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*
"Oh, this…"
Faith walks straight out of the historian's office, gawking.
This… isn't Sunnydale. Or at least the Sunnydale she knows and exists in. Faith senses the tingle of dark magic. Maple Court, overflowing with the date night crowd on a Saturday, is now emptied. No working streetlights. Garbage scattered around Faith's feet, blowing away.
"You gotta be kidding me," Faith mutters aloud.
She's gonna strangle Willow. Violently.
Or… whoever the hell did this…
Faith remembers being up on the top floor, alongside the Mayor, facing off against Buffy and most of her friends. Some… some magical artifact. Faith can't remember that part. Her mind feels woozy. A trans-dimensional portal? Spell gone bad after cooking for too long?
Aggravated, she huffs up to the curb, and then knocked aside as a leather-dressed couple stroll by. Their arms snugly around each other.
"Watch it, jackass—!"
They turn.
Faith's blood goes cold.
"You two…" she growls, menacingly cracking her knuckles. "Perfect. I needed to vent out a little aggravation."
Xander tilts his head, far too calm. And since when did he wear eyeliner?
"Look, Will," he says dully. "It wants to play."
Willow leers.
Faith's eyes dart to her cleavage practically spilling out. Damn.
"She's so pretty…"
"Pretty pissed off is what I am," Faith snaps, approaching, then lurching backwards when Willow's face vamps out. Her fangs exposed. "Oh, what the SHIT—!?" That's when another person high-kicks themselves in, spinning and packing enough force in their blows to send the vampires of Buffy's old BFFs flying into the asphalt. Xander grabs onto a vamped-out Willow, hissing ferociously, and takes off with her.
Faith opens her mouth, then gawks. Again.
"Yes, well… that's very good," Giles mumbles, scrambling for the large wooden stake Buffy harshly throws at him. (Buffy? That's not Buffy, is it?) "It seems that your training in Cleveland has not been lacking, if anything… has your Watcher warned you about the Hellmouth's—"
"Shut up," Faith (and Buffy, at the same time) blurt out.
They glance at each other, suspicious.
"Don't tell him to shut up," Buffy says nastily, and Faith mock-laughs.
"B, you don't want any of this right now… I could tear you apart." She points to Giles. "And I'll make your little Watcher watch."
Despite the threat, neither of Faith's enemies seem concerned.
"… she's like Cordelia," Giles concludes, eerily knowing.
Buffy warily crosses her arms.
"Guess you were right about how things are supposed to be different, Jeeves…" she monotones.
Faith shakes her head, scowling.
"Would any of you chuckleheads mind EXPLAINING?"
*
They do.
Well, this universe's version of Giles does.
Faith half-listens, gazing out of the corners of her eyes while Buffy prowls the downstairs of Giles' apartment. She didn't expect Buffy to look or act the same… except Faith kinda did. There's no cheerful smile, or quips, or Buffy-esque levels of blind faith optimism.
"So… the Master never dies," Faith repeats. "I'm not called."
Giles hums.
"That appears to be correct, yes."
"Fantastic."
"Miss Summers," Giles addresses her, nodding. "I contact the others. Would you mind staying here with, erm, her?"
Buffy shrugs again, not answering, and he must be taking that as a yes—Faith sees him head out the door. Locking them in. Not that a lock could stop two full-powered Slayers. "What's your problem, B? I've never seen you act that coldly to your Watcher before."
"He's not my Watcher." Buffy's eyes narrow. "And stop calling me that."
Faith smirks, tossing aside a couch-cushion while getting nearer.
"Whaddya gonna do about it? Huh?"
Buffy gets into Faith's face this time, glaring. But she's not making any moves. Faith keeps a hand on her own belt, within reach of her new favorite dagger, and doesn't move either. She wants to revel in Buffy's darkness. The thing that was always there and that Buffy denied she had like Faith had. But… a part of Faith can't. There's nothing in Buffy's eyes. No emotion. She's shut off like Faith had been after her first human kill.
Her humanity hardened.
Faith clears her throat, glancing down to Buffy's grey tank-top.
"That your blood?" she rasps.
And, no, Faith isn't concerned by asking…
(Even if she is. It's like a bad habit. It's like trying to quit smoking, and by the next night, Faith savors the cigarette on her lips.)
"Couldn't save someone. It is what it is," Buffy speaks like she's been numbed on the inside. "We fight, we die."
Faith thumbs a bloodstain, curling her hand around the hem of Buffy's ruined top and yanking a little. For a brief moment, she imagines cutting the material right off. Getting her mouth all over Buffy's scarred skin. They never got to fuck. They should have.
"You'd make a great motivational speaker…"
Buffy snorts, her nostrils flaring.
No, it happened—Buffy did smile, Faith thinks, amused. A crappy-looking smile, but it was a smile.
"Faith, has anyone ever told you… how much of a bitch you are?"
"Only in bed," Faith says sneering, tapping her nose affectionately against Buffy's. She ducks a grab, and then twists Buffy's arm, yanking again. Mouths crash together. Faith moans, grabbing tightly onto Buffy's ass, feeling the other Slayer's hands in Faith's hair.
Buffy's split-lip scar rubs onto her chin.
Want…
Faith repeats her manta, unbuckling her jeans, getting an eyeful of Buffy's nakedness.
Want, take…
She hatefully kisses Buffy again, alternating biting, and grinds from on top. The friction like a hit of nicotine.
Buffy grunts, flipping them on Giles' couch. Her first and middle finger slides to where Faith's clit is, rubbing unsteadily. The pure silver rings feel irresistibly cold on Faith's heat. She gives an impatient and powerful back-arch, and a mutter of Buffy's name.
Want, take, have…
There's no getting enough of her.
*
Magic crackles underneath Faith's skin.
She disappears and reappears in the historian's office with no Mayor in sight. Sunlight cascades over Faith's bare breasts.
Faith holds in the urge to strangle.
"You gotta be kidding me…"
*