FIC: Hope Has Wings (But Faith Has A Broadsword) - part 1, BtVS, Faith, mostly gen
Author: lettered
Title: Hope Has Wings (But Faith Has A Broadsword)
Pairing(s): Gen-ish. Faith, Buffy, Xander, and Dawn, with mentions of Dana, Angel and Spike (including B/A, B/S). Hints of femmeslash without much squinting required
Summary: Wing!fic. Faith gets wings. Buffy doesn't believe in angels. Xander and Dawn make a bunch of really geeky references. The world failed Dana. Angel and Spike aren't there.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): mostly off-screen drug addiction and suicide of a minor character
Word Count: 5K today, 5K tomorrow, total of 10K
Author's Notes: Thank you to snickfic for the prompt. You are awesome!
Next part will be posted tomorrow.
Hope Has Wings (But Faith Has A Broadsword) Part 1
Faith got the wings from a glowy guy. He had light-beam wings and his hair was molten gold; he had a crown made out of fire. He was really really hot-if you liked that sort of thing. Faith apparently liked that sort of thing, because when Glowy Guy floated down into the midst of a bunch of demons they were battling, she went right for him.
Buffy thought Faith looked-well, wreathed with light, to be honest-but also zombified, sorta walking in a daze directly toward the glowy guy. Just stopped everything she was doing, cross-bow falling to her side, then down to the pavement, and Faith was just walking, walking toward the light.
It didn’t seem like a good thing-well, except for the light was pretty, and really kinda mesmerizing when you thought about it, like a disco ball-or like a hearth, a fire, the kind Buffy imagined in olden days in Ireland with families beside them, and the cold outside, or sunshine at the beach, and you were in someone’s arms, and they held you like they loved you, and were alive.
Only it was better, like the Bronze after a hard night of Slaying and the light was dim but had a sort of glow, and Spike was there, and Willow never killed anyone, and Buffy’s mom was there and Angel and Tara and Giles and-and you were there, and you were there, and you. It was a light just like the kind at the end of a tunnel, but only getting brighter, brighter, brighter, and she was walking there with Faith.
Just before Buffy had died the first time, she had felt Kendra. Felt her deep down in, inside, Slayer to Slayer-
-to Slayer to a thousand Slayers before, all the way back to-
“Faith!”
Suddenly, Buffy snapped out of it. Across the road, Faith was falling to the ground, and Glowy Guy’s arm was falling back to his side-when had he reached out?-and Buffy was running, running, running across the road, around the demons, amidst the battle-except none of it was there any more. All the demons were gone, and Xander was in mid-stroke with a morning star, and Brisa was holding an ax above her head to chop something in half that wasn’t there. Slowly, they lowered their weapons, and Faith was a heap with chestnut hair, crumpled on the pavement.
It seemed to take too long to get to her, and then Buffy was pulling Faith’s head into her lap, checking her heart beat, brushing her hair aside.
Faith’s eyes fluttered open. “B?” She blinked, as though seeing through shadows. Then, slowly, she smiled. “This mean I was touched by an angel?”
Buffy took her hand away from Faith’s heart.
*
The wings didn’t appear immediately, and it wasn’t like any of them were exactly expecting Faith to sprout another set of appendages, so the only thing they planned to do about what had happened was go back and research Glowy Guy.
Faith said, “You think it really was an-”
“No,” Buffy said.
“I’m guessing Gundam,” said Dawn.
“Really?” Xander said. “I was thinking more Kefka, last battle, Final Fantasy VI.”
“Okay,” said Dawn. “Is that the Japanese six, by which you mean the American three, or-”
“You have much to learn, young Padawan.”
“I’m just saying that the Kefka I’m thinking of looked more like Greek statue than an ang-”
“It was all Greek to me,” Buffy said, mostly just to cut Dawn off.
“Glowy Guy was rather well-built,” Xander said. “I mean, statuesque. I mean shapely-marbeled-I mean, chiseled. Yeah, I’m reading this book.” He buried his nose behind a tome.
“He was very . . .” Buffy paused. “Shiny.”
“Why couldn’t I just say that?” Xander said.
“You don’t think for once,” said Faith, “it could just be something good?”
“Like a vampire,” Dawn said.
“Vampires are never good,” said Xander. “They suck.”
“One of those shiny vampires,” Dawn said.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “They sparkle. They don’t shine. And they’re actually not that-”
“I can’t believe you like it,” said Dawn. “I just can’t believe you like it.”
“You brought it up!”
“He’s a creeper!” Dawn wore glasses these days and her hair up in a ponytail. She looked like a college girl, pre-med-maybe because that was she was, but she was looking less and less like Dawnie and more and more like-someone grown-up.
Someone who was convinced Edward Cullen was a creeper.
“Okay,” said Faith, “are we on this again? Because the werewolf-”
“Augh, my ears,” Xander said, and covered them.
“-is a motherfuckin stud, you ask me-”
“Which we didn’t,” Dawn pointed out.
“-and if Bella didn’t take that beast out back and take that knot like a-”
Bitch in heat, Dawn mouthed at Xander.
“I’m not hearing this,” said Xander. “I am not hearing this-”
“Bitch in heat,” said Faith, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her brain, because-”
Unf, that’s hot, Dawn mouthed.
“-unf, that ass is hot,” Faith said.
“Are you done?” Buffy said.
Faith made noises with her bag of Cheetohs. “What? Yeah,” she said, and ate one.
“Because look,” said Buffy, “I know it’s stupid writing, but Edward really loved her, okay, and-”
Nuns would boink Tyler, Dawn mouthed.
“-even a nun would go down on Tyler Lautner,” Buffy said, “but I just liked it the way it was, okay. So stop.”
“You just think the Pattz looks like an a-” Faith paused, mouth full of Cheetoh. She swallowed hard. “Statuesque. I mean a statue.”
“You know what?” Buffy closed her book. “Research it yourself.”
“B.” Faith’s brow furrowed and her eyes got big in that way she had of looking like she was really, really sorry.
“He doesn’t remind me of Angel. And if you think for a second that Spike-”
“Trust me, honey,” Faith said. “No one in the world thinks Rob Pattz could play Spike.”
Buffy stood up.
“B.” Faith sounded sorry again.
Buffy pushed her chair back, turned around, and stopped. “No,” she said. “No,” and turned back. “Why were you even walking toward that-” she waved a hand-“glowy guy? What did you think you were doing?”
Faith leapt up. “Why do you think it was a bad thing? You don’t even know.”
