[round 1: buffy's stuff] spar with me, for old time's sake
fic: spar with me, for old time's sake
characters: Buffy, Faith, Willow, Scoobies
rating: g
word count: 1600
recipient: for foxstarreh who wanted Slayer sisterhood/bonding/friendship, ass-kicking, the Scoobies; no character bashing
setting: the night before the Chosen spell takes place
Buffy is tired. Tired down to the very marrow of her bones. She’s felt like this before, she looks out over the moonlit backyard of the Summers’ residence and listens to the nearly-deafening silence where there used to be cars, backyard volleyball games, domestic squabbles. You don’t live (and die) as long (or as many) times as she has as a Slayer without being tired, so exhausted and worn out that you feel like the rug on the bottom of the stairs.
Tonight, Buffy is tired. She’s sitting on the back porch steps swinging the scythe she received earlier that day between her hands and knows that she should go inside and grab a pillow before there are none left and try to get some sleep.
“Big day tomorrow,” a hoarse voice says just as Faith slips onto the stair beside her, bumping shoulders with her affectionately.
“Bigger,” Buffy replies with a smile.
She hands the scythe over to Faith and when their hands graze she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t exactly smile either and they definitely won’t be dancing partners at the Bronze anytime soon, but she doesn’t flinch.
She takes that for what it is.
Faith swings the scythe to and fro in her hands, restless but content. Buffy knows the feeling, having the scythe in her hands is like … like suddenly feeling what you’ve known for a long time. It’s one thing to know that you can kick down a steel door and throw a linebacker over your shoulder and quite another to feel that power running through your veins.
“Remember,” Faith’s smile widens, “Remember that day in the park, with the Vortoth demons?”
Buffy narrows her eyebrows and leans back against the porch on her elbows, “We went to a park?”
Faith nods, “Willow, Xander, and you… for like some three-day weekend picnic or whatever. I came tearing through with a Vortoth on my heels, screaming like hell.”
Buffy feels a sense of deep nostalgia for something she wasn’t sure was ever true, a time when she and Faith were sisters and not enemies. Somehow it’s easier to remember the hard things, the hurt, the betrayal. Maybe there’s a reason for that, she vaguely recalls Professor Walsh saying something about it, Riley and Willow discussing it at length while Buffy tries desperately to join the conversation without adding yeah like that time I staked that vamp with a popsicle stick. Something about the brain memorizing trauma as a way to avoid any further similar situations.
You remember the bad in order to avoid it and just hope that enough good stuff fills in the spaces in between.
“What made you think of it?” Buffy asks after a long moment of silence, Faith still turning the scythe over and over in her hands.
“Just…” Faith purses her lips, they’re a dark color, like dried blood. Like a calling card. “Something about the witch in there, taking on this spell tomorrow. I want to say that I didn’t expect this, that this is crazy, that she can’t handle it.” She turns her head and grins broadly at Buffy, it’s a self-deprecating grin… Buffy knows it well, used to read it as bravado, as strength, as courage. Funny how much you learn at pretending over time. “The asshole in me wants to say that she’s not the right person for the job. But I remember a skinny little teenager with no superpowers holding onto the back of a Vortoth demon - slimy and scaly and fucking disgusting little shits - and it all makes sense in a way.”
Buffy hums in agreement, “Willow is the strongest person I know.”
“She nearly destroyed the world.”
“She didn’t.” Buffy shakes her head and focuses on her bare knees poking out of the small cotton shorts she wears to bed these days, “She didn’t. I wanted to die, I didn’t care about the world, and she brought it to the brink and back again. If there’s anyone who can pull off this spell in the history of … ever, it’s her.”
“Maybe your bad ass rubbed off on her, B.”
“Maybe it was a little bit of both.”
Faith stands up restlessly and begins twirling the scythe around the yard, feeling out its weight and balance. They are natural gymnasts, Slayers, that’s something the others will learn in the morning. Buffy imagines Amanda’s skinny little arms and legs moving with something more than foal-like awkwardness and smiles, hell yeah she’s going to make a good Slayer. They all are.
