Author: madaminalamorte0086

The Dirty Outlaws || Faith & Buffy

the-better-slayer:

Hadn’t gone over to shoot the shit, Faith’d said. It was true. Someone as stubborn as Buffy wasn’t gonna be talked out of an idea, but traditionally the two of ‘em used another way to communicate things, anyways. Their way left each other green and purple in the morning, but hell if it wasn’t effective. And if the Scooby Collective hadn’t been able to convince Buffy she was goin’ about this the wrong way, then it fell on Faith to get the point across— always on her to do the dirty work. They were all thinkin’ it, wishin’ someone’d step up to the plate and hit Buffy with the bat. And hey, not like there were too many people who’d stand a chance. Plus… well, Faith would be lyin’ if she said her knuckles weren’t itching for a good fight. Felt her blood beating through her, hot and ready to give chase. This was worth the pursuit.

She flexed her hands against the raw windburn— hadn’t had time to slip her gloves on, this was no joyride. The engine was roaring, but it felt like a purr between her legs; Faith wondered briefly whether she was ridin’ right into some sorta trap. Buffy probably didn’t have the brains to set something up so quick, but it was suspect that she’d texted. Memories of those old spaghetti Westerns her dad used to watch as he sobered up flickered through her mind— wait for the flag, draw your pistol, aim well, don’t die. Their fights had a rhythm to them, too. More thrusting and sweating and straddling, but that counted. As long as Faith remembered that this one actually served a purpose, she’d be five by five, no gettin’ carried away, kickin’ her when she’s down. 

But she’d be going near that line. Ideally Buffy’d be knocked unconscious, then Will’d be able to bind her, or something. Cuffs wouldn’t do, though that’d be—

Focus.

Tower City Center came into view. Closest mall to Buffy’s house, and the only one she’d be able to get to so fast— it was obvious it was the place she had in mind for a showdown. Faith tried to work herself up, assure herself that she was doin’ the right thing here. Well, frankly, they both were, but B was goin’ about it in all the wrong way. Even if they let her out someday, she might not have a city to come back to. The mini-slay troops were all fine n’ dandy, but they didn’t know which was the pointy side of the stake. People needed her, the Slayers needed her, her friends needed her. Faith needed her.

Buffy was in the parking garage. No one would be headed there at this time of the night unless they had some kinda drug deal to cash in on. Or, apparently, if they had a friend they were tryin’ to lasso back into sanity. Faith left her bike behind one of the pillars, still not wanting to take a chance. Helmet off. She stretched her hands out a few times, ‘til they got their dexterity back. “Alright, Lehane,” she muttered to herself, tryin’ not to already count this one as a loss in her book. She did have a real shot; Buffy was a damn good fighter, but she wasn’t the only one. Faith could do this. She was strong, solid, real, alive. A beating thing of blood and limbs. Wind-chapped skin and muscles wrapped like fists ‘round her bones. A Slayer.

She had a chance.

Just had to remember why she was doing this. A knot of motives was dangerous because she was dangerous. 

Faith felt her insides clench and harden, coiling to strike. Deep breath. The air still tasted like gasoline even though most of the level was empty. She glanced around, eyes keening in on a figure about twenty paces away; it had to be Buffy. The lights were dim— several flickering on and off— but there was no mistaking it. That charge felt stronger than ever, like her muscles’d been waiting for this for months. Maybe they had been. 

“So what’s with the shitty idea?” Faith called out, “Someone piss in your porridge, Goldilocks?” She traced her eyes over Buffy, sharp and quick like a knife jab. No talking her out of this, so she might as well press all the right buttons. Get that flag up in the air.

Ready, shoot.

Buffy just waited.  The parking garage was completely empty, she could have sat down but she was antsy enough from the cold that the added energy of fight excitement made it impossible for her to remain in one spot for very long amount of time.  She figured Faith could gleam her location from the few texts they exchanged.  She always knew Faith would be the only one who had enough guts to try and stop her, for a bunch of people who cared so much- they certainly weren’t moved enough to at least put up a fight for her.  But not Faith, she was the only one capable of turning thoughts into actions.  The only one Buffy was really scared might actually stop her.  