“I know you always go off half-cocked. I know you always have to get right into the middle of everything. I know you never listen when I-”
“Maybe because you never give me a chance!” Faith said. “You don’t give me a fucking chance. What if he was-”
“I never give you a chance?” Buffy’s voice was dreadfully quiet.
“Dammit, B. You know what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. You meant that I never give you a chance . . . which means I’m left trying to figure out what I have been doing this past year.” Buffy crossed her arms. “If it wasn’t giving you a chance.”
“I just mean . . .” Faith looked away. “I dunno. Maybe-maybe something good will come of it for once, and this is my-it’s a chance to-” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
Buffy’s voice was still quiet. “You always touch things that aren’t yours.”
“So.” Faith smiled a little. “You want your jacket back.”
Buffy closed her eyes a moment, opened them. “Just keep your hands to yourself, next time.” Then she walked out.
In the awkward silence that followed her departure, Buffy could hear Xander’s voice from down the hall. “I’ve been giving it some thought. I’m thinking Gundam Wing isn’t the worst theory I’ve heard.”
*
That night, Buffy couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the golden man with the golden crown open his eyes. They glowed like the sun, and she went blind. Buffy opened her eyes, and for a moment believed she really was blind, and then remembered where she was. The England country-side was far darker than Sunnydale ever had been.
Awakened too many times to try to get back to sleep, Buffy went down the stairs to the kitchen to get a drink of water. It was kind of a freaky kitchen, all gleaming metal and expensive tile, the kind of kitchen that was built for two or three servants at a time to cook in. But they didn’t have any servants, and the only one in the kitchen was Faith, wiping the floor with a rag.
“What happened?” said Buffy, blinking.
“Nothing.” Faith glanced up, startled. She was on her knees. Hastily, she refocused on the tile. “There’s blood in this grout.”
“What the-did something come-”
“Nothing came,” said Faith. “It’s old blood. You know the way it grinds in.”
Buffy blinked again, frowning. “You’re wearing my jacket.”
“Yeah. I just can’t keep my hands off it.”
It was a motorcycle jacket with a red stripe down the side, worn with years of wear. Buffy had sort of stopped wearing it ages ago. Or anyway when she had started working at Sunnydale High and a football jock had whistled and called her motorcycle mama. It was more appropriate on Faith, really, considering the tightness of her jeans and the heaviness of her boots and the-well, the everything. But it was still Buffy’s jacket, and Buffy would have given it to her, if Faith had asked. She would’ve given her lots of things, if she asked.
Faith never asked for anything.
“Do you need help?” Buffy said, sort of knowing it was pointless, but somehow, she’d learned to be polite. Certainly not from most of the people she’d been close to in her life, but somehow she’d still learned it.
“I got it,” Faith said. “You gotta use ammonia. Or bleach. That cleaner shit isn’t going to work.”
Buffy watched her for a while. Once, they’d had a break in-not vampires; Spike was the only vampire invited in. It’d been another kind of demon, green, with frog mouths and bulging eyes. Buffy had been the one to notice the green guys on the perimeter of the mansion. She’d been the one to wake everyone up, organize them, deploy them in separate groups to protect each other and the house.
She had also been the one, after three hours of slaughter, to track them back to their base to see if more were coming.
“I’ll go with you,” Faith had said, loading up her cross-bow.
“Someone needs to stay with the Slayers,” Buffy had said. She cleaned the green blood off of her scythe.
“Xander.”
“It needs to be fast and quiet,” Buffy said. “One is better than two.”
“But I’m . . .”
Hungry, Faith was going to say.
Buffy knew, because she felt it too. That thrum you felt, when there were things that needed killing. It was worse when your home was attacked, the people you loved put in danger; it was worse when you hadn’t gotten enough blood on your hands, hadn’t gone elbow deep in dust and flesh, just to feel the death as it happened. Buffy felt it like a physical desire, and she could see it mirrored in Faith-need deep in her eyes, the restlessness in her thighs, the ache somewhere low in the belly.
But Buffy wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at Katya, a fourteen year old girl who had never killed anyone in her life, before tonight.
Snapping back into focus, Buffy turned back to Faith. “I’m going alone,” she said. “Help Xander.”
Faith stood there, just a moment, so electric she’d probably shock to touch. Then she said, “Fine,” and turned away.
Buffy found the green demon lair. She took out all that were left, then destroyed the eggs, too. At Sunnydale High she’d once learned that some amphibians are always female, unless they change sex to mate.
A thousand unborn girls.
When Buffy came back, she half expected Faith to be gone. Buffy thought it likely Faith would have gone out after her, or maybe gone out to pick a brawl or a quick fuck somewhere. Faith would’ve wanted to direct all that energy somewhere, and she was just good enough that she wouldn’t direct it at the girls, and just bad enough that she would leave them to dig the graves themselves.
It wasn’t like Buffy didn’t understand it. She might’ve even been able to forgive it, if she had been another person.
If she had never been the Slayer.
When Buffy came back, however, Faith was there, Katya was smiling, pizza had been delivered, and the bodies were all gone. “Where . . . ?” began Buffy.
Faith grinned. “Dissolve with salt, B.” She folded up a slice of pepperoni-sausage-olives-green onion, and took a great big bite. “Just like mother used to do.”
“I was going to ask where you got the cash,” Buffy said, and hated herself, for being snide.
Faith just shrugged.
Buffy looked around. The green guts were gone from the walls. A couple Slayers were still mopping the floor, but it was mostly clean. Now they were just pushing water at each other and flicking soap bubbles, interspersed with an occasional giggle.
After that night, Katya had been glued to Faith’s side for two weeks straight. She hadn’t said anything, just kept looking at Faith as though she’d hung the moon.
Buffy thought about it, as she watched Faith scrub up blood from the floor of their kitchen in the middle of the night. Faith left her shit laying all over the mansion; she left her clothes in the washer and her underwear in the sink; she never took out the trash.
And when you thought about it, she’d tried to kill Buffy and committed murder and stolen Buffy’s body and slept with her boyfriend and usurped her authority and been to jail; she’d saved Angel, and she’d helped avert apocalypse. She’d helped found--this, whatever they were doing here, helping Slayers. She’d loved Robin and felt she’d had to leave, to come here, to do this thing, to dissolve green froggy dudes with slime, and scrub the goddamn floor in the middle of the night.
When Buffy really thought about it she had to admit that Faith cleaned up alright.
Done wiping the floor, Faith stood up, tossed her rag in the sink, and washed her hands. She moved a little stiffly. Maybe she’d been kneeling on the floor a long time.
“Are you okay?” Buffy asked.
For a moment, Faith didn’t turn around. When she did, she had on an easy smile. “What?” she said. “I’m fine.”
