Don’t Panic || Buffy & Francesca

groovytune:

“Nope, no shitting.”

Digits twitched and dug into the ground beneath her; was she talking to herself out loud again? And in a different voice? No no, she already determined she was crazy enough as is—no need to put more emphasis on that fact and start diagnosing herself with all sorts of mental illnesses. But she had already clarified that there wasn’t anyone else in the eerie graveyard, unless her eyes deceived her and she just happened to miss the only person near her. Which wouldn’t be a first, given that her ability to think about or notice the people around her wasn’t exactly one of her award-winning talents.

“It’s all real- no imagination needed.”

Blue hues shot up at the hand that seemed to come out of nowhere, raising her hand to accept the form of help before she grimaced at the dirt on it. With a quick wipe to one of her favorite pair of jeans, and much to her dissatisfaction, she got whatever residue off and took the help with a smile of her own in return. Once up, she dusted herself off; a good wash could easily solve the mess, so no need to get her panties in a bunch over it. As long as there wasn’t a tear, which she diligently checked for, she was good.

“I’m sorry about that, I was chasing… My uh, friend.”

In a graveyard? The brunette sure did have a strange friend. She’d heard of parties being thrown at graveyards before, but playing catch? And at this hour? Well, she couldn’t exactly judge. Last she checked, she was in the same situation; except she’d lost track of where she was going and winded up there. But same enough, right? And it’s not like the stranger had to know she got lost. That’d be a pretty dumb way to start a conversation. A blonde not knowing where she was would be quite the joke, but she wasn’t ready to tell it.

”Bea, was it? Don’t worry about it darlin’! I’ve had worse happen.”

She’d seen plenty of rudeness throughout the years and a lack of introduction certainly wasn’t at the top of the list. And the more polite the brunette came off, the less she worried about what a mess she probably looked like. Hair tossed about and ass covered in dirt, but the other’s hand was delightfully received with her own and a few shakes. Smile kept in place as she laughed, letting go of the other’s hand as to not shake for too long. She’d been on the receiving end of one taking up too much time and it never set across the right message.

”My name’s Francesca, but I’m a much bigger fan of bein’ called Fran.”

Her introduction cut short when she looked around, trying to pin down a sighting of the friend Bea was looking for. Their collision course probably ruined it all, and the guilt started sinking in at the thought.

”Listen, I’d hate to be responsible for you losin’ sight of your friend so…”

She canted her head in the direction Bea herself appeared to be looking, hoping that following her eyesight would lead them to the vanished individual.

”If you want, I’ll help you look for ‘im.”

As she helped the blonde up, the thought occurred to Buffy that she seemed a little confused. But she shoved it aside, nobody got lost in a graveyard. She had to have some sort of reason to be there, which Buffy’d hopefully be able to find out. She did have a way of getting information out of people without much coaxing, she’d always chocked it up to her face. People just seemed to trust her for some reason or another, which she never really questioned to hard because it always worked out well for her. The blonde got up and dusted herself off just fine. Good, she wasn’t hurt. Even though she wasn’t actually Buffy right now, she knew she couldn’t afford to go around hurting innocent bystanders. Nope, slayers weren’t about that.

And she could tell this girl was one of these so called innocent bystanders, or she looked to be. Her mannerisms were graceful yet obviously human. And her accent was… Well it was certainly different. Something Southern she could tell. If anything, the name Fran sold her as being southern. Maybe she was from out of state, didn’t know about slayers. But something told Buffy she ought to play it cool, what if she was some sort of government spy out to find slayers that’d gone unregistered? Or what if Buffy was just paranoid? She couldn’t tell these days and thought it better to be safe than sorry. She’d play along, keep the girl close. Hopefully she’d be able to find out what she was up to.

“Yeah, my friend. I wasn’t like being weird or anything.” Right. She was chasing a friend. A weird scaly demony type friend. "Funny thing is, my friends actually a dog.“ She’d buy that right? "I was chasing my dog. I know I said friend, but the thing is…” Oh wow was her foot ever in her mouth. Buffy felt herself digging her own grave here with the nonsense she was spewing. "She’s my only friend. I’m the very lonely type.“ Maybe that’d save it. She was just a lonely girl chasing her only friend/pet dog through the cemetery. She hoped it was buyable.

