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Faith swaggered into the Bronze, bruises from the fight with Buffy finally gone. It was a weeknight and it was kind of dead but she didn't care. She'd spent the last three hours hunting for a good slay but came up with exactly two newbie vamps. It worked to put her on the edge more so than staying in at the hotel would have.
Ever since the night before she felt this disgusting black tar sitting in her stomach. It was a feeling she knew, but one she thought she left behind in Boston along with the grave of her mother and body of her watcher. It reminded her why she didn't trust, and it reminded her that she was all she needed. That no one could bring her happiness but herself.
Well, she conceded, not happiness, but satisfaction. It was the knowledge that she was alive and there was nothing no one, not her long list of flames (really sizzles), not a vamp, and certainly not Buffy, who could do anything to change that. She was Faith.
But this black tar was weighing her down and she needed to shove it off before everything she was downed in it. The independence and self-certainty she bred may soon choke on it.
She chose a guy and honed in. He was your average horny teen, tall with bravado, and eyes that followed anything remotely female. Faith felt like she cheapened herself going for only a high school senior, but tonight she needed to work herself up. And the boss level is never the first one anyway, you always have to kill your way through the smaller, slimier rodents.
So they swung and gyrated until his forehead was dripping with sweat, then she moved on up a level. Though she must’ve moved from small rat to reasonably sized troll because here was a man willing to pay for her drinks, and he was of age. The shots loosened her up more so their hips ground together and lips brushed against her neck.
She was high on the rush of the dance, the battle to see who would give in to their urges first. She dimly felt the change from firm but soft hands on her waist to a rough grip on her stomach. Maybe the thought perhaps I progressed to boss passed through her mind but it was down out by a tongue to the rim of her ear and the words “Let’s go ‘round back” making it through the music.
She could only nod and smile, knowing she won the battle of the urges, and now had the power. If someone was going to be rejected, it wasn’t the person who out-waited their partner. She could feel the oozy tar falling away, and breath coming back to her.
She led the way through the crowd and pushed open the exit to the back. Before she could turn around to look at her suitor a calloused hand was at her throat. Nails dug into her skin threatening to slice her carotid artery, but using her own strength she pried herself free and leapt out of reach.
He was big, oh he was big. And certainly not in the way she wanted to be exclaiming that tonight. Possibly six and a half feet tall with deep-set ice blue eyes and thick black hair. He was deliciously attractive in the sadistic cannibal way. Until cartilage ground and his face changed to reveal amber eyes and a vampire’s smile.
Why did he have to be a vamp?
She immediately sent a kick to his chest. He grabbed her foot and twisted her ankle but she used it flip and bring her other foot to his face. He snarled and her ankle broke free. She landed easily on the ground. He sent a swinging punch to her head. It clipped her just enough to send her slamming into the door they’d come through. It left a dint.
She pushed forward and threw him a flurry of punches that had him on the back foot and pressed up against the opposing brick building. She tried to uppercut but hit dead air as he ducked out of the way and spun to press his front against her back, her face against the brick. He licked up her neck.
“Slayer,” he whispered, the cold air making her shiver. “You’ve fire and passion, but you’re weak, and you are lacking.” He sucked at her throat.
Thoroughly pissed she reared back her head and threw her foot out to kick him in the groin. Nobody called her weak. She punched his face. Nobody said she lacked anything. What the fuck did that mean anyway? She grabbed some metal piping and began using him for batting practice. And nobody called her an idiot. Least of all some power-hungry Watcher reject. The tar bubbled and erupted into her chest, she felt it dragging her down.
He laid crumpled on the floor and struggled to get up while she looked down on him, fury painted on her face.
The Bronze door opened.
“Faith is that you-” Buffy stopped, looking at a panting Faith and the battered vampire at her feet. She immediately pulled out a stake at threw it to the girl. “Thought I felt you.”
Faith caught it easily but grimaced at the feel on it in her hand. Mr. Pointy. Buffy’s very own polished stake. She dropped it to the ground, just out of reach of Buffy so she had to walk to reach it.
“I’m five by five. Don’t need your help B,” she swung the pipe into the vamp’s chest, crushing his ribcage. “I’m capable,” another swing, “of looking,” a tear, “after myself!” The final time she brought the piping down she twisted it so it landed on his neck with enough force to sever all connection and bring him to dust. She turned on Buffy, wiping the single tear away but her eyes shone red. From anger or sadness Buffy couldn’t tell.
“Faith, what? You’re shaking,” Buffy stepped closer.
Faith looked like she was about to step back but met Buffy for the challenge and stepped forward.
“What? You think poor little idiot Faith can’t handle herself?” she sneered.
Buffy’s eyebrows creased down, “No Faith. I told you, we were all played. This wasn’t about who was smarter or who wasn’t. It was a con. Pure and simple. You’re not an idiot.”
Faith laughed. “Good one! You say that now but then you run to your little Scooby gang and you get together,” she moved again to get into Buffy’s space, “And laugh about the dumb little slut hangin’ ‘round pretending she’s a slayer.”
Buffy stepped back. Her eyes were wide and her mind worked to try and placate the younger girl.
“You are a slayer Faith. You’ve got the power, the strength and the instinct just like me,” she stepped forward again and took hold of Faiths wrist, not letting go. “You got it running through your veins like the thousands of girls before you. Like me.”
Faith snatched her hand away, itching it like it’d been burned, and looked to the ground. “We’re nothing alike.”
“We’re everything alike! So I have friends and a mom, and a different upbringing but we’re more alike than anyone else. We feel the same rush, the same pain. We breathe the same air like it’s our last.” Buffy tried to touch her shoulder, to connect with the brunette, but she was shrugged off.
“Don’t touch me Twinkie,” she brought her head back up, eyes wet with tears, “I’m dirty. Don’t want the Golden Girl tarnished.”
“Faith,” Buffy tried her hand again and this time was met with no resistance. She held the shoulder tight. “Let yourself believe it please. Let yourself believe it. You don’t need to prove it to anyone else with your swagger and smirks, and loose tongue.”
Faith dragged Buffy’s wrist so it was over her heart and pulled the blonde so close they shared air. Tears ran down her face and she suppressed a sob, “It’s black B. It’s thick and it’s black and it’s heavy.” The sob won the battle. “My chest is full of tar B and I can’t breathe. How can a washed up whore like me compare to you?” she brought her other hand to caress Buffy’s cheek, “You’re beautiful and pure and even your fucking armpit has the Midas touch.”
The older slayer kept her hand on Faith’s heart, but used her other to move Faith’s hand to her heart, “Our heart’s beat the same. Our nerves run with the same electricity. We are the Slayers. Believe that Faith.”
Faith didn’t even try holding back, dropped to her knees, hugging her arms around Buffy’s legs and hiccoughing sobs into her thigh.
“H-help me. Help me be like you Buffy.”
Buffy ran her hands through the thick brunette hair, “No. I’ll help you be Faith.”
Buffy stood like that until her jeans were soaked with tears but Faith’s eyes were dry. Then she helped pick up the girl and brought her safe to a warm home.