Buffy frowned. “When that thing touched you, it didn’t hurt?”
“What, you mean my angel?”
“Don’t call it that.”
Faith’s eyes went a little softer.
Buffy got up from the table. She opened the refrigerator, and that way, she didn’t have to look at Faith. “You want a frappacino?”
“No,” said Faith. “I’m pretty beat.”
Pulling one of the bottled Starbucks things out of the fridge, Buffy turned back to Faith. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure,” said Faith. “Five by five.”
*
After Sunnydale went kerplooey, Buffy, Faith, Robin, and some of the new Slayers had gone to Cleveland. Giles, Willow, Andrew, and some of the other Slayers went to England to reform what remained of the Watcher’s Council. Buffy and Faith stayed in Cleveland a few months before they decided the Slayers with them could protect the city from the Hellmouth, and that they might do more good at a more international hub. Buffy and Faith went. Robin stayed.
That had been two years ago. The mansion belonged to Giles. Since Buffy and Faith had moved in six months ago, Giles and his Watchers had been looking for Slayers, flying around the world to let the newly Called know what was happening, help them if they needed it, or bring them back to Somersetshire if there was some kind of problem.
Xander was the one who’d started calling the place Professor Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, followed up by a spirited discussion on whether he could be Professor X.
“X,” said Xander. “For Xander.”
“Your legs work fine,” said Dawn. “On the other hand, that eye . . .”
Xander’s mouth worked. “I should have seen this coming.”
“It’s understandable that you didn’t, though,” Dawn said, “seeing as how you lack depth precision. Cyclops.”
“I’m not Cyclops. Buffy is our fearless leader!”
“Buffy’s Phoenix.”
“But,” said Xander. “Summers. Besides, Buffy can’t be Phoenix. Because, Willow.”
“Red head, moves things with her mind,” said Dawn. “Jean Gray. Well played.”
“It’s like they speak another language,” said Faith.
“Are they still talking?” said Buffy.
“Can I be the hot one?” Faith said.
Dawn frowned at her. “Which one do you mean?”
“Yeah,” said Xander. “All of them are hot. I mean, the girl ones. And Scott.”
Faith shrugged. “I dunno. The hot one.”
“Sure,” said Xander. “You can be Wolverine.”
“Is that Hugh Jackman?” Buffy said. “That’s Hugh Jackman. Okay, if Wolverine were living here, I’d-” She stopped.
Faith was smirking at her. “You’d what, B? Inquiring minds.”
“. . . I’d tell him to vacuum. It’s his turn.”
“Sure, B.” Faith still smirked. “I hear Wolverine is excellent with rugs. Want me to weed the garden too? I hear he’s also excellent with bushes.”
Buffy pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t think he’d be so good with his hands. He has claws.”
“I’d mention Edward Scissorhands,” said Dawn, “but considering the innuendo going on it’s a really upsetting visual.”
“There isn’t any innuendo,” Buffy said. “Can I be Halle Berry? I want to be Halle Berry. I’ve always kind of wanted to.”
“Okay,” said Xander. “But do you know what happens to a frog that gets hit by lightning?”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Joss Whedon wrote that line.”
“He did not!” said Xander.
“Yes, he did. I keep telling you, he’s a hack.”
“His X-men comics are the best,” said Xander.
“Comics,” said Faith. She put her beer down on the table. “Who needs ‘em?”
“Not me,” Buffy said, and sipped Faith’s beer.
*
When Faith did sprout wings, it happened in the midst of chasing after a pack of vampires.
Buffy had noticed Faith had been moving stiffly. She had also noticed that it had started around the time that Glowy Guy had touched her. Also, Faith hadn’t stopped wearing her jacket. She could have just been cold-but if she was, it was because she wasn’t well, or maybe even losing blood. She looked paler than normal, and kept late nights-scrubbing things, or holed up in the bathroom, organizing the first aid supplies, doing laundry.
Buffy’s mom had thought that she had turned preternaturally neat around the age of fifteen. Joyce had never been able to slot it in with the other things she had assumed were happening, the irresponsible teenage things, the partying, the drinking. Buffy knew exactly what doing laundry late at night meant.
Faith just didn’t want to tell her.
When the bones molded, shifted, burst out her back and basically completely ruined one of Buffy’s oldest jackets, Faith didn’t really need to tell her. She kind of figured it out.
Faith had always been rather good at leaping, but that time she came down hard. Buffy had been running with her; Xander and the girls were looping around the building to meet them, and the vampires were getting away. When Faith went down in the alley, Buffy went back for her.
“Go,” Faith said. Her hands were splayed on the pavement; she was on her knees, and something-something was happening to her back.
“Because you’re five by five,” said Buffy.
“Why’s it always you?” Faith said. Then she convulsed, and screamed.
“Make that a three by two,” Buffy said, and dropped her scythe. Trying to rip off the jacket, her eyes widened as she watched the blood appear through Faith’s wife-beater, and something-something was coming out-“What is it? Do you know what it is?”
“It-it’s coming.” Faith convulsed again.
“What? Xander!” Buffy called, and the jacket was ripping, and Buffy was yanking it off, and they were coming; they were indeed coming. “What is it? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me; what’s coming?”
Faith croaked something.
“What?” Buffy had to jerk her eyes away from the stark white bones starting to jut out from Faith’s shoulder blades, from the arteries and veins growing from Faith’s back that were starting to twine their way around them, like vines. The muscles were growing too, slowly stretching, spreading from Faith’s trapezius to wrap around the bones and blood. And then there was skin, and still, they were growing. “What?” Buffy said again, and moved so that she could see Faith’s eyes-wide, the color of a whole system of roots. “What's coming?”
“Grace.” Faith closed her eyes, and fainted.
*
The wings were covered in a light gray fuzz, sort of like down.
“You mean like a baby seagull?” said Xander.
They were back in the mansion. Well, really in the barn, because if Faith woke up and had to . . . they didn’t know, flap her wings or something, it’d wreak havoc and destruction on the English décor, and Buffy was pretty conscious of the fact that the mansion was on loan.
They had had to call Brisa to come bring the van, and even then, it was a trick fitting Faith and her wings into the bed of the back, even without any seats in it. They had had to sort of fold the wings up, not knowing if they were hurting her. She still wasn’t awake, but Dawn had said she was sleeping now.
They thought she would wake up.
“Or maybe an eaglet,” Xander was saying.
“Technically, she shouldn’t even have any wings at all,” Dawn said.
“But Dawnie,” said Xander. “I learned in school that every caterpillar becomes a beautiful, beautiful butterfly, in the end.”
