by, and how he had seemed so nice but was gone when she woke up, and why oh why does she always pick the bad ones. "I-I bet you're a good one," she sniffled up at him, smiling crookedly.
"I highly doubt that, my dear," drawled a voice laced with humor. And then, there, right in front of her, was the answer.
"Ethan Rayne."
When I die
When I die
When I die
Please don't cry
Twelve hours later, Faith was driving an old pick up Spike had "found" in the city as they made their get away. They'd have to change out cars soon. She peered at the sun crowning over the horizon, someplace shady. Spike snored softly in the backseat, covered with the blanket. Faith was wearing a pair of old sweats and a hoodie that smelled… well, it could be worse. She could still be wearing that old gothic cross and someone else's face. Ethan Rayne. One name, that's all it took and a team of Slayerettes had hit every demon-run operation in the city. Willow and Giles had been keeping tabs on Ethan for years, they finally paid off. All they needed was for Faith to prove he was involved. He wasn't the leader, sure. But the whole intricate mess was now under new management, with Ethan gone, "Buffy" was able to step in. Apparently that's how it works - you want to be the lapdog for a head honcho? You kill the last one and all his lackies.
Faith had handed over the gothic cross to a little witch-Slayerette that Willow had brought over from China. Her parents were crime lords and this girl knew the business. For seduction - send in Faith, for business management - send in the crime lord baby. Somewhere that made logic-sense. Faith didn't care. She was done with that assignment. She knew there'd be another one, whenever Giles said "last one" she knew to be suspicious. But it didn't matter. It was Christmas Eve.
Life's hard, I've always known that
I've never been handed no welcome mat
When I die, please don't cry
'Cause heaven's my home
Dawn woke up when she felt someone else crawl into bed with her, she looked up and saw the sky was almost pink with dawn. Usually Dennis made sure to close the blinds at dawn for Spike's sake, but as he hadn't, she could only guess that the vampire was still out on his mystery errand. She thought about turning to the warm body beside her, knowing from the warmth that it had to be human at least. In her sleep-clogged mind she thought maybe it was one of the Slayerettes (it wouldn't be the first time that one of the lesbian Slayerettes had tried to get Buffy's sister over to their way of thinking) or even Connor - when Spike disappeared for days at a time, he would sometimes move from the couch to her bed after a nightmare. But only when the vampire wasn't in residence.
An arm pulled her into an embrace, a warm face rested against her and a soft, husky soprano said, "Happy Christmas, kid."
Dawn smiled and pulled her sister's arms tighter around her and snuggled down into the hug, "Faith?"
"Mmmm…" Faith hummed in her ear. Spike's arms were suddenly there, too, wrapping around them both, his cold body behind Faith's … and then Connor's warm chest was cradling her head.
Dawn grinned and wiped a tear away. It was all she had wanted for Christmas, a family to hold her and keep her warm. She smelled Dennis' handiwork going on in the kitchen and she thought of the day ahead of her, with Cordy and Angel and all the rest talking and laughing and doing the big Christmas thing. This was better. This silent hug. She felt Faith's tears starting to trickle down her neck and knew - this family. This small group was more than any of them could have asked for. This dog-pile was their very own Island of Misfit Toys.
Faith lifted her head and caught Connor's eye, mouthing ONE, TWO, THREE and then Dawn was the victim of the most epic pillow and tickle-fight of all time.
Title: My face, My Heart
Author: kelpyfinners
Word Count: 4893
Rating: PG-13 (for some sexual innuendo and coarse language)
Characters: Faith, Spike, Dawn, Connor - mention of Scoobies & CAngel
Summary: Will Faith go to LA for Chrismas?
Author’s Notes: Part of my own AU/head!canon in which Dawn moved into Phantom Dennis' apartment to go to college. All other chapters/drabbles in 'verse here: Life: An Experiment but it's not necessary to read in order to follow what all is going on
Lyrics interspersed from the Duhk's : "Heaven's My Home"
Click to viewWhen I was born
My Daddy said I was broken
The beginning of the end
Of a life I hadn't chosen
He taught me how to give up
He taught me how to work the system
But I never had the time
I never had the luxury
Beep!