"Anyways Fran, I think I’ll be taking up on your offer of helping." She knew hope of finding the demon again last night was long gone, but she needed to get them out of the cemetery. Getting seen in a graveyard wasn’t good for any young and impressionable lady’s opinion. She took quick steps ahead, her usual walking speed of super fast. It took her a moment to realize that her footfalls were sounding farther and farther away from Fran’s. She stopped and walked back to her, grabbing the blonde’s arm and pulling her away. "I’m getting creeped out!” she said in a way that was hopefully damsel in distress like.

Where The Heart Is // Dawn & Buffy

keywithnolock:

This was the first time Dawn had gotten into her car in weeks, quite literally. She wouldn’t be surprised if the gas in the tank had frozen or something, if that was even possible. It was a cold night, and Dawn had bundled herself up pretty good, coat, hat, scarf, gloves, the whole enchilada. Sliding into the car, she started it up and turned on the heat right away. Thank god for parking garages. Dawn didn’t have the patience to clear her car off tonight, and Buffy was lucky Dawn loved her enough to even drag herself out of her dorm and do the one thing she’d been avoiding for weeks. Drive. She let the car warm up for a few minutes, rubbing her gloved hands together to warm them up. When she was sufficiently toasty, she backed out and exited the parking garage, making her way to the one place in the world she’d rather not be.

She was happy Buffy was feeling better though. She had to admit that as much as she was absolutely dreading the thought of even being in remotely close proximity to Willow or Faith, she was excited to see her sister again. She remembered being sort of upset she was staying with them, because it guaranteed Dawn wasn’t coming to see Buffy. But it was her decision. She knew half of the people in their circle of “friends” thought Dawn was being silly, holding her grudge. It wasn’t really Faith. But it was. It was to Dawn’s subconscious, and that’s what mattered most in this situation. Even if somehow, someday down the line, Dawn could bring herself to forgive what had happened, she’d never, ever forget. She’d still see Faith and her first thought would be pain. Her first instinct would be to reach into her pocket for a crystal to ward her away. Her first reaction would be fear and heartache. She couldn’t put herself through that right now, not when she was so broken. So for now she’d be silly. She’d be silly until she could glue her pieces back together.

Turning onto the street, Dawn felt her stomach do backflips and tie itself into knots. This was like cruel and unusual punishment, but she’d go through what she had to to see her sister. With a deep breath, she gripped the wheel and turned into the driveway when it came, her heart swelling when she saw her older sister sitting on the steps of the porch. She saw her wince while standing up and prompted herself to get out of the car even faster to help her. Car in park, seatbelt off, door open. She left the car running to keep it warm. She saw the stupid grin on Buffy’s face and without thinking felt her face match it.

Only a few strides and they met in the middle of the sidewalk, hugging each other like their lives depended on it. Who was she kidding, they did. Because as much as they fought, as much as they bickered and quipped, they were nothing without each other. Summers sisters stuck together, they were strong. If they were so strong, why was Dawn crying? She pulled away from Buffy, holding her at arms length. “I’m glad you feel better,” she said, tears still mixing with the cold and stinging her eyes. “I missed you, Buffy.” She sniffled. “Right, let me help you with your stuff.”

She took a few steps past her sister, picking up her bags. It was right there, the front door. She brought her eyes up to meet it, staring at the piece of wood that separated her from…from them. From everything she feared and detested. Blinking a few times, she snapped herself out of it, licking her lips and swallowing hard, regaining her composure. She popped the trunk open and slipped Buffy’s bags inside, shutting it with a slam. She wondered if somewhere in the house, Faith and Willow were watching them. Dawn didn’t even bother glancing up to check. She hoped that if they were watching, they could see how the hatred spilled off of her. See how much they’d ruined her.

Hurrying over to the passenger side door, Dawn pulled the door open for her sister, letting her use her arm to steady herself as she slipped inside. She clicked the door shut and against her better judgement, flicked a sideways glance at the house. Nobody there. Huh. She positioned herself in the drivers seat and was more than happy to get the hell out of there. “You wanna head right back, or are you hungry or anything? I can stop somewhere.”