“Bird wings,” Dawn said, annoyed.
“Oh, well, that too,” said Xander.
Buffy was looking at Faith, spread out on the ground. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t have a wishbone,” said Dawn. “Structurally, it doesn’t make any sense at all. Birds don’t have wings and arms. They have wings instead of arms.”
“It’s like dragons having four legs and wings,” said Xander. “Pteranodons didn’t have four legs and two wings. And really, if you look at the fossil evidence-” He stopped because people were looking at him. “Hey, I know science. When it’s dinosaurs.”
“Spike said,” Dawn began.
“Spike’s a liar,” said Xander. “They never fought a dragon in L.A.”
“There was an apocalypse in L.A. There could have been a-”
“Okay,” said Xander. “There was a dragon in L.A. But they never fought a dragon in-”
“I haven’t heard of any recent deaths by dragon,” said Dawn.
“Okay,” said Xander. “They fought a dragon in L.A. What I mean is, Spike never fought a dragon in-”
“I don’t want to hear about L.A.,” said Buffy. “I don’t want to hear about dragons. I just want-I want.” Sitting down abruptly on a stool, she still couldn’t take her eyes off Faith. “Tell me about eaglets.”
“Uh,” said Dawn, “that was really all I had. Evolutionarily, wings-you know, on warm-blood creatures-attach at the collarbones, which is fused-AKA what we know as the wishbone-and . . . and this is nothing like that. Like, at all.”
“Some people think pteranodonswerewarmblooded,” said Xander.
Buffy frowned. “What?”
“Pteranodons,” said Xander. “I’m on task. Really.”
“Okay,” said Buffy. “Let’s stick with eagles for now. There are eagle people in ancient myths, aren’t there?”
“Um,” said Dawn. “I think there’s an Indian one. And there are bird people in lots of Mesoamerican religions. Oh. And the birdmen of Easter Island.”
Buffy turned back to Faith. “Could Glowy Guy be one of those?”
“Do we know the . . .” Xander waved a hazy hand at Faith’s wings, “you know, came from the glowy guy? I mean, that happened last week. Do wings generally have a gestation period?”
“Maybe a bell rang,” Dawn said. They all looked at her. She rolled her eyes. “It’s A Wonderful Life? Seriously, you all need to get culturally educated.”
“I think I know the anime,” said Xander.
“This isn’t an anime.” Buffy looked at Faith. “Someone did this to her.”
“There was that alternate universe where you didn’t exist, though,” Xander pointed out. “Are you sure you’re not George Bailey?”
“Okay,” said Dawn. “Let’s get one thing straight. Anya? Not an angel. Particularly not of the It’s A Wonderful Life variety.”
“I’m not Jimmy Stewart,” said Buffy. “Faith is not Clarence. And this isn’t a wonderful life.”
Across the barn, Faith was just waking, struggling to sit up. “Sometimes it’s alright,” she said.
*
The first Slayer Giles had brought them had been named Brisa. She was fifteen and homeless, using her Slayer powers to steal a hambuger. The next Slayer the Watchers had brought them had been named Thanh, who had been diagnosed as bipolar. The next Slayer was Lulu, who had been imprisoned initially for fighting a man to protect a child, was reported to the government, and being drugged by scientists when Giles’s newest Watcher found her. After that, there was Katya, Shireen, Jessica, Xio, Elin, Becky, and Gerđa.
Then there was Dana. Dana had come to them a year and a half ago.
“We call her Drusilla 2.0,” Xander said.
“Not actually funny,” said Buffy.
“Okay,” said Xander. “But I like her.”
“Why?” said Dawn.
Xander thought about it. “I never liked Spike’s hands. They were very . . .”
“I bet Buffy could tell you what his hands were very,” Faith said. She looked with inquiring innocence at Buffy. “Hey, B. Maybe you could show me what-”
“I don’t want to talk about Spike’s hands,” Buffy said, because sometimes she thought about them; actually she thought about them all the time, and it was stupid, because he wore that stupid nail polish and his nails had been bitten down and chipping, and it was stupid, because he had beautiful hands. They were elegant hands, aristocratic and hardly calloused, despite everything he did, everything he could do, despite all the hard ways he touched her; he could be so very gentle.
She had painted his nails once, just because he was there and she didn’t want to go back and she thought it might convince her of just so how very stupid it all really was. She’d hardly ever gotten a chance to do that sort of thing with Willow, but she used to do it, before, when she didn’t keep her nails cut short because she wasn’t killing things instead of having sleep-overs, curling hair, and painting nails.
He had looked down at his hand as she did it, as she painted the black in careful, quick strokes she still remembered down each bitten nail. He hadn’t laughed at all when she put cotton between his fingers to hold them separate; he hadn’t even quipped. There had been an aura of intense concentration about him, watching her paint, a kind of stillness. When she was done, he had looked at her as though she had just told him he meant the world to her.
“When you think about it,” said Xander, “Dana’s sort of like Rogue.” This was around the time he had started calling the mansion Professor Xavior’s. “I mean, not that Rogue cut off people’s hands. I just mean . . . .” He trailed off, looking pensive.
“You mean the um,” Dawn said, picking at her nails, “superpowers that aren’t so super.”
Swallowing, Xander nodded. “Carol Danvers.”
“Who?”
Carol Danvers, Xander explained, had been another mutant with superpowers. Rogue had touched her, and with her own mutant power, absorbed Carol’s powers-and Carol’s mind. Rogue had spent a while going insane, split between her own brain and Carol’s, trying to adjust to her incredible new powers, trying to find herself.
“Thought we didn’t care about the comics,” said Faith.
Xander shrugged. “I’m just telling you what’s canon.”
“That a religious thing?”
“The point is that Dana our responsibility now,” said Buffy. “And I didn’t notice any spandex on her so it’s not exactly like she’s going to fight the fight of right if we don’t help her.”
“Now we’re talking,” said Faith. “Can we even get her to wear spandex?”
Buffy’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious.”
“I’m serious, too.” Faith brought her boots off the table. “Because seriously, hot as that chick would look in that little yellow-green number with a little leather jacket, what makes you think she’s gonna fight the fight of right at all?”
“That’s why we’re helping her,” said Buffy.
“Yeah,” said Faith. “I know. You think I’m not gonna do everything I can?”
“I never said that.”
“I know where she is,” said Faith. “I know where she’s been. And all I’m saying is, sometimes you can’t come back.”
Buffy just looked at her. “Sometimes you can.”
Faith jerked her head. “I haven't . . .” Standing up, she turned away, her long hair hiding her face. “I’m just not,” she said.
Buffy felt tight, coiled in on herself. “You are,” she said.