Hi sis. Look, I know it’s a long way and all, but Buff-well, she’s not-
Faith craned her neck and peered at the answering machine. The sound of the phone ringing, her alarm, her answering machine - these things did not wake her once she was asleep, but that sound - that sound of loneliness and frustration that seemed to accompany every message she had left on her machine the past couple of months - that one, long sigh followed by a short sniff… it sent Faith’s body into almost complete, rigid shock. She closed her eyes and waited for the voice to continue speaking, begging - trying so hard not to sound needy and alone, almost seeing there in front of her the girl’s quick shake of the head, her hair spilling over her eyes and jarred loose from being tucked behind her ears, the quick movement that told the world she was okay, even when she really wasn’t.
Anyway. The voice was bright, cheerful, too-peppy. It’d be great to see you if you can tear yourself away from all the work and the bad guys. It’s Christmas, you know. …
And then there was a hesitant click, Faith could once again hear the muffled sound of shouts and sirens emanating from the alley outside her dingy studio apartment. She groaned and buried her face back in the pillow. An arm - large, muscular, tattooed, snaked across her back and pulled her into an embrace, a quick nip on her shoulder, hot breath warming the back of her neck. A low voice whispered teasingly, “I thought you said you were an orphan. Is your sister as good in the sack-?”
In seconds, Faith had him pinned to the bed, face down, her knees pinning his legs and head in place, while one arm lifted his awkwardly - and painfully - back and up over his head. With her other hand, Faith traced lazy circles over the man’s back, “Finish that sentence... I dare you.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. Nothing, Faith had found, warned men more than the harsh juxtaposition of physical pain and the little schoolgirl-voice she was still able to dreg up when the situation called for it. The man moaned in pain, his voice muffled by the mattress. Faith was just about to release him and kick him out the door when-
Beep!
Look you, the little bit’s all frantic about this Christmas thing. Making me go bloody tree shopping this afternoon. Had to make some very outlandish threats I didn’t mean to the boy just to get a number for you…
The voice coming through the answering machine was gruff - and decidedly British - Faith was frozen in place. Below her, the man with the tattoos… What WAS his name again? … had stopped struggling, his ear cocked to listen to the sound of - competition? More family secrets?
… Here it is straight, Slayer. SHE can’t take the time out of her busy schedule of saving the world from the big bad - to visit the little bit here for even an hour on Christmas. The witch is stuck on some assignment and the boy… Listen. I know where you are. You’re coming if I have to drag your bloody corpse down here myself. CLICK!
Faith didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Somewhere in her gut she wanted to laugh at the picture she must make at that moment, straddling the back of … Well, his name wasn’t important anyhow… clad in only, she looked down. Clad only in an old Sunnydale University jersey-tee and pink panties (the package had said “boy shorts” on them , everything about her life was economical and strategic, she had bought them for a laugh in an otherwise mundanely-gray life). Faith pulled her hair out of the ponytail at the back of her neck and straight, smooth blonde hair fell over her shoulders.
“SLAYER…” The tattooed man beneath her growled and she looked into his eyes. They had turned from a basic brown to yellow, cat-eyes at the sound of the word.
That word, Her job title. Her name.
Faith smiled down at him, “Nice to meet you.” In a flash, she lifted her knee and slammed it down on the demon’s neck, breaking it before he knew what was coming. She stood up and lifted the jersey over her head, dropping it on the ground and staring down at the answering machine light blinking. Her hand hovered over the phone, behind her she could hear and smell the demon corpse rotting away at an exponential rate. She furrowed her brow, there were always so many things to do, so many tasks that had to be completed. Just as she turned away to find another shirt, the answering machine clicked on again.
Beep!
I’m sorry if I came off a bit harsh, Slayer it’s just -
She could hear him take a long drag from a cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. The sound made her look, reflexively, around the room for her own pack.
- this is the first time I’ve seen her excited about something since-
The silences in their lives made her feel weak in the knees, made her stomach feel hollow.