She watches Faith and knows everything she’s feeling, power, fear, elation, freedom, responsibility, heartbreak. They’re all on her face for everyone to see. She’s always been that way, a little rough around the edges and hard to control, but true, even when she’s about to stab you in the back. (So maybe some of them won’t make good Slayers because girls are flawed, messy things. They know that better now than they did before, won’t make the same mistakes they did in the past. New, possibly more harmful mistakes, but not the old ones.)
“I think in we already,” Buffy spits out, the sound of her own voice surprising herself.
Faith flips the scythe into the air, “What?”
Buffy leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees, “Like… I’m already thinking about us and … I don’t know, forget it.”
“Is this a kinky lesbian thing?”
Willow pops her head out of the sliding glass door behind Buffy, “Did I just hear my name?”
Buffy flops back against the porch and laughs, her stomach aching and her cheeks so wide they feel like they’ll split in half. Faith just grins and wiggles her eyebrows at Willow, who sits down on the stair below Buffy.
“Sorry,” Willow says, slapping Buffy’s thigh. “I couldn’t resist.”
Buffy looks up at the faint stars above them and sighs. She’s tired, so tired. “This is all going to be gone if this works.”
“Yeah, or we will be,” Faith chimes in from across the yard. Now she’s throwing the scythe and trying to run in time to catch it. She snatches it just a hairsbreadth from the ground. Buffy knew she would, something about the way that her knees and elbows were angled, the way her hair blew out of her face. Had she always been able to read bodies so well? Faith’s? Has she ever tried?
Faith twists around and throws the scythe to Buffy, who catches it in her hand in a simple motion.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Willow says with a sigh. “As if I wasn’t nervous enough.”
Faith shrugs, “It’s not like there’s much left of this town to save.” She holds out her hand to Buffy, “For old time’s sake? Like in case we die tomorrow?”
Buffy can feel Willow beside her wanting to say something, defend the town, say something meaningful about memories or childhoods; she smiles to Faith in thank you and stands up, wiping her hands off on her pants. “For old time’s sake.”
They start slow, circling around each other, bantering back and forth. Not the usual banter, it’s softer and harsher at the same time - it means everything and it means nothing. Willow whispers advice for them both from the sidelines and something tugs in Buffy’s chest that feels like we and sounds like us. Somewhere in the house, someone shouts a warning and the back porch is suddenly full of jostling Potentials, eager to watch their generals fight.
It isn’t a fight, it’s sparring, it’s playing, it’s comfort.
Buffy kicks low and Faith jumps up, flipping away on her hands. They’ve done this before, with red behind their eyes. They’ve fought back to back. They’ve trained in the same spaces.
“We’ve never done this before,” Buffy says after Faith taunts her with a false left lunge.
“B this is all we’ve ever done,” Faith rejoins.
And maybe they’re both right.
On the porch, girls place bets and call out advice, taunts. It’s like a family baseball game, she can feel it in the heat of the summer night, in the sound of the bugs buzzing in the trees, see it in the soft glow of the streetlight on the corner.
They keep an easy rhythm, lunging and leaping over each other, sweat shining on their chests but never too breathless. Buffy lands a kick to Faith’s stomach and Faith taps her chin with her fist. After about fifteen minutes, the Potentials get bored and Dawn rounds them up to go to bed, issuing out bed space and orders in a calm but clear voice.
Buffy is so tired, she can feel it pulsing in her blood with every kick and punch she throws. She’s not sloppy, or weighted, her exhaustion fits her like a glove and they keep going. There’s no fire behind Faith’s eyes or jeer behind her taunts and there’s something in Buffy that wants that to last, wants to bottle it and put it in her pocket in case it doesn’t live past tomorrow.
On the sidelines, Willow, Xander, Dawn, and Anya sip iced tea and chat amongst themselves as the sky gets darker. Occasionally they send quips over across the yard. At one point, Willow magically spirits in a tree branch they both have to deflect, sending Dawn into spasms of laughter.
At some point, they stop. An agreed upon moment that feels planned and also spontaneous, Faith wrapping her arm around Buffy’s waist and laughing into her neck. They make their way together across the yard to where the others are waiting. One last night on this porch, in this place, with these people.
Buffy eases onto the steps and stretches her legs out, Faith does the same on the other end and they half-heartedly kick at each other as Anya goes into the kitchen to get them some iced tea.