Having her younger sister wrapped in the safety of her arms again made Buffy’s heart soar. Maybe they didn’t always get along, but this was where they belonged- together. "I missed you too,“ she felt tears of her own forming in her eyes when she saw that Dawn was crying. "So much.” They were happy tears, Dawn was the one person she’d needed to see right now and she hadn’t really even known it. Her sister was one of the only things left in this world that truly felt like home. They shared the same blood, they survived the loss of their mother together, and they’d both lost each other for what felt like forever. But somehow the world’d brought them back together yet again. And now Dawn needed her, nothing would stop her from being there.

She stirred into action when Dawn did, assisting in putting all of her stuff into the car. She slid into the car, still a little to weak to do it without bracing herself on the door. She buckled her seat belt and adjusted her hair and clothes in the tiny reflection of her sun visor mirror, not like there was even a sun to block. She flipped up the mirror just as Dawn joined her in the car, taking her place in the driver seat and starting the vehicle. With a slight sniffle, she answered. "I’m only hungry if you are.“ Her face was a little wet and she wiped the few tears that hung on her cheeks away.

"Is there food at the apartment?” she asked, glancing over to Dawn who had her eyes on the road. Always the best driver, or at least always a better driver than she was. Dawn had surpassed her in a lot of ways, but instead of being jealous, Buffy’d always just been proud. She tried not to let the thought that was itching to cross her mind come to pass, but it did anyways. She felt a twinge of pain as she thought about the fact that Dawn was in a very similar position to one she’d been in just a few years back. Was it two or three years? Time seemed to blur for Buffy these days. How long had she lived in Cleveland now? How many months had it been since this catastrophe began? How many actual months had it been since her sister’d had her heart ripped straight out of her chest?

She shook her thoughts off. She wanted to know if Dawn was as depressed as she’d been after coming back from the dead, she’d only just realized that that’s what’d been wrong with her, but she was afraid to ask. She was afraid of the answer, afraid it was yes. "I just want to get home really. But if you’re really starved and there’s nothing at home, we can go to a drive through?“ She wanted whatever they did to be okay with Dawn, she felt wrong about bossing Dawn around. Sure she’d broken her back, but what Dawn was going through was probably ten times worse than that. She remembered the sharp sting of mental agony, it wasn’t escapable like physical pain was. When Buffy was hurting she’d let her thoughts drown out the pain. But what could she suggest to her sister when her thoughts were what was causing the hurt?

Don’t Panic || Buffy & Francesca

groovytune:

”The creatures ‘round town sure do love bars, don’t they?”

Her head rested in her hand, her arm keeping it held up by propping itself on Ricochet’s bar countertop. Fingers were digging into her right cheek, but nothing could really scrap her eyes off of the far too obvious group of otherworldly people seated a few tables away from her. They all dressed the same: dark, angsty, no fashion sense whatsoever. Black wasn’t even a hard color to match something with, so what the hell was their excuse? Pale skin? Puh-lease, as if that could take away from the tacky malfunctions they had from head to toe. And don’t even forget to mention the ridiculous anarchy symbols some of them proudly walked around with. Did demons even have rules? And even if they did, they probably weren’t as strict as the kind humans lived by. ‘Don’t eat too many humans in one day’ or ‘don’t forget to bury the bodies’ or anything that’d be considered crazy by normal people.

”You sound bitter, Fran.”

A heavy sigh followed the comment, a glower tossed in Rick’s direction before he crossed his arms in front of her and followed her eyesight.

”They could be worse, but I hear the ones around Lake View take the cake in that category.”

She shifted what arm had the task of holding her head up, shutting her eyes and tapping on the counter; her signal for him to shut the hell up and get her a drink. He replied with an equally heavy sigh on his part before filling a shot glass up, sliding it her way and tending to the newer patrons. But now that she had the drink, she didn’t want it. Getting drunk at night would only lead to the worst case scenario, and she didn’t want to have a funeral her family couldn’t attend – let alone even find out about. She dismissed the drink and waved Rick off, leaving Ricochet with a face that could’ve been better summed up to her eating something way too sour. The vamps at Ric weren’t causing her any problems, but she didn’t want to be a meal; and with how little humans came around the club these days, she’d have to find a new place to be before they got to her.