*
Go to Part 2 (end)
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Title: Hope Has Wings (But Faith Has A Broadsword)
Pairing(s): Gen-ish. Faith, Buffy, Xander, and Dawn, with mentions of Dana, Angel and Spike (including B/A, B/S). Hints of femmeslash without much squinting required
Summary: Wing!fic. Faith gets wings. Buffy doesn't believe in angels. Xander and Dawn make a bunch of really geeky references. The world failed Dana. Angel and Spike aren't there.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): mostly off-screen drug addiction and suicide of a minor character
Word Count: 5K today, 5K tomorrow, total of 10K
Author's Notes: Thank you to snickfic for the prompt. You are awesome!
Next part will be posted tomorrow.
Hope Has Wings (But Faith Has A Broadsword) Part 1
Faith got the wings from a glowy guy. He had light-beam wings and his hair was molten gold; he had a crown made out of fire. He was really really hot-if you liked that sort of thing. Faith apparently liked that sort of thing, because when Glowy Guy floated down into the midst of a bunch of demons they were battling, she went right for him.
Buffy thought Faith looked-well, wreathed with light, to be honest-but also zombified, sorta walking in a daze directly toward the glowy guy. Just stopped everything she was doing, cross-bow falling to her side, then down to the pavement, and Faith was just walking, walking toward the light.
It didn’t seem like a good thing-well, except for the light was pretty, and really kinda mesmerizing when you thought about it, like a disco ball-or like a hearth, a fire, the kind Buffy imagined in olden days in Ireland with families beside them, and the cold outside, or sunshine at the beach, and you were in someone’s arms, and they held you like they loved you, and were alive.
Only it was better, like the Bronze after a hard night of Slaying and the light was dim but had a sort of glow, and Spike was there, and Willow never killed anyone, and Buffy’s mom was there and Angel and Tara and Giles and-and you were there, and you were there, and you. It was a light just like the kind at the end of a tunnel, but only getting brighter, brighter, brighter, and she was walking there with Faith.
Just before Buffy had died the first time, she had felt Kendra. Felt her deep down in, inside, Slayer to Slayer-
-to Slayer to a thousand Slayers before, all the way back to-
“Faith!”
Suddenly, Buffy snapped out of it. Across the road, Faith was falling to the ground, and Glowy Guy’s arm was falling back to his side-when had he reached out?-and Buffy was running, running, running across the road, around the demons, amidst the battle-except none of it was there any more. All the demons were gone, and Xander was in mid-stroke with a morning star, and Brisa was holding an ax above her head to chop something in half that wasn’t there. Slowly, they lowered their weapons, and Faith was a heap with chestnut hair, crumpled on the pavement.
It seemed to take too long to get to her, and then Buffy was pulling Faith’s head into her lap, checking her heart beat, brushing her hair aside.
Faith’s eyes fluttered open. “B?” She blinked, as though seeing through shadows. Then, slowly, she smiled. “This mean I was touched by an angel?”
Buffy took her hand away from Faith’s heart.
*
The wings didn’t appear immediately, and it wasn’t like any of them were exactly expecting Faith to sprout another set of appendages, so the only thing they planned to do about what had happened was go back and research Glowy Guy.
Faith said, “You think it really was an-”
“No,” Buffy said.
“I’m guessing Gundam,” said Dawn.
“Really?” Xander said. “I was thinking more Kefka, last battle, Final Fantasy VI.”
“Okay,” said Dawn. “Is that the Japanese six, by which you mean the American three, or-”
“You have much to learn, young Padawan.”
“I’m just saying that the Kefka I’m thinking of looked more like Greek statue than an ang-”
“It was all Greek to me,” Buffy said, mostly just to cut Dawn off.
“Glowy Guy was rather well-built,” Xander said. “I mean, statuesque. I mean shapely-marbeled-I mean, chiseled. Yeah, I’m reading this book.” He buried his nose behind a tome.
“He was very . . .” Buffy paused. “Shiny.”
“Why couldn’t I just say that?” Xander said.
“You don’t think for once,” said Faith, “it could just be something good?”
“Like a vampire,” Dawn said.
“Vampires are never good,” said Xander. “They suck.”
“One of those shiny vampires,” Dawn said.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “They sparkle. They don’t shine. And they’re actually not that-”
“I can’t believe you like it,” said Dawn. “I just can’t believe you like it.”
“You brought it up!”
“He’s a creeper!” Dawn wore glasses these days and her hair up in a ponytail. She looked like a college girl, pre-med-maybe because that was she was, but she was looking less and less like Dawnie and more and more like-someone grown-up.
Someone who was convinced Edward Cullen was a creeper.
“Okay,” said Faith, “are we on this again? Because the werewolf-”
“Augh, my ears,” Xander said, and covered them.
“-is a motherfuckin stud, you ask me-”
“Which we didn’t,” Dawn pointed out.
“-and if Bella didn’t take that beast out back and take that knot like a-”
Bitch in heat, Dawn mouthed at Xander.
“I’m not hearing this,” said Xander. “I am not hearing this-”
“Bitch in heat,” said Faith, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her brain, because-”
Unf, that’s hot, Dawn mouthed.
“-unf, that ass is hot,” Faith said.
“Are you done?” Buffy said.
Faith made noises with her bag of Cheetohs. “What? Yeah,” she said, and ate one.
“Because look,” said Buffy, “I know it’s stupid writing, but Edward really loved her, okay, and-”
Nuns would boink Tyler, Dawn mouthed.
“-even a nun would go down on Tyler Lautner,” Buffy said, “but I just liked it the way it was, okay. So stop.”
“You just think the Pattz looks like an a-” Faith paused, mouth full of Cheetoh. She swallowed hard. “Statuesque. I mean a statue.”
“You know what?” Buffy closed her book. “Research it yourself.”
“B.” Faith’s brow furrowed and her eyes got big in that way she had of looking like she was really, really sorry.
“He doesn’t remind me of Angel. And if you think for a second that Spike-”
“Trust me, honey,” Faith said. “No one in the world thinks Rob Pattz could play Spike.”
Buffy stood up.
“B.” Faith sounded sorry again.
Buffy pushed her chair back, turned around, and stopped. “No,” she said. “No,” and turned back. “Why were you even walking toward that-” she waved a hand-“glowy guy? What did you think you were doing?”
Faith leapt up. “Why do you think it was a bad thing? You don’t even know.”
“I know you always go off half-cocked. I know you always have to get right into the middle of everything. I know you never listen when I-”
“Maybe because you never give me a chance!” Faith said. “You don’t give me a fucking chance. What if he was-”
“I never give you a chance?” Buffy’s voice was dreadfully quiet.