I won’t drag you out. But I could you know. Please just, at least call. So that we all know …
Faith walked to the cracked mirror that hung over the sink in the space that doubled for a bathroom and kitchen. Hazel eyes, blonde hair, a small nose, white skin, and fine bones looked back at her. Large, dark circles hung under her eyes, the whole small face was taken up by those eyes. The thin… the too-thin body, these days, was hard and white, her small breasts barely filling the small sports bra Faith wore. She sighed at the reflection, the stranger that stared back at her. With a flick of her wrist, the gaudy, gothic-cross necklace she always wore now was on the counter and her face was her own again. Her wild, curly brown hair seemed to be reaching out as far as each tendril could go, seeking space and air and freedom after being trapped for so long. Her body, in comparison, now seemed so much larger, so much darker. The sports bra was now full almost to bursting, a small pooch of a stomach peeked over the top of the boy shorts, which stretched over wide hips and a full buttocks. The reflection was always exactly that, no matter how much rest Faith got, or how much she ate to fatten up the body that felt like thin skin rubbing over hard bones, the reflection got smaller, whiter, thinner… the eyes always hollow and tired. Meanwhile her own body plumped, thickened, got stronger and faster. She felt more and more like she was wearing a wet rag over a fat-suit. It was the only metaphor she could find that made any sense. Metaphors were usually for crap, but in this world - in this life that she pretended to live, they were the only things that seemed to make any sense.
Faith looked down at the cross and weighed it in her hand, looking up at her own, darkly-tanned face and then back at the blinking light.
This wasn’t her problem. They weren’t her family. This wasn’t even her fight. Giles had promised she wouldn’t have to fight anymore. But then Willow had come to her, persuaded her to go undercover, to be Buffy again - the way she had wanted to once. Six months. Six months walking around in that body and she was starting to go crazy. She was no where closer to her goal than she had been three, or six months ago. Xander arranged for her to work within the police department - part of the undercover unit. All of his messages were in a code Faith needed hours of Google searching in order to decipher, most only really making her realize how much of the world she had missed… This city was corrupt from the top down. Demons, humans, reality, fiction: the line had blurred for her so long ago it no longer seemed to be a straight line anymore. She wondered sometimes if it ever had been.
Faith laid the necklace on the edge of the sink and turned back to the bed… the demon, the corpse, the smell had all evaporated. She didn’t even know what kind of demon he was - she stopped asking that question months ago. Faith thanked the PTB for making demons so easily disposable, and sunk back into the bed, pulling the heavy quilt over her. Her bed smelled like beer, smoke, sex, sweat, and dirt. She enveloped herself into it, into the earthy smell and gave a long sigh.
She could go to LA for the weekend. It wouldn’t be a disaster if she left the city for a few days. She thought of the necklace dangling over the edge of the sink and shook her head. This was Her family and Her holiday and Her problem, there was no way Faith was going to-
Beep!
Faith narrowed her eyes at the machine - You’ve got to be kidding me! She groaned and stuffed a pillow over her ear.
Pick up this phone right this instant.
The voice was female and assertive, but not angry. Faith hesitated and then sat up. She heard a little bit of a scuffle and then more voices arguing a bit in the background.
Faith?
This voice was male, and soft. Faith closed her eyes and reached for the phone, “Angel?” Her voice cracked. She hadn’t really been allowed to contact anyone since she got to the city. “Is everything alright?”
She heard him sigh and then murmur something like okay and then Faith heard the phone being handed over to someone else and she gritted her teeth, “Faith?”
“Cordy.” The word came out almost like a sigh and Faith could feel her resolve starting to break.
“Faith. Christmas is in two days.”
Faith smiled, “So they keep telling me.”
There was a long silence. “I sent him to come get you. He should be there by sunrise. You’ll have to drive back most of the way but…”
“Cordy,” Faith interrupted. “You really, really shouldn’t have. I can’t -“
“Mission, shmishion - look, I got Giles to give everyone in the States the last two weeks of the year off. She can do what she likes with those poor girls over in England or whatever… “ Faith smiled, hearing Angel correct her quietly in the background. “But this is America and here, we give our Slayers a break.”
Faith looked toward the necklace, dangling there. She thought of the reflection she had to see everyday, staring back at her, so tired and small. “What about Her? I mean, if I stay in the field, surely she can take a day - “
“No,” Cordy’s voice was resolute. She sighed, “No. I don’t think that would do any good. Dawnie needs - “
“She needs her sister, Cordelia. Not me.”
“Who says those two things aren’t inclusive? Faith? Sister? Sounds like the same thing where I’m standing.”