But thinking about it wasn’t doing, and the doing was what needed to be done – but her thinking never led up to it. She kept thinking they’d leave: they didn’t. She kept thinking she’d find a better job elsewhere: she didn’t. She kept thinking she was doing herself a favor by sticking by her ‘they’re all monsters’ gun: she wasn’t. Maybe they weren’t all bad? But how would she know. The stick up her ass wasn’t really a “Come be friends with me!” allower, and the only vamps that sprung up at Ric’s were about as old as Linette; not grey-haired, but definitely older than her. She shook off whatever thoughts remained and came to a halt, passing a hand through her hair before she came to the conclusion that her thinking truly wasn’t doing her any favors.

”Where the hell am I…”

She lived in Cleveland long enough, or so she thought, and she still hadn’t come across graves before. Maybe this place was Lake View? But again, graves weren’t exactly something she saw every day – and she sure didn’t want to make it a regular sight now.

”Maybe I—”

A rough thud into her shoulder sent her pummeling down, a quick curse leaving her lips when her ass collided with dirt and grass. She tried to find the culprit responsible for landing her on the ground, but was greeted with nothing but the same surroundings she saw moments ago.

”You gotta be shittin’ me. I can’t be imaginin’ things… I didn’t even drink tonight!”

Vampire population in Cleveland: Supposedly high. Places scoured for vampy/demony beings: every club in town, all the usual dark alleys, and all but one cemetery. Number o’ dustings or even spottings: 0. Buffy was making a last ditch effort to have at least a minimally successful patrol. So far, no good. She was supposed to be back in the game, fighting demons like the badass of old she used to be. Could she even claim such a title anymore? Or were the vampires just getting more hidey? It had to be the vampires. Since her little stay-in-bed-cation she’d been feeling particularly refreshed and agile, no way it was her.

She sat down against a tree, her sigh of disappointment the only noise that rung out in the dead silence of the graveyard. She peered at the golden brown locks that cascaded down her shoulders. Being a brunette was all… weird, and having a different face was something she’d never get used to. She looked a little young or something, but fierce as ever in the eyes. Which she really liked. She was herself, only not. Willow’d conjured up a good one, that’s for sure. She remained, fortunately, a hot chick with superpowers.

The almost inaudible crunch of feet on grass broke Buffy from her thoughts. Someone else was in the graveyard. In one silent motion Buffy jumped up to her feet and scanned the area around her for whatever else was lurking in the graveyard. There it was, far off- a beast of the demon-y kind. She set her sights on it like some sort of laser, she liked to pretend at times like this that she had some sort of special slayer scope with the little red dot and everything. The demon, a sort of dog shaped thing with vibrantly red and possibly scaly looking fur, was a hundred yards off- but not nearly too far away. She sprung into motion, weaving in and out of gravestones with precision a surgeon would be jealous of. She was gaining on it, yes it was definitely of the scaly variety. Each step brought her closer and closer to the beast.

And suddenly a wall of blonde. A blonde haired, humany shaped wall of person- she thudded into her and sent her flying to the ground. It didn’t hurt her, but she could tell that it’d leave a bruise on the other woman’s shoulder and probably elsewhere. She ran a few steps ahead, her eyes trying to focus on the demon which she still needed to be chasing after, but it was gone.

“Great,” she said through clenched teeth and really only to herself. She turned back to the blonde on the cold hard ground. Maybe her fall had been padded by the grass at least a little. Either way, she was still lying there, trying to get up with a curse word and an exclamation of confusion. She walked over to her, holding out a hand to help her up. "Nope, no shitting.“ The word wasn’t one of the chosen few swears that Buffy liked to use and it felt a little funny and awkward coming out of her mouth. "It’s all real- no imagination needed.” She shot the blonde a small smile as she helped her up, she didn’t need it too terribly much. “I’m sorry about that, I was chasing…” Well she couldn’t come right out and say that she was chasing a demon. Nope, Buffy was the only slayer and right now she wasn’t Buffy. Or at least she was pretending she wasn’t, she was undercover like some sort of superspy with an awesome catsuit.

