Superpowers! Shiny knives!
Title: Out of the Game
Author: Elisabeth
Summary: You gotta train to stay sharp. Faith and Gunn, facing life after "Home" and "Chosen." It's better with weapons.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Spoilers: Through the end of S7/S5
A/N: Written for Sallyanne, for the kitchen drawer ficathon. (Master list of stories here; the post is friends-locked.) Her request was Faith/Gunn (shippy or friend-y),any time during or after the Season 4 Angelus arc, bonding over weapons. I hope I delivered.
"You're shitting me," she said, leaning forward. Her body was a challenge: I dare you to impress me, lawyer-boy.
"No, man. See, I was like this -" Gunn demonstrated, slicing the air with the sword as he demonstrated how he had taken out a Se-Kowchyk demon in the sewers the year before. "And I took his head off, one blow, clean. Motherfucker never knew what hit him."
Faith's dark eyes were shiny. "There was this one time back in Boston, right after I was called? And, like, my watcher sent me out to this cemetery, and she didn't know there was a nest of vamps there. I ended up staking about five of them with, I swear to god, this big bunch of rose stems from someone's grave."
"Those kill them?"
She shrugged. "I guess it's close enough to wood. Or maybe anything works if you jam it hard enough in the right place." She paused, frowned. "But that probably works for things other than slaying."
He laughed. "Damn, girl -- you do have a mouth on you." He gestured to the open weapons cabinets. "See anything you want to try out?"
She reached in, hefted a shiny hubcap axe. Balancing it between two fingers, Faith spun it; first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. "Aw, this is wicked. It would take out a dozen vampires at once. Line 'em up and knock 'em down."
"That's what I thought when Wes tracked it down. It's got some magic mojo on it, too, makes it extra-precise."
Faith nodded. "State of the art killing machine." She put the axe back in its cabinet. "You want to take it with you to Wolfram and Hart, or is this one we can have at the Slayers' Academy?"
It was August, sticky in Los Angeles. The Hyperion's ancient air conditioning hardly made a dent in the smog filling the building. After two months at Wolfram & Hart, Gunn had finally admitted to himself that the attorney upgrade was permanent. When Faith called to ask him if he'd be interested in helping her train some of the new Slayers, it was the push he needed to finally clean out the weapons cabinet at the old hotel; Angel, Fred and Wes had long since removed the weapons they wanted, but had left him the bulk of them. For "closure," Fred had said, propped against the couch in his new office, scooping nachos with extra guacamole into her mouth.
He halfway listened as she explained that it was important that he get his stuff out of the Hyperion, just as she had removed her techie toys and Wesley had dismantled the library. Gunn watched the way her ponytail bounced on the back of her neck as she spoke and thought: She might make goo-goo eyes at scientist boy, but when she's lonely, I'm still her eating buddy. He remembered, vaguely, that their relationship had ended badly, but brushed the thought aside. No point obsessing. Time to move on. Fred was ready to be friends - why wasn't he?
Faith's voice jarred him back to the present. "How many demons you think you killed?" He liked watching her, all dark hair and feline grace, eye candy in a black tank top and red denim shorts.
And nothing was as sexy as a girl with a broadsword who knew how to use it.
"With this stuff, or overall?" he asked. "Probably I've bagged about 200 since I signed on with Angel. And back with my old crew, I killed maybe 75 vamps, fifteen assorted others."
"Not bad for a civilian," she said. "You got into this 'cause of your sister, right?" He nodded. "Man, I can't believe people without superpowers get into this shit. I'm a slayer, and I damn near dropped out."
He shrugged. "Demons were tearing up my neighborhood, my family, my friends. It was do something, or hide my head. The hiding thing didn't make much sense to me."
She nodded. "I get that. And now that I'm good? I mean, again?" She cut the air with the sword, too close to Gunn's ear for anyone without Slayer reflexes. "I'm kind of looking forward to killing a whole bunch of uglies. Preferably some that I have a chance against. I mean, if those days aren't over for good."
He looked up from the trunk that he was loading with a bunch of small weapons - daggers and nun chucks mostly, swaddled in old newspapers. "What do you mean?"