“Dammit, B. You know what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. You meant that I never give you a chance . . . which means I’m left trying to figure out what I have been doing this past year.” Buffy crossed her arms. “If it wasn’t giving you a chance.”
“I just mean . . .” Faith looked away. “I dunno. Maybe-maybe something good will come of it for once, and this is my-it’s a chance to-” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
Buffy’s voice was still quiet. “You always touch things that aren’t yours.”
“So.” Faith smiled a little. “You want your jacket back.”
Buffy closed her eyes a moment, opened them. “Just keep your hands to yourself, next time.” Then she walked out.
In the awkward silence that followed her departure, Buffy could hear Xander’s voice from down the hall. “I’ve been giving it some thought. I’m thinking Gundam Wing isn’t the worst theory I’ve heard.”
*
That night, Buffy couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the golden man with the golden crown open his eyes. They glowed like the sun, and she went blind. Buffy opened her eyes, and for a moment believed she really was blind, and then remembered where she was. The England country-side was far darker than Sunnydale ever had been.
Awakened too many times to try to get back to sleep, Buffy went down the stairs to the kitchen to get a drink of water. It was kind of a freaky kitchen, all gleaming metal and expensive tile, the kind of kitchen that was built for two or three servants at a time to cook in. But they didn’t have any servants, and the only one in the kitchen was Faith, wiping the floor with a rag.
“What happened?” said Buffy, blinking.
“Nothing.” Faith glanced up, startled. She was on her knees. Hastily, she refocused on the tile. “There’s blood in this grout.”
“What the-did something come-”
“Nothing came,” said Faith. “It’s old blood. You know the way it grinds in.”
Buffy blinked again, frowning. “You’re wearing my jacket.”
“Yeah. I just can’t keep my hands off it.”
It was a motorcycle jacket with a red stripe down the side, worn with years of wear. Buffy had sort of stopped wearing it ages ago. Or anyway when she had started working at Sunnydale High and a football jock had whistled and called her motorcycle mama. It was more appropriate on Faith, really, considering the tightness of her jeans and the heaviness of her boots and the-well, the everything. But it was still Buffy’s jacket, and Buffy would have given it to her, if Faith had asked. She would’ve given her lots of things, if she asked.
Faith never asked for anything.
“Do you need help?” Buffy said, sort of knowing it was pointless, but somehow, she’d learned to be polite. Certainly not from most of the people she’d been close to in her life, but somehow she’d still learned it.
“I got it,” Faith said. “You gotta use ammonia. Or bleach. That cleaner shit isn’t going to work.”
Buffy watched her for a while. Once, they’d had a break in-not vampires; Spike was the only vampire invited in. It’d been another kind of demon, green, with frog mouths and bulging eyes. Buffy had been the one to notice the green guys on the perimeter of the mansion. She’d been the one to wake everyone up, organize them, deploy them in separate groups to protect each other and the house.
She had also been the one, after three hours of slaughter, to track them back to their base to see if more were coming.
“I’ll go with you,” Faith had said, loading up her cross-bow.
“Someone needs to stay with the Slayers,” Buffy had said. She cleaned the green blood off of her scythe.
“Xander.”
“It needs to be fast and quiet,” Buffy said. “One is better than two.”
“But I’m . . .”
Hungry, Faith was going to say.
Buffy knew, because she felt it too. That thrum you felt, when there were things that needed killing. It was worse when your home was attacked, the people you loved put in danger; it was worse when you hadn’t gotten enough blood on your hands, hadn’t gone elbow deep in dust and flesh, just to feel the death as it happened. Buffy felt it like a physical desire, and she could see it mirrored in Faith-need deep in her eyes, the restlessness in her thighs, the ache somewhere low in the belly.
But Buffy wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at Katya, a fourteen year old girl who had never killed anyone in her life, before tonight.
Snapping back into focus, Buffy turned back to Faith. “I’m going alone,” she said. “Help Xander.”
Faith stood there, just a moment, so electric she’d probably shock to touch. Then she said, “Fine,” and turned away.
Buffy found the green demon lair. She took out all that were left, then destroyed the eggs, too. At Sunnydale High she’d once learned that some amphibians are always female, unless they change sex to mate.
A thousand unborn girls.
When Buffy came back, she half expected Faith to be gone. Buffy thought it likely Faith would have gone out after her, or maybe gone out to pick a brawl or a quick fuck somewhere. Faith would’ve wanted to direct all that energy somewhere, and she was just good enough that she wouldn’t direct it at the girls, and just bad enough that she would leave them to dig the graves themselves.
It wasn’t like Buffy didn’t understand it. She might’ve even been able to forgive it, if she had been another person.
If she had never been the Slayer.
When Buffy came back, however, Faith was there, Katya was smiling, pizza had been delivered, and the bodies were all gone. “Where . . . ?” began Buffy.
Faith grinned. “Dissolve with salt, B.” She folded up a slice of pepperoni-sausage-olives-green onion, and took a great big bite. “Just like mother used to do.”
“I was going to ask where you got the cash,” Buffy said, and hated herself, for being snide.
Faith just shrugged.
Buffy looked around. The green guts were gone from the walls. A couple Slayers were still mopping the floor, but it was mostly clean. Now they were just pushing water at each other and flicking soap bubbles, interspersed with an occasional giggle.
After that night, Katya had been glued to Faith’s side for two weeks straight. She hadn’t said anything, just kept looking at Faith as though she’d hung the moon.
Buffy thought about it, as she watched Faith scrub up blood from the floor of their kitchen in the middle of the night. Faith left her shit laying all over the mansion; she left her clothes in the washer and her underwear in the sink; she never took out the trash.
And when you thought about it, she’d tried to kill Buffy and committed murder and stolen Buffy’s body and slept with her boyfriend and usurped her authority and been to jail; she’d saved Angel, and she’d helped avert apocalypse. She’d helped found--this, whatever they were doing here, helping Slayers. She’d loved Robin and felt she’d had to leave, to come here, to do this thing, to dissolve green froggy dudes with slime, and scrub the goddamn floor in the middle of the night.
When Buffy really thought about it she had to admit that Faith cleaned up alright.
Done wiping the floor, Faith stood up, tossed her rag in the sink, and washed her hands. She moved a little stiffly. Maybe she’d been kneeling on the floor a long time.
“Are you okay?” Buffy asked.
For a moment, Faith didn’t turn around. When she did, she had on an easy smile. “What?” she said. “I’m fine.”
Buffy frowned. “When that thing touched you, it didn’t hurt?”