Faith hung up the phone and stood in front of the mirror, the crack running from her right temple to her left shoulder, twisting the chain for the gothic cross between her fingers, and let the tears fall free.
Shining my shoes
Seems like time for wasting
'Cause this bright sun
Is the only shine I need
They say you only live once
And the lot you get's for keeping
But glory's gonna come
And make a new man out of me
Seconds after sunrise there came a loud banging at her door, Faith stumbled across the narrow strip of ground between the bed and the door and opened it wide. She never locked it. If someone was willing to risk their lives daring that narrow flight of stairs, they were getting in the door whether it was locked or not. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and stood in the doorway, yawning.
“Buffy?!” the voice was husky, incredulous, yearning.
She felt herself suddenly swept up in a cold, hard embrace that smelled like leather, smoke, and blood. A hint of whiskey touched her nostril as a bleach blonde head rested in the crook of her neck, the whole hard body shaking with relief. She pushed at him, she struggled to get away, to be free.
“Shh… shh pet,” he murmured into her ear. “I know, I’m sorry. Just let me…”
Faith relaxed into his arms and let him carry her frail, blonde-haired body to the bed. Let him cradle it in his arms and rock her back and forth. Let him stroke her back and pet her hair. She closed her eyes against his gaze, his raw need. She tried to escape what this body could do, how it could make others feel. She wanted to close in on herself, let this body do what it must, let it comfort others without her own needs interfering.
He leaned his forehead against her own and fumbled at the clasp of the necklace, pulling it away before Faith could snatch it back. He kept her pinned in his lap, the necklace disappearing into one of the pockets of his long, leather jacket. She tried to pull away, but then her face was cupped in his hands and bright blue eyes were boring into hers.
“They should not have asked this of you.” It was a growl. Faith squirmed under his gaze, under his presumption, under her confusion. She wanted to pull her face away, to declare defiantly how it was all her idea, how it was great fun, how easy it was to wear the costume of a Hero.
Instead, she asked the question that they had asked her, though it came out a whisper, part-whimper, a confession rather than a question: “Who else?” He let go of her face and sagged against the bed. She stood up, “Who else, Spike? I’m not seeing any volunteers for this gig.” She threw her arms wide and gestured at the cramped studio, the fourth in only six months, and each one more rancid than the last. With each lead, with each step of integration into the underworld of this city, Faith found herself in smaller and smellier quarters. “It’s not exactly glamorous.”
His head dropped into his hands, “I’m sorry.”
Faith shrugged and looked around for something to cover her narly-naked form. “Don’t be.”
“No.” She looked over at him, his eyes filled with tears and the need for forgiveness, the gothic cross resting gently on his palm, “I am sorry… for before - “
Faith cut him off, kneeling in front of him, and covering his lips with one finger. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to tell him, show him that she knew how much he needed to just to hold on to something, even if it wasn’t real… even if it would never really be real in the way he so desperately needed it to be. She sighed, “She means a lot.” He nodded and Faith stood, taking the necklace from him.
It wasn’t enough, she knew. Her words. Her words never really seemed to be enough.
She pulled a dusty pair of jeans off the ground and started to pull them over her legs, but they wouldn’t fit. None of the clothes she had actually fit her own body. She looked over at him apologetically, “I can’t leave right away. I need to do some things first… And…” She gestured at the necklace. His eyes widened and then he nodded ruefully. Faith quickly pulled the necklace over her head and started rummaging through the piles of clothing that were strewn on the floor. She slipped out of the sports bra and panties and into a red halter mini-dress that hugged the small body daringly.
She heard a small gasp from behind her and turned. Spike was staring at her legs in horror, Faith looked down and watched dark, purple bruises spread over her legs and arms. “Shit!” she muttered. They would fade, Faith knew, bruises never stayed on a Slayer body for long, but she needed this body tonight. She needed it whole and bruise-free, god-damnit. She bit her lip and considered her scanty wardrobe, finally pulling black fishnets out of a drawer and pulling them over her now-rainbow colored legs. She noted a small, purple bruise on her right arm and shrugged. Buffy had been making a concentrated effort to keep her arms and face protected while she… well, while she was doing whatever it was that she was doing. Faith had asked repeatedly and had been told just to keep at the game she was playing for a while longer.