"It's ending, Chuck. You're, like, a genius lawyer now. And I'm gonna be teaching combat to new slayers until B kicks me out of her school. I don't see much more street fighting time ahead for us."
He rose, walked over to her, and put his hand on her arm. Voice quiet and dangerous, he said, "The way I see it, wearing a power suit during the day ain't gonna keep me from fighting the good fight at night. And nobody's gonna tell me any different."
Her eyes were far away. "You say that, but things are gonna change. I'm seeing it already, Chuck. The whole "let's restart the Watcher's council thing and train all five zillion new slayers" sounds great, but it's turning B and her crew into this bureaucracy. Yesterday I had to schedule a meeting to talk to Willow. And how many layers of assistants would I have had to go through to get you, if I didn't still have your cell?"
He shrugged. "I have to watch my time. Doesn't mean I'm off my game."
"So when was the last time you patrolled? I ain't been out, except with a bunch of girls five years younger and twice as flexible, since the week Will took me back to Sunnydale. I can feel that I'm gonna get soft."
"You gotta train to stay sharp," he said, tense.
"Yep. Gotta find the time to train to stay sharp. Aging out's not usually a risk for Slayers, but that doesn't mean it won't happen." She sheathed the broadsword she'd been fondling. "Bet it's double a risk without the superpowers." She held up a hand to stop him from talking. "Not that mad knowledge of the law isn't a superpower. It's just not gonna be much help if some oogly-boogly gets your back against a wall."
"I hear that, but -" He looked around the weapons room. While they were talking, they had packed it all up; one trunk for W&H, one trunk for the Slayer academy, smaller crates of weapons for their private collections. He thought about her question, and realized: He hadn't been on a patrol in months, and the last time he went for a jog, he ended up winded after half an hour. "Yo, Faith?"
"Yeah?"
"I heard Wes on the phone yesterday. Said there was a lot of vamp activity out in Hollywood. W&H is sending a team in, but you wanna go out, take a look for yourself, maybe kill a few things?"
Her smile was dazzling. "You know it."
Author: Elisabeth
Summary: You gotta train to stay sharp. Faith and Gunn, facing life after "Home" and "Chosen." It's better with weapons.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Spoilers: Through the end of S7/S5
A/N: Written for Sallyanne, for the kitchen drawer ficathon. (Master list of stories here; the post is friends-locked.) Her request was Faith/Gunn (shippy or friend-y),any time during or after the Season 4 Angelus arc, bonding over weapons. I hope I delivered.
"You're shitting me," she said, leaning forward. Her body was a challenge: I dare you to impress me, lawyer-boy.
"No, man. See, I was like this -" Gunn demonstrated, slicing the air with the sword as he demonstrated how he had taken out a Se-Kowchyk demon in the sewers the year before. "And I took his head off, one blow, clean. Motherfucker never knew what hit him."
Faith's dark eyes were shiny. "There was this one time back in Boston, right after I was called? And, like, my watcher sent me out to this cemetery, and she didn't know there was a nest of vamps there. I ended up staking about five of them with, I swear to god, this big bunch of rose stems from someone's grave."
"Those kill them?"
She shrugged. "I guess it's close enough to wood. Or maybe anything works if you jam it hard enough in the right place." She paused, frowned. "But that probably works for things other than slaying."
He laughed. "Damn, girl -- you do have a mouth on you." He gestured to the open weapons cabinets. "See anything you want to try out?"
She reached in, hefted a shiny hubcap axe. Balancing it between two fingers, Faith spun it; first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. "Aw, this is wicked. It would take out a dozen vampires at once. Line 'em up and knock 'em down."
"That's what I thought when Wes tracked it down. It's got some magic mojo on it, too, makes it extra-precise."
Faith nodded. "State of the art killing machine." She put the axe back in its cabinet. "You want to take it with you to Wolfram and Hart, or is this one we can have at the Slayers' Academy?"