“What, you mean my angel?”
“Don’t call it that.”
Faith’s eyes went a little softer.
Buffy got up from the table. She opened the refrigerator, and that way, she didn’t have to look at Faith. “You want a frappacino?”
“No,” said Faith. “I’m pretty beat.”
Pulling one of the bottled Starbucks things out of the fridge, Buffy turned back to Faith. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure,” said Faith. “Five by five.”
*
After Sunnydale went kerplooey, Buffy, Faith, Robin, and some of the new Slayers had gone to Cleveland. Giles, Willow, Andrew, and some of the other Slayers went to England to reform what remained of the Watcher’s Council. Buffy and Faith stayed in Cleveland a few months before they decided the Slayers with them could protect the city from the Hellmouth, and that they might do more good at a more international hub. Buffy and Faith went. Robin stayed.
That had been two years ago. The mansion belonged to Giles. Since Buffy and Faith had moved in six months ago, Giles and his Watchers had been looking for Slayers, flying around the world to let the newly Called know what was happening, help them if they needed it, or bring them back to Somersetshire if there was some kind of problem.
Xander was the one who’d started calling the place Professor Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, followed up by a spirited discussion on whether he could be Professor X.
“X,” said Xander. “For Xander.”
“Your legs work fine,” said Dawn. “On the other hand, that eye . . .”
Xander’s mouth worked. “I should have seen this coming.”
“It’s understandable that you didn’t, though,” Dawn said, “seeing as how you lack depth precision. Cyclops.”
“I’m not Cyclops. Buffy is our fearless leader!”
“Buffy’s Phoenix.”
“But,” said Xander. “Summers. Besides, Buffy can’t be Phoenix. Because, Willow.”
“Red head, moves things with her mind,” said Dawn. “Jean Gray. Well played.”
“It’s like they speak another language,” said Faith.
“Are they still talking?” said Buffy.
“Can I be the hot one?” Faith said.
Dawn frowned at her. “Which one do you mean?”
“Yeah,” said Xander. “All of them are hot. I mean, the girl ones. And Scott.”
Faith shrugged. “I dunno. The hot one.”
“Sure,” said Xander. “You can be Wolverine.”
“Is that Hugh Jackman?” Buffy said. “That’s Hugh Jackman. Okay, if Wolverine were living here, I’d-” She stopped.
Faith was smirking at her. “You’d what, B? Inquiring minds.”
“. . . I’d tell him to vacuum. It’s his turn.”
“Sure, B.” Faith still smirked. “I hear Wolverine is excellent with rugs. Want me to weed the garden too? I hear he’s also excellent with bushes.”
Buffy pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t think he’d be so good with his hands. He has claws.”
“I’d mention Edward Scissorhands,” said Dawn, “but considering the innuendo going on it’s a really upsetting visual.”
“There isn’t any innuendo,” Buffy said. “Can I be Halle Berry? I want to be Halle Berry. I’ve always kind of wanted to.”
“Okay,” said Xander. “But do you know what happens to a frog that gets hit by lightning?”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Joss Whedon wrote that line.”
“He did not!” said Xander.
“Yes, he did. I keep telling you, he’s a hack.”
“His X-men comics are the best,” said Xander.
“Comics,” said Faith. She put her beer down on the table. “Who needs ‘em?”
“Not me,” Buffy said, and sipped Faith’s beer.
*
When Faith did sprout wings, it happened in the midst of chasing after a pack of vampires.
Buffy had noticed Faith had been moving stiffly. She had also noticed that it had started around the time that Glowy Guy had touched her. Also, Faith hadn’t stopped wearing her jacket. She could have just been cold-but if she was, it was because she wasn’t well, or maybe even losing blood. She looked paler than normal, and kept late nights-scrubbing things, or holed up in the bathroom, organizing the first aid supplies, doing laundry.
Buffy’s mom had thought that she had turned preternaturally neat around the age of fifteen. Joyce had never been able to slot it in with the other things she had assumed were happening, the irresponsible teenage things, the partying, the drinking. Buffy knew exactly what doing laundry late at night meant.
Faith just didn’t want to tell her.
When the bones molded, shifted, burst out her back and basically completely ruined one of Buffy’s oldest jackets, Faith didn’t really need to tell her. She kind of figured it out.
Faith had always been rather good at leaping, but that time she came down hard. Buffy had been running with her; Xander and the girls were looping around the building to meet them, and the vampires were getting away. When Faith went down in the alley, Buffy went back for her.
“Go,” Faith said. Her hands were splayed on the pavement; she was on her knees, and something-something was happening to her back.
“Because you’re five by five,” said Buffy.
“Why’s it always you?” Faith said. Then she convulsed, and screamed.
“Make that a three by two,” Buffy said, and dropped her scythe. Trying to rip off the jacket, her eyes widened as she watched the blood appear through Faith’s wife-beater, and something-something was coming out-“What is it? Do you know what it is?”
“It-it’s coming.” Faith convulsed again.
“What? Xander!” Buffy called, and the jacket was ripping, and Buffy was yanking it off, and they were coming; they were indeed coming. “What is it? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me; what’s coming?”
Faith croaked something.
“What?” Buffy had to jerk her eyes away from the stark white bones starting to jut out from Faith’s shoulder blades, from the arteries and veins growing from Faith’s back that were starting to twine their way around them, like vines. The muscles were growing too, slowly stretching, spreading from Faith’s trapezius to wrap around the bones and blood. And then there was skin, and still, they were growing. “What?” Buffy said again, and moved so that she could see Faith’s eyes-wide, the color of a whole system of roots. “What's coming?”
“Grace.” Faith closed her eyes, and fainted.
*
The wings were covered in a light gray fuzz, sort of like down.
“You mean like a baby seagull?” said Xander.
They were back in the mansion. Well, really in the barn, because if Faith woke up and had to . . . they didn’t know, flap her wings or something, it’d wreak havoc and destruction on the English décor, and Buffy was pretty conscious of the fact that the mansion was on loan.
They had had to call Brisa to come bring the van, and even then, it was a trick fitting Faith and her wings into the bed of the back, even without any seats in it. They had had to sort of fold the wings up, not knowing if they were hurting her. She still wasn’t awake, but Dawn had said she was sleeping now.
They thought she would wake up.
“Or maybe an eaglet,” Xander was saying.
“Technically, she shouldn’t even have any wings at all,” Dawn said.
“But Dawnie,” said Xander. “I learned in school that every caterpillar becomes a beautiful, beautiful butterfly, in the end.”
“Bird wings,” Dawn said, annoyed.
“Oh, well, that too,” said Xander.