“My uh, friend.” She forced out a chuckle. Buffy gave the blonde a quick once over, she didn’t look hurt. Buffy could probably just leave her to her devices, but that was rude. And if she wasn’t polite, what was she? "Whoa, sorry. On top of the stellar rudeness that is pummeling you to the ground, I didn’t introduce myself either.“ She held out her hand yet again, hopefully it’d get shaken and she wouldn’t be left hanging. "I’m Bea."

Where The Heart Is // Dawn & Buffy

Bags packed. Text message sent. Willow hugged. Everything was in order. Buffy was officially on her way home. She sat on the porch waiting for the familiar crunch of car tires on gravel and the headlight beam to scan across the side of Willow and Faith’s place. It was cold out, but Buffy was bundled up all cozy warm in a fuzzy jacket she’d gotten as a Christmas present. Her other presents had been consolidated into a single gift bag that sat on next to her on the porch steps. The strangest of which had been a book. No one had ever given her a book. It was… Well she wasn’t really sure how it made her feel, but she’d figure it out when she got home. And boy was she ever ready to get home, to be a functioning part of the world again.

She’d finally been able to make it both up and down the stair all by herself with minimal pain, there was medicine for what soreness was left. Her situation was manageable. Her emotions were this weird sort of mix of feeling triumphant at being independent yet again and feeling ashamed that she was happy to be able to do something any normal person could do. She certainly couldn’t go on regular patrols again, but she could fight if she needed to. And then there were the other feelings and thoughts that ran through her head, clashing and clattering with the others there.

Her head was filling up fast with the hectic-ness that was life. She was excited to see Dawn and Spike, like maybe too excited. She’d only admit to the excitement about her younger sister, saying she wanted to see Spike meant something else. Something she didn’t know if she was ready to accept just yet. The most she’d cop to was that she wanted to thank Spike for looking after Dawn while she was out of commission. Buffy smiled at the resolution for a reason unknown to her. She might’ve made some sort of joke to Willow about it if she’d been out there, but both of them thought it’d be best if Dawn didn’t have to see Willow or Faith when she arrived. Dawn’d be there any minute and it just seemed even more awkward if Willow or Faith were spotted scurrying into the house as the car approached. That whole situation was still a big knotted mess. But she’d figure it out, Dawn would come out of this okay. Maybe she needed therapy or something? Buffy made a mental note to ask Spike what he thought about it later.

Buffy’s own plan to get Dawn on the right track would hopefully be set into motion tonight. She was going to ask Dawn to move back to the complex with her, keep her close. Maybe she’d give her the apartment next door, that way she still had her own space. She wanted to nurture, not smother. Her original plan had been to ask at Christmas before Dawn went back to classes, appeal to her sense of reason by noting how economic it’d be, but that sort of failed before it got a chance to get off the ground. All hope was not lost, though, it just might be a little more difficult if Dawn had already settled into her dorm.

Buffy sat on the porch, humming a tune to herself. No song in particular, just a mixture of a few 90s pop songs she’d seen on some countdown show. She peered down the street in each direction, looking for Dawn’s familiar car. After what felt like fifty forevers worth of boring, the car came into view. She wouldn’t call it a sight for sore eyes, since she hadn’t had a terrible time or anything like that staying with Willow, but it was just nice to see. She felt her heart sort of swell up, unsure of whether or not she’d be able to control the urge to tackle her kid sister the very second she got pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car. She stood, using her arms to push her weight up. A little painful, but worth it. A wide grin was plastered stupidly onto her face as she waited to greet her Dawnie with what she was now certain would be the bear hug of a lifetime.