She’s tired, she leans against the rail of the stairs and sighs. She’s bone-tired down to her marrow and it’s the most comforting, exhilarating tired she’s ever felt.
characters: Buffy, Faith, Willow, Scoobies
rating: g
word count: 1600
recipient: for foxstarreh who wanted Slayer sisterhood/bonding/friendship, ass-kicking, the Scoobies; no character bashing
setting: the night before the Chosen spell takes place
Buffy is tired. Tired down to the very marrow of her bones. She’s felt like this before, she looks out over the moonlit backyard of the Summers’ residence and listens to the nearly-deafening silence where there used to be cars, backyard volleyball games, domestic squabbles. You don’t live (and die) as long (or as many) times as she has as a Slayer without being tired, so exhausted and worn out that you feel like the rug on the bottom of the stairs.
Tonight, Buffy is tired. She’s sitting on the back porch steps swinging the scythe she received earlier that day between her hands and knows that she should go inside and grab a pillow before there are none left and try to get some sleep.
“Big day tomorrow,” a hoarse voice says just as Faith slips onto the stair beside her, bumping shoulders with her affectionately.
“Bigger,” Buffy replies with a smile.
She hands the scythe over to Faith and when their hands graze she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t exactly smile either and they definitely won’t be dancing partners at the Bronze anytime soon, but she doesn’t flinch.
She takes that for what it is.
Faith swings the scythe to and fro in her hands, restless but content. Buffy knows the feeling, having the scythe in her hands is like … like suddenly feeling what you’ve known for a long time. It’s one thing to know that you can kick down a steel door and throw a linebacker over your shoulder and quite another to feel that power running through your veins.
“Remember,” Faith’s smile widens, “Remember that day in the park, with the Vortoth demons?”
Buffy narrows her eyebrows and leans back against the porch on her elbows, “We went to a park?”
Faith nods, “Willow, Xander, and you… for like some three-day weekend picnic or whatever. I came tearing through with a Vortoth on my heels, screaming like hell.”
Buffy feels a sense of deep nostalgia for something she wasn’t sure was ever true, a time when she and Faith were sisters and not enemies. Somehow it’s easier to remember the hard things, the hurt, the betrayal. Maybe there’s a reason for that, she vaguely recalls Professor Walsh saying something about it, Riley and Willow discussing it at length while Buffy tries desperately to join the conversation without adding yeah like that time I staked that vamp with a popsicle stick. Something about the brain memorizing trauma as a way to avoid any further similar situations.
You remember the bad in order to avoid it and just hope that enough good stuff fills in the spaces in between.
“What made you think of it?” Buffy asks after a long moment of silence, Faith still turning the scythe over and over in her hands.
“Just…” Faith purses her lips, they’re a dark color, like dried blood. Like a calling card. “Something about the witch in there, taking on this spell tomorrow. I want to say that I didn’t expect this, that this is crazy, that she can’t handle it.” She turns her head and grins broadly at Buffy, it’s a self-deprecating grin… Buffy knows it well, used to read it as bravado, as strength, as courage. Funny how much you learn at pretending over time. “The asshole in me wants to say that she’s not the right person for the job. But I remember a skinny little teenager with no superpowers holding onto the back of a Vortoth demon - slimy and scaly and fucking disgusting little shits - and it all makes sense in a way.”
Buffy hums in agreement, “Willow is the strongest person I know.”
“She nearly destroyed the world.”
“She didn’t.” Buffy shakes her head and focuses on her bare knees poking out of the small cotton shorts she wears to bed these days, “She didn’t. I wanted to die, I didn’t care about the world, and she brought it to the brink and back again. If there’s anyone who can pull off this spell in the history of … ever, it’s her.”
“Maybe your bad ass rubbed off on her, B.”
“Maybe it was a little bit of both.”
Faith stands up restlessly and begins twirling the scythe around the yard, feeling out its weight and balance. They are natural gymnasts, Slayers, that’s something the others will learn in the morning. Buffy imagines Amanda’s skinny little arms and legs moving with something more than foal-like awkwardness and smiles, hell yeah she’s going to make a good Slayer. They all are.
She watches Faith and knows everything she’s feeling, power, fear, elation, freedom, responsibility, heartbreak. They’re all on her face for everyone to see. She’s always been that way, a little rough around the edges and hard to control, but true, even when she’s about to stab you in the back. (So maybe some of them won’t make good Slayers because girls are flawed, messy things. They know that better now than they did before, won’t make the same mistakes they did in the past. New, possibly more harmful mistakes, but not the old ones.)