So when Faith arrived at the meeting, Buffy knew what she was there for.  She was gonna fight her for it. But she couldn’t let it happen there, it’d be “politically incorrect” to incapacitate one another in front of so many people.  But the parking garage was vacant, no eyes to gaze upon their showdown.  She was having a showdown with Faith.  It all felt very cartoonish- like one of those japanese shows.  The two apposing powers meet on a decided battleground to determine a victor.  Who gets out and who goes home a winner.  She didn’t know what would happen to her if Faith beat her, because there was no way of stopping her that didn’t involve Buffy in some form of unconsciousness.  Or at least not a way Buffy could see.  If Buffy found a way to stop Faith from stopping her, well she knew where she’d be the next day.  

She squinted into the darkness at a pair of headbeams moving toward her, here was the woman of the hour.  Faith was on her motorcylce, which she guessed was supposed to make her seem more dangerous and mysterious.  Faith rode a motorcycle and was all sexy and dark, better not cross her.  Buffy didn’t need any of those things to make her believe that Faith was a force to reckoned with.  She’d fought her enough times to know that.  But Buffy wasn’t scared, she was buzzing with an anxious sort of anticipation.  She shouldn’t be excited to fight Faith, but she maybe a little bit was.  She stood tall, didn’t want Faith to roll in to find her sitting there all mopily.  Had to be ready, had to be cool.

She heard her, far off.  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up just a little, she couldn’t really see her but she could recognize that voice a mile away probably, if she wanted her to.  She felt the tension increase as she came closer and closer, her muscles tensing involuntarily.  "Ew. What is it with you and bodily secretions, Faith?“ she said, almost a chuckle but not quite; no smile to match it. Everyone kept calling her on her plan, attacking it, but they never seemed to offer up anything else that’d actually work.  "If my idea reeks so badly, let’s hear yours.” She kept asking people for their plans, looking for something better, but these great ideas where nowhere to be found.  She let out a huff, ready to move but unsure at what line of dialogue would cue the intense music that meant the battle was on.  She wanted some sort of ‘123 GO!’ or the firing of a gun, anything that meant the heat was on.   Buffy softened the flat hard line her mouth was making.  Try not to look as ready to pounce as you really are. She took a few of her own steps forward and met Faith face to face, with their warm breath visible in the cold between them, any little movement could mean go. 

All Through Water // solo

She saw it all through the wavering blur of water, pressing her face down into a puddle and falling through.  She tumbled endlessly until she found herself standing tall among the Cleveland skyline- was it water or heat that caused the bright blue around her to dance?  She felt the sun’s burning rays, certainly her skin was melting off by now.  Buffy looked down to find herself golden, a bronze statue standing tall among the silver obelisks and reflective glass windows of a cityscape that looked unsettlingly like a graveyard.  The buildings stood in a stark grid formation, the spacing like that of headstones.  She picked up a heavy foot and began to walk.

There was only the sound of a clicking typewriter as each step thudded into the city street below.  Every few steps or so at the bend of a knee the machine would readjust itself, it sounded like a new line.  She searched through the buildings, the inscriptions written in ancient runes she couldn’t read or obscured by blinding glints of sunlight.  She had to find it, had to find hers.  She found her pace increasing to a jog of sorts as she rapidly scanned the skyscrapers, all sound halted as a thick silence fell over the city.  The sun left the sky and she clasped her hands together, squinting her eyes in an attempt to read the rounded and grey building in front of her.  It was possibly some sort of stadium, the retractable roof covering the artificial grass within.  She could feel rain coming, she could smell it.  She unclasped her hands and looked at them, so much blood.  The skin was no longer covered in the color of the sun, instead it was pale and torn.  She couldn’t bare to look at them any longer, she directed her gaze back to the building- her own tombstone.