History Sticks to Your Feet || Faith & Buffy

the-better-slayer:

Wasn’t too long ago that Faith was the one in the bed, Buffy standing over her and showing off that scythe, her scythe. She was the Slayer with the claim to it, and that was why today, she was the one lyin’ there with all those broken bones and bruises. Faith wasn’t exactly ready to get her slay on again yet, but it didn’t feel like her ribs were squeezing against her lungs when she breathed anymore, and smoking a cigarette was no longer an act of self-flagellation, at least not the immediate kind. Still smarted wicked bad when she did a touch-test, but she was getting there. Couldn’t say the same for Buffy. Far as Faith could tell, she hadn’t been able to get out of bed by herself since she’d landed here, and given Slayer healing, that probably wasn’t a good sign. Meant serious. Maybe not knife-to-the-gut serious, but it was probably hospital-worthy.

No one else could’ve stopped Buffy, and no one else could’ve given Faith the forgiveness she needed. Between her recent apology to Buffy, and finding out there were no post-fight hard feelings, the knife was taken out. Clean, didn’t tear anything along the way. Somehow the two of ‘em were better than ever. Knocking the shit out of each other really cleared the air, or something; strengthened that connection with a reminder that they were the only two capable of— of whatever this was. One hundred new Slayers and they were the only two with the history and legacy. The only two who constantly decked each other.

Friends were weird.

The stairs took more outta Faith than they usually did, but she knew Buffy’d appreciate the visit, and it wasn’t like it was torture, anyways. Unless B started callin’ her either of those two unmentionable nicknames, they’d be five by five. But if she brought up Thin Mints, she was gonna get a punch in the face; Faith couldn’t be held responsible for that.

She heard Buffy typing away before she walked into the bedroom— Xander’d brought over her laptop the other day, and now she was making it her goddamn goal in life to antagonize Faith over the internet. Because real life just wasn’t enough. Luckily Faith’d been asleep during the drop-off, otherwise things might not have gone so smooth with her and Xander— she had no fuckin’ idea where the two of them were right now, and she didn’t wanna find out like this. Still, ‘least B had something to do.

Faith lingered in the doorframe for a moment before stepping in; knew Buffy’d sensed here there anyways, no turning back. Not that she wanted to— just needed a second to push that stupid smile down. The one that crept onto her lips every time she’d come up here. Stupid. Faith shook her head and seated herself on the end of the bed, “No ice cream this time,” she crossed her arms, “You ate all the chocolate, and I already had hosies on that. You were ‘sposed to eat the strawberry and vanilla so I didn’t have to.” Why’d Willow even buy those weird three flavored ice creams if Faith always dove right for the chocolate? “And I’m not here to help you take a piss either, so don’t even ask. I just got bored, I guess.” Hours upon hours of sitting on a couch and workin’ crosswords wasn’t exactly Faith’d idea of a good time, and she knew Buffy had to be feeling it too— that pull towards wanting to get back out there. Wouldn’t do either of ‘em any good to dote on that though. Faith contemplated something, blowing a strand of hair away from her face, “Know any seven-letter words for ‘difficulty’ that end in an a?”

Buffy was lying in a bed at Willow’s house, in the care and keeping of Mrs. and Mrs. Rosenhane Leberg. She was realizing with increasing certainty that her back was broken, though she hadn’t actually told anyone about that just yet. It was all so strange, a month or two prior and she wouldn’t have been able to fathom it. So much had changed so quickly, she’d been thrown into the middle of a media circus. She’d gone through betrayals and makeups and somehow come out of it sort of okay. Her sister was going through the one thing Buffy would never in any universe want for her, but at least there was Spike to help out there. Spike, now he was an entirely different situation all together. She couldn’t begin to explain whatever it was that was going on between, they both knew it was more than friendship. All of these changes, all of them out of her control. She hated it. And yet, even in the darkness that was these times, happiness had crept up on her.

She should be guilty, she should be brooding, that’s how everyone else reacted to their sins. But instead their was a sort of lightness inside of her, hope, that couldn’t be pushed away. She’d failed, she didn’t save the girl, she physically couldn’t save her. Losing against Faith meant that Penelope’s blood would be on her hands. If there ended up being any blood. Her heart jumped with hope, maybe there wouldn’t be any blood. Maybe Penny’d come out of this in the not dead sort of way. She wished it could be true, but reason told her it wouldn’t. And she couldn’t find the passion inside of her to be pissed about it. At least not pissed at anyone but herself. But even that was a sort of pissed off that she’d been channeling toward getting better, toward getting back in the game. Penny’d gone and registered herself with Buffy’s face on, she hadn’t been able to stop it. But as soon as she was able, she’d stop it from getting farther than that. She would save her. She didn’t have a plan yet, but she knew it’d come. Plans always came.