Tonight, hopefully that game would be over for good. The gothic cross swung heavily on her neck and thumped her chest, always reminding her of its presence. Always reminding her why she was good enough to play, but never good enough to be. It’s all they’d ever ask of her and she was getting pretty damn good at it. Tonight, she’d win a fucking Oscar.
She shook her heel into a pair of bright red stilettos and was carefully adorning herself with jewelry when she remembered Spike, sitting on the bed - his face a whole new shade of gray. She snapped her fingers at him, “Do I have to leave you at home tonight, or can you actually be of use while you’re here?”
The vampire blinked up at her, “What did you have in mind?”
Faith smiled and cringed inside when she saw his breath catch at the sight, “A mission.”
When I was born
My face was like the angels
I took my father by the hand
He said life won't be hard now
No, life's hard, I've always known that
I've never been handed no welcome mat
When I die, please don't cry
'Cause heaven's my home anyhow
Faith laughed at a hulking mobster leering at her over her dirty martini and surreptitiously scanned the room as she took a delicate sip. She had nearly uncovered what linked the human mobs to the demon gangs in this city, but until this past week… well, until this morning, killing that demon in her bed, she had begun to question whether there was a connection. But then the man she took home the night before had turned out not to be a man - and that’s when she knew for sure that the end was in sight. She felt as though the answer had been staring at her in the face the whole time.
That’s how they had decided this game was going to work. Them. The Watchers and the Chief of Police. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was going to screw her way up the chain of command until she figured out where the connection was. Faith thought the plan was ridiculous - like something out of a bodice-ripping romance novel or a really old spy movie where all they let the women do was either screw, or die - or sometimes both.
“It’s a very basic seduction narrative,” Giles had intoned while cleaning his glasses with a pristine handkerchief. At times like these, Faith wished he’d just wipe his glasses off on a shirttail like everyone else. Buffy had nodded. Willow had nodded, biting her lip. Xander had nodded… and then blushed and excused himself from the table. “Make them think they’re seducing you.”
Buffy had raised an eyebrow, “I’m sure you can handle that.”
Faith shook her head, “Want. Take. Have. Remember? I’m not one with the subtle. I don’t know the rules of this game.”
“Faith, there is quit a lot at stake here, we need them to truly believe that Buffy has been taken in by them, seduced by them, and wants to be a part of their world. Only then will they trust her… ah - you, enough to bring her in fully.”
“No guns blazing on this one,” Buffy said seriously. “It’s not just about this one city. If I - well, if there’s a Buffy in the underworld, we could make a difference for a lot of people. We could stop it all from the top down instead of just bagging the little guys who stumble across our path. Once you’re in, I can take over operations but… I have stuff ,,,” Her voice trailed off.
A little voice nagged in Faith’s ear, telling her how she was already worthless and dirty: what’s a few more mobsters in her cootch, after all she’s let in, right? After all, this is for the greater good.
“Why can’t I just go as me? Once a Rogue Slayer, always a Rogue Slayer, right?”
Xander guffawed from behind her, “Because Angel’s a braggart, that’s why. Can’t stop telling everyone about his precious Prodigal Slayer.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and… something else Faith couldn’t quite place.
“Faith,” Willow’s voice was hesitant and shy, after all this time - and even with all that power - the little witch was still a mouse when the grown ups were talking. “I know… I know this sucks. It’s basically the worst thing we could ever have asked of you. But…” she looked askance at Giles and he nodded an assent. “But once this is all over, it will be all over for you. You can retire if you want.”
They had all looked so pleased with themselves, as if telling a Slayer she could retire was the best news a girl could ever get.
Faith narrowed her eyes almost imperceptively as a tall, muscular man walked into the bar from a private room. She had been playing poker with him and his buddy last night. She had thought the guy she took home… was it Gary? Steve? … was the hotshot. She had let him convince her to let him walk her home. She had acted the part, simpering and smiling up at him, as if he was her hero for walking two city blocks. And then she’d drugged him. She found the drug months ago, it was of demon-dimension variation, made the user feel like they’d had a long night of Passion. Oh yeah, she made up her own rules to this game. Her bed was full of gangsters who swore up and down she was the best lover they had ever had. She had tried, and probably would have been successful, playing by the rules laid out for her under Buffy's blushing gaze. But that body... it hadn't been meant to be touched that way, she knew.
