Fic: Different Girl (BtVS, PG-13, Faith)
Different Girl. PG-13 for language, BtVS, Faith. I've never wanted to write about Faith before- I've got no head for her. But I see her with the potentials and I think, yeah, something about this is good. So, Faith, here's to you.
"Here's how I want to die," Faith starts, and takes her shot; she sits back in her chair and spreads her hands apart like a picture frame. "Jumping off a cliff onto the back of a dragon, stabbing that fucker in the heart, and riding it all the way down."
"Here's how I want to die," Faith starts, and takes her shot; she sits back in her chair and spreads her hands apart like a picture frame. "Jumping off a cliff onto the back of a dragon, stabbing that fucker in the heart, and riding it all the way down."
Robin and Vi stare at her. Their expressions are priceless, Faith thinks she ought to take Polaroids and stick them on a bulletin board- that's what she needs. A bulletin board. For concert tickets and shit. And the grocery lists, which she keeps leaving in a back pocket and accidentally putting through the wash.
Hey, she never said she was good at this. "Your turn, chiquita." Vi laughs a little nervously and sniffs the tequila.
"I don't want to die," she says primly. Robin doesn't laugh, but Faith does. Because Faith's seen her fight. Faith's seen her break a sword in half just to stab two demons at the same time. Vi fights tough, and Vi fights nuts; and thirty seconds after she's gotten the blood and dust off of her hands, she's back to the Miss Perfect bullshit.
It's the kind of thing that used to drive Faith totally batshit insane-o when Buffy did it, but now it just makes her giggle in the back of her throat and taste the shot again, warmly. She guesses that the regular sex and the regular meals must be mellowing her out.
"Wise," Robin says, his voice a rumble that sends electricity straight to her- well. He sees it and gives her a slightly feral smile, and Faith thinks she might already be drunk. "I think some of us have given it a little too much thought."
"Really ?" Faith asks, softly; so softly that Robin looks at her with a kind of warning. Yeah, she usually says mean shit when she talks this soft, but she doesn't feel mean. Just wants to bring her out, that pretty little berserker stuffed into a bedazzled jean jacket; wants to hear what's really in her head. "No fantasy- no pile of dead enemies, no glory ?"
"I want to die in my sleep," Vi murmurs. She takes the shot. Faith shrugs, and gets up for another round.
Faith has found she never gets tired of a few things: one of them is Robin's voice when he talks to her in the dark, not even sexy stuff, just what they've got to do tomorrow and what shit was like when he was younger. Whatever.
And she never gets tired of Vi and Rona's mac and cheese; it's the particularly awesome kind, with real cheese, and Rona makes something she calls a roo first, and Faith pretends like she knows what that is. Sometimes they even let her cut hot dogs into it. Robin cooks even better than they do, veal scallopini, all Emeril and shit; because he's used to living on his own and says he got tired of microwave dinners. But she still has a soft spot for the macaroni.
Faith thinks she's gained some weight since this started.
They live together in Cleveland, sort of, closer to Painesville, which is a name that Faith finds hilarious. The town is called Restin. It's got a nice school and a nice little mall and nine crappy bars, and it's got a hellmouth. Not a particularly big one, but still fresh and big with the evil. So Faith and her man-slayer and two girls that wanted to go live here, and patrol every night, and once they even had their own little apocalypse. Nobody died.
Faith called Buffy to boast on that one.
"We stopped the ritual before it even started," she says, gloating, sitting in the basement where the others couldn't hear her if she and B started arguing. Funny, she could hear it, even with her cell's crappy reception- the sound of Buffy rolling her eyes.
"Talk to me when you have to behead something with a swiss army knife," she replies; but she sounds proud. It feels strange, so Faith starts needling her about boys again. "Oh, go to hell, Faith," she sighs, and they both laugh. It's not like they ever really left. "You know, I haven't gotten laid in like- I can't even remember. Before Christmas. Two years ago."
"Christ, B !" Faith yells in mock-concern. "Don't they have dicks over there in the mother country ?"
"I wouldn't know," Buffy says, and then she's got to go. Something about a Nezzla demon uprising. Those things are pathetic. "It's really good to hear you're taking care of yourself."
"Yeah, yeah, thanks mom." They hang up. Faith sits there alone for a long minute in the dark, trying to figure out what she should have said instead.
Vi and Rona ask her for stories sometimes, about what it was like when there were only two of them- Buffy and Faith, Faith and Buffy. Faith sugarcoats it a little. Old habits.