Buffy was snapped from her thoughts by the sound of Faith’s footsteps. It was Miss Stop Buffy’s Plan herself, the woman of the hour. She looked up from her computer, minimized the list she’d been typing up on Notepad: “Things Needed to Infiltrate The Media Machine”. The list wasn’t very long yet, but she had a few good ideas. Ideas she’d share once they were a little more than half baked. Faith’s smile was contagious, Buffy felt one corner of her mouth turning up. It wasn’t in her control. Faith and Buffy were happy to see one another. It’d been years since either of them could say that with complete honesty. She let out the whisper of a laugh at the thought of it.

“Ick!” she said, her nose scrunching up at Faith’s (hopefully) joking plan that Buffy eat the strawberry and vanilla and leave the chocolate for her. It wasn’t that either of those flavors disgusted her, she just preferred chocolate was all. "Hey! Willow’s the one that brought me all those bowls of chocolatey goodness. Blame her.“ She shrugged her shoulders as if to say ‘wasn’t me’, and impish grin spreading across her face.

Buffy nearly puffed up her chest pridefully when Faith said she wouldn’t help her pee. She did not need her help with that, thank you very much. But honestly, despite the great pain it’d caused her, Buffy was now able to make it to the upstairs bathroom all on her own. Couldn’t fathom doing the stairs quite yet, but she was beyond relieved to find that she actually could walk. It just hurt like hell and made her want to cry and scream and… She shook those thoughts off. Not that she actually shook, she just did a little mind shake and focused back on what Faith was saying. "Oh piffle,” she said with a hint of playful British accentery. “I know you’re up here because you can’t resist my womanly charms. My ladylike grace is magnetic.” She finished with a dignified nod of her head, eyebrows knitting together all serious-like.

It didn’t last though, her hardened face broke with a couple of giggles that spilled out of her lips. But Faith’s question seemed to pull them back together again, only this time for real. "Seven letters…“ She counted the letters of words under her breath nodding her head ever so slightly with each letter. C-H-A-L-L-E-N… Dammit. "Um, how about ‘pickle-a’?” She looked at Faith pretending like she really meant her suggestion. “Wait is this for one of Willow’s crosswords? I’m not about to be a part of this, it’ll be Buffy-D…” she stopped herself short, uncertain of whether the D-word was okay to say around Faith. She’d forgiven Faith for what happened with Dawn, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a sore subject. She looked down averting her eyes from Faith’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I mean, I just. It slipped out.” She kept her eyes down, not wanting to see what she’d find in Faith’s eyes. Anger? Guilt? Hurt?

The Dirty Outlaws || Faith & Buffy

the-better-slayer:

Of course this wasn’t gonna be an easy win. The throbbing pain in Faith stomach— where Buffy’d punted her with her knee— attested to that. Any. An uppercut to the jaw, shaking her down to her bones. Less. She felt her shoulder creak in its socket. Right. Blood flew from her mouth and landed on the pavement. This was like the fight they’d had over the bear, when Margaux was missing— both completely justified in their beliefs, though Faith may have jumped to conclusions a little fast there. That was where this was different. It was Buffy acting too fast now, ready to hand herself over to the big G without a hitch. She should’ve known Faith would try to stop her; she was the only one with the guts and the brawn to take up the challenge.

And that meant she wasn’t gonna be bowled over this easily. Instead of mocking her or cracking a joke, Faith was all fists and knees and snarls, lashing out and back and out again, like the pistons in the engine of the Roadking. If Buffy had been trying to bring out that part of Faith— the one that was stowed away since she got her soul back— she was succeeding. Ruthlessness.