It was August, sticky in Los Angeles. The Hyperion's ancient air conditioning hardly made a dent in the smog filling the building. After two months at Wolfram & Hart, Gunn had finally admitted to himself that the attorney upgrade was permanent. When Faith called to ask him if he'd be interested in helping her train some of the new Slayers, it was the push he needed to finally clean out the weapons cabinet at the old hotel; Angel, Fred and Wes had long since removed the weapons they wanted, but had left him the bulk of them. For "closure," Fred had said, propped against the couch in his new office, scooping nachos with extra guacamole into her mouth.
He halfway listened as she explained that it was important that he get his stuff out of the Hyperion, just as she had removed her techie toys and Wesley had dismantled the library. Gunn watched the way her ponytail bounced on the back of her neck as she spoke and thought: She might make goo-goo eyes at scientist boy, but when she's lonely, I'm still her eating buddy. He remembered, vaguely, that their relationship had ended badly, but brushed the thought aside. No point obsessing. Time to move on. Fred was ready to be friends - why wasn't he?
Faith's voice jarred him back to the present. "How many demons you think you killed?" He liked watching her, all dark hair and feline grace, eye candy in a black tank top and red denim shorts.
And nothing was as sexy as a girl with a broadsword who knew how to use it.
"With this stuff, or overall?" he asked. "Probably I've bagged about 200 since I signed on with Angel. And back with my old crew, I killed maybe 75 vamps, fifteen assorted others."
"Not bad for a civilian," she said. "You got into this 'cause of your sister, right?" He nodded. "Man, I can't believe people without superpowers get into this shit. I'm a slayer, and I damn near dropped out."
He shrugged. "Demons were tearing up my neighborhood, my family, my friends. It was do something, or hide my head. The hiding thing didn't make much sense to me."
She nodded. "I get that. And now that I'm good? I mean, again?" She cut the air with the sword, too close to Gunn's ear for anyone without Slayer reflexes. "I'm kind of looking forward to killing a whole bunch of uglies. Preferably some that I have a chance against. I mean, if those days aren't over for good."
He looked up from the trunk that he was loading with a bunch of small weapons - daggers and nun chucks mostly, swaddled in old newspapers. "What do you mean?"
"It's ending, Chuck. You're, like, a genius lawyer now. And I'm gonna be teaching combat to new slayers until B kicks me out of her school. I don't see much more street fighting time ahead for us."
He rose, walked over to her, and put his hand on her arm. Voice quiet and dangerous, he said, "The way I see it, wearing a power suit during the day ain't gonna keep me from fighting the good fight at night. And nobody's gonna tell me any different."
Her eyes were far away. "You say that, but things are gonna change. I'm seeing it already, Chuck. The whole "let's restart the Watcher's council thing and train all five zillion new slayers" sounds great, but it's turning B and her crew into this bureaucracy. Yesterday I had to schedule a meeting to talk to Willow. And how many layers of assistants would I have had to go through to get you, if I didn't still have your cell?"
He shrugged. "I have to watch my time. Doesn't mean I'm off my game."
"So when was the last time you patrolled? I ain't been out, except with a bunch of girls five years younger and twice as flexible, since the week Will took me back to Sunnydale. I can feel that I'm gonna get soft."
"You gotta train to stay sharp," he said, tense.
"Yep. Gotta find the time to train to stay sharp. Aging out's not usually a risk for Slayers, but that doesn't mean it won't happen." She sheathed the broadsword she'd been fondling. "Bet it's double a risk without the superpowers." She held up a hand to stop him from talking. "Not that mad knowledge of the law isn't a superpower. It's just not gonna be much help if some oogly-boogly gets your back against a wall."
"I hear that, but -" He looked around the weapons room. While they were talking, they had packed it all up; one trunk for W&H, one trunk for the Slayer academy, smaller crates of weapons for their private collections. He thought about her question, and realized: He hadn't been on a patrol in months, and the last time he went for a jog, he ended up winded after half an hour. "Yo, Faith?"
"Yeah?"
"I heard Wes on the phone yesterday. Said there was a lot of vamp activity out in Hollywood. W&H is sending a team in, but you wanna go out, take a look for yourself, maybe kill a few things?"
Her smile was dazzling. "You know it."