"We got in a lot of fights," she admits. "We were really different people. Different girls. Different fighters."
"We noticed," Rona says, with a little of that sassy streak that Faith so digs.
They get wings and fries and watch horror movies, and criticize the heroes for their freakin' stupid reactions to everything. Robin watches too, and makes that popcorn with the flavored salt on top, and extra butter for Faith, who likes to lick her fingers afterwards.
She really is getting fat.
Sometimes at night, she just sits in the living room by herself, trying to figure out the pretty house on the pretty street and the girls sleeping in twin beds upstairs that she's still trying to train, still trying to keep alive. And Robin, waiting up for her. They even keep flowers on the end tables- they have end tables. Rona's going to be third in her class when she graduates next month. Vi has a boyfriend named Eric, who's cool with the whole slayer thing.
Does she deserve this ? No. Does she understand it ? Hell no. Does she like it ?
God, she thinks she might.
It's not too long until she gets cornered; not thinking straight, she turns right instead of left and is boxed into a crypt with an eight-foot-tall claw-and-teeth kind of motherfucker. She doesn't scream when it lands on top of her, too much to throw and too slippery to grapple. She doesn't think about her life, or about anybody else's life; just looks down deep into those thirteen ugly eyes and sees forever.
Her girls pull it off of her in time; they pull the throat back and slash it, spraying warm, sticky blue blood all over her. Yeah, she sort of minds, because the jacket was super nice, but whatever. They pulled it off of her, and that's what counts.
She lies there on the cement, with the demon corpse spread-eagle next to her, and Rona stretches out her hand. Faith waves it away.
"I'm good," she says. The corners of her mouth are cracking as she speaks, goop plastering most of her head. The blue blood is salty, who knew ?
"You're good, huh ?" Rona crouches down, elbows on her knees, head tilted like the wise-ass she is. "So, Faith- how do you want to die ?" Faith shoots a glance at Vi, who shrugs. Okay, so they talk. She's not surprised- she and B might have been like this, if they grew up together instead of being shoved together at, like, the worst possible moments ever.
"How do I want to die, huh." Faith rolls onto her back, flips onto her feet, relishing the sensation of momentum, the rush to her head. She looks them over. "How about- not yet ?"
"Sounds good," Vi says.
They stop for pizza on the way home.
"Here's how I want to die," Faith starts, and takes her shot; she sits back in her chair and spreads her hands apart like a picture frame. "Jumping off a cliff onto the back of a dragon, stabbing that fucker in the heart, and riding it all the way down."
"Here's how I want to die," Faith starts, and takes her shot; she sits back in her chair and spreads her hands apart like a picture frame. "Jumping off a cliff onto the back of a dragon, stabbing that fucker in the heart, and riding it all the way down."
Robin and Vi stare at her. Their expressions are priceless, Faith thinks she ought to take Polaroids and stick them on a bulletin board- that's what she needs. A bulletin board. For concert tickets and shit. And the grocery lists, which she keeps leaving in a back pocket and accidentally putting through the wash.
Hey, she never said she was good at this. "Your turn, chiquita." Vi laughs a little nervously and sniffs the tequila.
"I don't want to die," she says primly. Robin doesn't laugh, but Faith does. Because Faith's seen her fight. Faith's seen her break a sword in half just to stab two demons at the same time. Vi fights tough, and Vi fights nuts; and thirty seconds after she's gotten the blood and dust off of her hands, she's back to the Miss Perfect bullshit.
It's the kind of thing that used to drive Faith totally batshit insane-o when Buffy did it, but now it just makes her giggle in the back of her throat and taste the shot again, warmly. She guesses that the regular sex and the regular meals must be mellowing her out.
"Wise," Robin says, his voice a rumble that sends electricity straight to her- well. He sees it and gives her a slightly feral smile, and Faith thinks she might already be drunk. "I think some of us have given it a little too much thought."
"Really ?" Faith asks, softly; so softly that Robin looks at her with a kind of warning. Yeah, she usually says mean shit when she talks this soft, but she doesn't feel mean. Just wants to bring her out, that pretty little berserker stuffed into a bedazzled jean jacket; wants to hear what's really in her head. "No fantasy- no pile of dead enemies, no glory ?"
"I want to die in my sleep," Vi murmurs. She takes the shot. Faith shrugs, and gets up for another round.