She giggled at the man seated next to her and clumsily spilled her drink on his arm as she struggled to stand, calling out to the man from the night before. "Yoohoo!!" he caught her just before she fell into his arms. Faith beamed up at him.
"You're drunk as a skunk," the man drawled with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
Faith shook her head and grabbed his face with her hands, "Not quite yet." She looked around frantically and then pouted, "But I was waiting for you both, where's your friend with all the wicked tats?" She gave him a playful shove in the shoulder and then feigned losing her balance again so that he would be forced to hold her more tightly.
The man chucked her chin and smiled, "I thought he was with you last night."
Faith took a deep breath, thinking over this ploy and then decided to go all in. Her lips started to quiver almost uncontrollably and then she was batting her eyes furiously to stop the tears. Within minutes they were in a back room, Faith draped over his lap, crying into his shirt, her heels abandoned on the floor. She wailed about the injustices of being a girl just trying to get by, and how he had seemed so nice but was gone when she woke up, and why oh why does she always pick the bad ones. "I-I bet you're a good one," she sniffled up at him, smiling crookedly.
"I highly doubt that, my dear," drawled a voice laced with humor. And then, there, right in front of her, was the answer.
"Ethan Rayne."
When I die
When I die
When I die
Please don't cry
Twelve hours later, Faith was driving an old pick up Spike had "found" in the city as they made their get away. They'd have to change out cars soon. She peered at the sun crowning over the horizon, someplace shady. Spike snored softly in the backseat, covered with the blanket. Faith was wearing a pair of old sweats and a hoodie that smelled… well, it could be worse. She could still be wearing that old gothic cross and someone else's face. Ethan Rayne. One name, that's all it took and a team of Slayerettes had hit every demon-run operation in the city. Willow and Giles had been keeping tabs on Ethan for years, they finally paid off. All they needed was for Faith to prove he was involved. He wasn't the leader, sure. But the whole intricate mess was now under new management, with Ethan gone, "Buffy" was able to step in. Apparently that's how it works - you want to be the lapdog for a head honcho? You kill the last one and all his lackies.
Faith had handed over the gothic cross to a little witch-Slayerette that Willow had brought over from China. Her parents were crime lords and this girl knew the business. For seduction - send in Faith, for business management - send in the crime lord baby. Somewhere that made logic-sense. Faith didn't care. She was done with that assignment. She knew there'd be another one, whenever Giles said "last one" she knew to be suspicious. But it didn't matter. It was Christmas Eve.
Life's hard, I've always known that
I've never been handed no welcome mat
When I die, please don't cry
'Cause heaven's my home
Dawn woke up when she felt someone else crawl into bed with her, she looked up and saw the sky was almost pink with dawn. Usually Dennis made sure to close the blinds at dawn for Spike's sake, but as he hadn't, she could only guess that the vampire was still out on his mystery errand. She thought about turning to the warm body beside her, knowing from the warmth that it had to be human at least. In her sleep-clogged mind she thought maybe it was one of the Slayerettes (it wouldn't be the first time that one of the lesbian Slayerettes had tried to get Buffy's sister over to their way of thinking) or even Connor - when Spike disappeared for days at a time, he would sometimes move from the couch to her bed after a nightmare. But only when the vampire wasn't in residence.
An arm pulled her into an embrace, a warm face rested against her and a soft, husky soprano said, "Happy Christmas, kid."
Dawn smiled and pulled her sister's arms tighter around her and snuggled down into the hug, "Faith?"
"Mmmm…" Faith hummed in her ear. Spike's arms were suddenly there, too, wrapping around them both, his cold body behind Faith's … and then Connor's warm chest was cradling her head.
Dawn grinned and wiped a tear away. It was all she had wanted for Christmas, a family to hold her and keep her warm. She smelled Dennis' handiwork going on in the kitchen and she thought of the day ahead of her, with Cordy and Angel and all the rest talking and laughing and doing the big Christmas thing. This was better. This silent hug. She felt Faith's tears starting to trickle down her neck and knew - this family. This small group was more than any of them could have asked for. This dog-pile was their very own Island of Misfit Toys.
Faith lifted her head and caught Connor's eye, mouthing ONE, TWO, THREE and then Dawn was the victim of the most epic pillow and tickle-fight of all time.