A thick sort of dark mud covered the text.  She fell forward, desperately clawing at the clay.  She didn’t care that her own fingernails had begun to bleed, her knuckles becoming even more torn.  Her blood added to that which already covered her hands and had begun running up her arms, she didn’t question where it came from. She knew whose blood was on her hands.  Finally she was able to uncover the text, written in plain English.  She read the epitaph as if it was the only truth in this world:

Buffy Anne Summers

1981-2004

Ever destined to die for her cause


Upon reading the words she felt action bubbling up from within her, rage so pure and unfiltered that she couldn’t control herself.  She stood, her head nearly bumping a cloud on the way up.  With all of her might she kicked open the dome, the black letters and plexiglass shattering into it.  This place, so ungreatful of her sacrifice, it all had to go.  She looked up into the darkened sky and watched as one red droplet began to fall from above, it landed with an audible plop on her face and traveled down leaving a trail toward her lips.  She tasted the metalic saltiness, it was blood.  At the thought of it thousands if not hundreds of thousands of clonelike droplets followed, falling all around and over her.  It stained her golden hair with it’s color.  Blood was the truest red she’d ever known and it was all she could see.  She let out a guttural and animalistic scream as she kicked another of the soulless buildings down around her.  Suddenly they were the enemy, she destroyed them all.  Kicking, punching, thrashing, and screaming until there was nothing left but grey rubble floating in a red sea.  She fell down into the sludge, exasperated and unable to go on.  Sitting shoulder deep in a blood rain that didn’t show signs of stopping she stared at the endless ripples each new drop created as it joined the legions of others that had congregated around her.  She closed her eyes as the blood bath rose, higher and higher until she was fully submerged in it.  

She opened her eyes and was in a desert.  She was a figure approaching from afar, flames dancing from his form.  His face was nondescript she observed once he was close enough.  He only kept coming closer, closer and close until the shadow figure was inches from her.  Flames jumped and stretched from him, almost touching her. He was covered in them.  He put his hand out to caress her face and she was unafraid, she’d touched fire before.  The flames, though red and orange, felt cold and blue- like ice.  He dragged his hand down her neck then, she leaned her head back in ecstasy as his hand trailed even lower.  He traced her collar bone with an icy thumb and forefinger, the rest of his hand flat against her chest.  He lingered there only for a moment before his frozen fire found the collar of her shirt.  At his touch her clothes dissolved in a misty haze, all of them.  

He cupped one breast with his hand, the other somehow in her hair pulling her mouth toward his.  Their was electricity between them, a pull she couldn’t resist.  She pressed her lips to his with a ferocious hunger she couldn’t put in words, didn’t feel the need to put into words.  She reached out to touch his chest it was muscular and smooth, she pulled her mouth from his planting a kiss upon his chest. Kissing down down down.  Pushing him down onto the soft bed of sand beneath them, it burned.  His hands were everywhere and nowhere now.  She closed her eyes yet again, a soft swirling blackness heightening all other senses.  Goosebumps covered her body, the feel of his skin on hers drawing a soft whimper from her lips. She began to breath heavily, the sound of her own jagged moans surrounded her.  She was on her knees, straddling him.  She bent down, her chest touching his and placed her hand upon his jaw, the other dug into the sand supporting her weight though it was constantly sinking deeper into it.  She pushed his head to the side revealing the tender flesh of his neck.  She brought her face to it, placed her lips just there- where the pulse was strongest.  She could smell only him.  Smoke and grass, that hair stuff they both seemed to use, the sweat that come from hard work done.  She bit down, her teeth weren’t sharp but they drew blood.

Just a taste, it had been all she wanted.  She bolted straight up, opening her eyes.  She could see his face now, it was one she recognized but couldn’t place.  He sat up breathing as heavily as she was now, letting out gruff pants.  They wanted each other so badly, wanted to go to that place, but for some reason they couldn’t.  He wasn’t on fire anymore and they weren’t in a desert.  Everything around her was blue and they rested in the branches of a tree.  

She took his face in her hands, pulling him in for yet another kiss.  It could have lasted for an eternity, tongues dancing and battling between their two mouths.  She tasted herself in his mouth and it only spurred her on, she had to have him.  She looked into the face she knew so well, wanted to say his name.  To beg for sweet release  the need literally sucking the life from her.  His name came out of her mouth so easily but trailed across her tongue on the way out like ice. No sound, it wasn’t needed.

She sat up with a jolt.  Darkness surrounded her and she could feel sweat dripping down her temples from her hairline.  She tried to catch her breath, still panting.  The feel of cotton sheets surrounded her.  She was in her bed, in her room.  Awake.