“I think in we already,” Buffy spits out, the sound of her own voice surprising herself.
Faith flips the scythe into the air, “What?”
Buffy leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees, “Like… I’m already thinking about us and … I don’t know, forget it.”
“Is this a kinky lesbian thing?”
Willow pops her head out of the sliding glass door behind Buffy, “Did I just hear my name?”
Buffy flops back against the porch and laughs, her stomach aching and her cheeks so wide they feel like they’ll split in half. Faith just grins and wiggles her eyebrows at Willow, who sits down on the stair below Buffy.
“Sorry,” Willow says, slapping Buffy’s thigh. “I couldn’t resist.”
Buffy looks up at the faint stars above them and sighs. She’s tired, so tired. “This is all going to be gone if this works.”
“Yeah, or we will be,” Faith chimes in from across the yard. Now she’s throwing the scythe and trying to run in time to catch it. She snatches it just a hairsbreadth from the ground. Buffy knew she would, something about the way that her knees and elbows were angled, the way her hair blew out of her face. Had she always been able to read bodies so well? Faith’s? Has she ever tried?
Faith twists around and throws the scythe to Buffy, who catches it in her hand in a simple motion.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Willow says with a sigh. “As if I wasn’t nervous enough.”
Faith shrugs, “It’s not like there’s much left of this town to save.” She holds out her hand to Buffy, “For old time’s sake? Like in case we die tomorrow?”
Buffy can feel Willow beside her wanting to say something, defend the town, say something meaningful about memories or childhoods; she smiles to Faith in thank you and stands up, wiping her hands off on her pants. “For old time’s sake.”
They start slow, circling around each other, bantering back and forth. Not the usual banter, it’s softer and harsher at the same time - it means everything and it means nothing. Willow whispers advice for them both from the sidelines and something tugs in Buffy’s chest that feels like we and sounds like us. Somewhere in the house, someone shouts a warning and the back porch is suddenly full of jostling Potentials, eager to watch their generals fight.
It isn’t a fight, it’s sparring, it’s playing, it’s comfort.
Buffy kicks low and Faith jumps up, flipping away on her hands. They’ve done this before, with red behind their eyes. They’ve fought back to back. They’ve trained in the same spaces.
“We’ve never done this before,” Buffy says after Faith taunts her with a false left lunge.
“B this is all we’ve ever done,” Faith rejoins.
And maybe they’re both right.
On the porch, girls place bets and call out advice, taunts. It’s like a family baseball game, she can feel it in the heat of the summer night, in the sound of the bugs buzzing in the trees, see it in the soft glow of the streetlight on the corner.
They keep an easy rhythm, lunging and leaping over each other, sweat shining on their chests but never too breathless. Buffy lands a kick to Faith’s stomach and Faith taps her chin with her fist. After about fifteen minutes, the Potentials get bored and Dawn rounds them up to go to bed, issuing out bed space and orders in a calm but clear voice.
Buffy is so tired, she can feel it pulsing in her blood with every kick and punch she throws. She’s not sloppy, or weighted, her exhaustion fits her like a glove and they keep going. There’s no fire behind Faith’s eyes or jeer behind her taunts and there’s something in Buffy that wants that to last, wants to bottle it and put it in her pocket in case it doesn’t live past tomorrow.
On the sidelines, Willow, Xander, Dawn, and Anya sip iced tea and chat amongst themselves as the sky gets darker. Occasionally they send quips over across the yard. At one point, Willow magically spirits in a tree branch they both have to deflect, sending Dawn into spasms of laughter.
At some point, they stop. An agreed upon moment that feels planned and also spontaneous, Faith wrapping her arm around Buffy’s waist and laughing into her neck. They make their way together across the yard to where the others are waiting. One last night on this porch, in this place, with these people.
Buffy eases onto the steps and stretches her legs out, Faith does the same on the other end and they half-heartedly kick at each other as Anya goes into the kitchen to get them some iced tea.
She’s tired, she leans against the rail of the stairs and sighs. She’s bone-tired down to her marrow and it’s the most comforting, exhilarating tired she’s ever felt.