Faith has found she never gets tired of a few things: one of them is Robin's voice when he talks to her in the dark, not even sexy stuff, just what they've got to do tomorrow and what shit was like when he was younger. Whatever.
And she never gets tired of Vi and Rona's mac and cheese; it's the particularly awesome kind, with real cheese, and Rona makes something she calls a roo first, and Faith pretends like she knows what that is. Sometimes they even let her cut hot dogs into it. Robin cooks even better than they do, veal scallopini, all Emeril and shit; because he's used to living on his own and says he got tired of microwave dinners. But she still has a soft spot for the macaroni.
Faith thinks she's gained some weight since this started.
They live together in Cleveland, sort of, closer to Painesville, which is a name that Faith finds hilarious. The town is called Restin. It's got a nice school and a nice little mall and nine crappy bars, and it's got a hellmouth. Not a particularly big one, but still fresh and big with the evil. So Faith and her man-slayer and two girls that wanted to go live here, and patrol every night, and once they even had their own little apocalypse. Nobody died.
Faith called Buffy to boast on that one.
"We stopped the ritual before it even started," she says, gloating, sitting in the basement where the others couldn't hear her if she and B started arguing. Funny, she could hear it, even with her cell's crappy reception- the sound of Buffy rolling her eyes.
"Talk to me when you have to behead something with a swiss army knife," she replies; but she sounds proud. It feels strange, so Faith starts needling her about boys again. "Oh, go to hell, Faith," she sighs, and they both laugh. It's not like they ever really left. "You know, I haven't gotten laid in like- I can't even remember. Before Christmas. Two years ago."
"Christ, B !" Faith yells in mock-concern. "Don't they have dicks over there in the mother country ?"
"I wouldn't know," Buffy says, and then she's got to go. Something about a Nezzla demon uprising. Those things are pathetic. "It's really good to hear you're taking care of yourself."
"Yeah, yeah, thanks mom." They hang up. Faith sits there alone for a long minute in the dark, trying to figure out what she should have said instead.
Vi and Rona ask her for stories sometimes, about what it was like when there were only two of them- Buffy and Faith, Faith and Buffy. Faith sugarcoats it a little. Old habits.
"We got in a lot of fights," she admits. "We were really different people. Different girls. Different fighters."
"We noticed," Rona says, with a little of that sassy streak that Faith so digs.
They get wings and fries and watch horror movies, and criticize the heroes for their freakin' stupid reactions to everything. Robin watches too, and makes that popcorn with the flavored salt on top, and extra butter for Faith, who likes to lick her fingers afterwards.
She really is getting fat.
Sometimes at night, she just sits in the living room by herself, trying to figure out the pretty house on the pretty street and the girls sleeping in twin beds upstairs that she's still trying to train, still trying to keep alive. And Robin, waiting up for her. They even keep flowers on the end tables- they have end tables. Rona's going to be third in her class when she graduates next month. Vi has a boyfriend named Eric, who's cool with the whole slayer thing.
Does she deserve this ? No. Does she understand it ? Hell no. Does she like it ?
God, she thinks she might.
It's not too long until she gets cornered; not thinking straight, she turns right instead of left and is boxed into a crypt with an eight-foot-tall claw-and-teeth kind of motherfucker. She doesn't scream when it lands on top of her, too much to throw and too slippery to grapple. She doesn't think about her life, or about anybody else's life; just looks down deep into those thirteen ugly eyes and sees forever.
Her girls pull it off of her in time; they pull the throat back and slash it, spraying warm, sticky blue blood all over her. Yeah, she sort of minds, because the jacket was super nice, but whatever. They pulled it off of her, and that's what counts.
She lies there on the cement, with the demon corpse spread-eagle next to her, and Rona stretches out her hand. Faith waves it away.
"I'm good," she says. The corners of her mouth are cracking as she speaks, goop plastering most of her head. The blue blood is salty, who knew ?
"You're good, huh ?" Rona crouches down, elbows on her knees, head tilted like the wise-ass she is. "So, Faith- how do you want to die ?" Faith shoots a glance at Vi, who shrugs. Okay, so they talk. She's not surprised- she and B might have been like this, if they grew up together instead of being shoved together at, like, the worst possible moments ever.
"How do I want to die, huh." Faith rolls onto her back, flips onto her feet, relishing the sensation of momentum, the rush to her head. She looks them over. "How about- not yet ?"
"Sounds good," Vi says.
They stop for pizza on the way home.