Buffy was looking at Faith, spread out on the ground. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t have a wishbone,” said Dawn. “Structurally, it doesn’t make any sense at all. Birds don’t have wings and arms. They have wings instead of arms.”
“It’s like dragons having four legs and wings,” said Xander. “Pteranodons didn’t have four legs and two wings. And really, if you look at the fossil evidence-” He stopped because people were looking at him. “Hey, I know science. When it’s dinosaurs.”
“Spike said,” Dawn began.
“Spike’s a liar,” said Xander. “They never fought a dragon in L.A.”
“There was an apocalypse in L.A. There could have been a-”
“Okay,” said Xander. “There was a dragon in L.A. But they never fought a dragon in-”
“I haven’t heard of any recent deaths by dragon,” said Dawn.
“Okay,” said Xander. “They fought a dragon in L.A. What I mean is, Spike never fought a dragon in-”
“I don’t want to hear about L.A.,” said Buffy. “I don’t want to hear about dragons. I just want-I want.” Sitting down abruptly on a stool, she still couldn’t take her eyes off Faith. “Tell me about eaglets.”
“Uh,” said Dawn, “that was really all I had. Evolutionarily, wings-you know, on warm-blood creatures-attach at the collarbones, which is fused-AKA what we know as the wishbone-and . . . and this is nothing like that. Like, at all.”
“Some people think pteranodonswerewarmblooded,” said Xander.
Buffy frowned. “What?”
“Pteranodons,” said Xander. “I’m on task. Really.”
“Okay,” said Buffy. “Let’s stick with eagles for now. There are eagle people in ancient myths, aren’t there?”
“Um,” said Dawn. “I think there’s an Indian one. And there are bird people in lots of Mesoamerican religions. Oh. And the birdmen of Easter Island.”
Buffy turned back to Faith. “Could Glowy Guy be one of those?”
“Do we know the . . .” Xander waved a hazy hand at Faith’s wings, “you know, came from the glowy guy? I mean, that happened last week. Do wings generally have a gestation period?”
“Maybe a bell rang,” Dawn said. They all looked at her. She rolled her eyes. “It’s A Wonderful Life? Seriously, you all need to get culturally educated.”
“I think I know the anime,” said Xander.
“This isn’t an anime.” Buffy looked at Faith. “Someone did this to her.”
“There was that alternate universe where you didn’t exist, though,” Xander pointed out. “Are you sure you’re not George Bailey?”
“Okay,” said Dawn. “Let’s get one thing straight. Anya? Not an angel. Particularly not of the It’s A Wonderful Life variety.”
“I’m not Jimmy Stewart,” said Buffy. “Faith is not Clarence. And this isn’t a wonderful life.”
Across the barn, Faith was just waking, struggling to sit up. “Sometimes it’s alright,” she said.
*
The first Slayer Giles had brought them had been named Brisa. She was fifteen and homeless, using her Slayer powers to steal a hambuger. The next Slayer the Watchers had brought them had been named Thanh, who had been diagnosed as bipolar. The next Slayer was Lulu, who had been imprisoned initially for fighting a man to protect a child, was reported to the government, and being drugged by scientists when Giles’s newest Watcher found her. After that, there was Katya, Shireen, Jessica, Xio, Elin, Becky, and Gerđa.
Then there was Dana. Dana had come to them a year and a half ago.
“We call her Drusilla 2.0,” Xander said.
“Not actually funny,” said Buffy.
“Okay,” said Xander. “But I like her.”
“Why?” said Dawn.
Xander thought about it. “I never liked Spike’s hands. They were very . . .”
“I bet Buffy could tell you what his hands were very,” Faith said. She looked with inquiring innocence at Buffy. “Hey, B. Maybe you could show me what-”
“I don’t want to talk about Spike’s hands,” Buffy said, because sometimes she thought about them; actually she thought about them all the time, and it was stupid, because he wore that stupid nail polish and his nails had been bitten down and chipping, and it was stupid, because he had beautiful hands. They were elegant hands, aristocratic and hardly calloused, despite everything he did, everything he could do, despite all the hard ways he touched her; he could be so very gentle.
She had painted his nails once, just because he was there and she didn’t want to go back and she thought it might convince her of just so how very stupid it all really was. She’d hardly ever gotten a chance to do that sort of thing with Willow, but she used to do it, before, when she didn’t keep her nails cut short because she wasn’t killing things instead of having sleep-overs, curling hair, and painting nails.
He had looked down at his hand as she did it, as she painted the black in careful, quick strokes she still remembered down each bitten nail. He hadn’t laughed at all when she put cotton between his fingers to hold them separate; he hadn’t even quipped. There had been an aura of intense concentration about him, watching her paint, a kind of stillness. When she was done, he had looked at her as though she had just told him he meant the world to her.
“When you think about it,” said Xander, “Dana’s sort of like Rogue.” This was around the time he had started calling the mansion Professor Xavior’s. “I mean, not that Rogue cut off people’s hands. I just mean . . . .” He trailed off, looking pensive.
“You mean the um,” Dawn said, picking at her nails, “superpowers that aren’t so super.”
Swallowing, Xander nodded. “Carol Danvers.”
“Who?”
Carol Danvers, Xander explained, had been another mutant with superpowers. Rogue had touched her, and with her own mutant power, absorbed Carol’s powers-and Carol’s mind. Rogue had spent a while going insane, split between her own brain and Carol’s, trying to adjust to her incredible new powers, trying to find herself.
“Thought we didn’t care about the comics,” said Faith.
Xander shrugged. “I’m just telling you what’s canon.”
“That a religious thing?”
“The point is that Dana our responsibility now,” said Buffy. “And I didn’t notice any spandex on her so it’s not exactly like she’s going to fight the fight of right if we don’t help her.”
“Now we’re talking,” said Faith. “Can we even get her to wear spandex?”
Buffy’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious.”
“I’m serious, too.” Faith brought her boots off the table. “Because seriously, hot as that chick would look in that little yellow-green number with a little leather jacket, what makes you think she’s gonna fight the fight of right at all?”
“That’s why we’re helping her,” said Buffy.
“Yeah,” said Faith. “I know. You think I’m not gonna do everything I can?”
“I never said that.”
“I know where she is,” said Faith. “I know where she’s been. And all I’m saying is, sometimes you can’t come back.”
Buffy just looked at her. “Sometimes you can.”
Faith jerked her head. “I haven't . . .” Standing up, she turned away, her long hair hiding her face. “I’m just not,” she said.
Buffy felt tight, coiled in on herself. “You are,” she said.
*
Go to Part 2 (end)
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