Faith lunged, tore through the air and crashed into Buffy, pushing her backwards with one arm. Her back was against the pillar, but Faith couldn’t see even a hint of fear slithering around in her eyes. Surprise, maybe, but not fear. “Admit it,” Faith swallowed back blood, “you missed havin’ my hands all over you. Seein’ me here is givin’ you one hell of a—” Buffy tried to duck, but Faith was too fast, and her hand shot out to pin B by the neck. But unlike in that dream— the one where Buffy plunges the knife in over and over and over again— she wasn’t gonna turn to dust if her fingers clenched too hard. She’d suffocate and die. Don’t lose sight of that. Don’t. Faith’s free fist pounded Buffy’s face once, twice, three times… she could see more bruises blooming on her skin, joining the ones that were there before. Her lips were welted and busted. Something cracked. Buffy was in bad shape, Faith thought she saw her eyes start to dull, like she was—

The thought sapped the hostility from the muscles of Faith’s face and arm, like a cool cloth against her skin. It was just a moment— a moment where her hand stiffly uncurled from Buffy’s neck just ever so slightly. She wasn’t ruthless, not like that. Buffy snatched at the hesitation like she was fighting for her life.

It felt like a bullet entered her shin, crackled against her bone, and went through to the other side. Faith hissed in pain and staggered backwards a couple steps, leaving Buffy an opening. Again, she took it. Boot connecting with her stomach and knocking the wind out of her; Faith flew back and landed on the ground, tailbone connecting with concrete, nursing the site of impact with her arm. Spit out a swath of more blood. “Damn, B,” Faith winced, somehow managing to both scowl and look amused at the same time, “guess I spoke too soon.” Buffy knocked her the rest of the way down, sole of her foot pressing into the soft spot below Faith’s ribcage. She gritted her teeth against the pain, but appreciated the warmth and rush of fresh adrenaline.

Buffy was doin’ that thing where she blabbered, tried to convince Faith that she was some sick, horrible person, and that her decisions would always be wrong. Trying to play to her acute sense of guilt. Unfortunately, it was a card that sometimes worked, or at the very least made Faith take a pause. She tried to wriggle out from underneath Buffy’s shadow, but B’s boot just sank in harder; sent a jolt throughout her whole body and made her jaw tremble. Her fingers twitched at the mention of more blood covering them. Gaze turned inward. Buffy had to be wrong; Faith was doing the right thing here— and she was the only one who was willing to do it.

And just like that, Buffy jumped back, gave Faith some space to get to her feet and back into the game. It was a dumb mistake, and it would cost her this round. She sat up as best she could; her tailbone felt like it got smacked with a hammer, and her ribs and stomach were pulsing like an infected wound. But she could breathe, and she could fight, and she could win. Faith pressed a palm flat against her ribs as she hoisted herself up with her other hand, teetering on her feet for a moment, but no longer than that. She was starting to feel some of the earlier blows, as the tingling numbness turned to pain.

The fight was winding down. It couldn’t last much longer than this; Buffy had to be feeling a similar throb, and from the way that thousand-yard stare was pressing into Faith like a laser, it seemed like she knew they were approaching the finale. One winner, and one loser. Faith had been aware of what she’d been getting into when she drove here.

“Wouldn’t be on my hands, and you know it,” Faith snapped. Tight, too fast, and too obvious. Was it dumb to hope for some reassurance? Probably. They had too much going on right now for Buffy to want to ease Faith’s guilty conscience, especially since she’d pounced for its throat only moments ago. It seemed more likely that she’d try to do it again, and Faith wasn’t in the mood to hear a repeat of that spiel. She just wanted this over.

Her and Buffy approached each other again, slowly, magnetic. They didn’t spend as long eyeing each other as they had last time. Faith managed to actually make the first blow connect— Buffy was getting fatigued, apparently— and it hit her hard in the gut. The punches Faith was trying her best to absorb were actually really smarting now, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hold out like this— had to make it hard for Buffy to hit her. Had to, or this would be it. The pillar idea had been a bust, though it’d helped her get a slight edge at the time, so it seemed like Faith’s best shot would be to knock Buffy down. Don’t give her the benefit of stepping back, like B gave her. Be ruthless.

With a practiced motion, Faith crouched and bent at the waist, tilting Buffy face-down along her back and flipping her onto the concrete. Heard her lungs empty. Faith forced a heavy swallow and pinned herself on top of Buffy, using her own weight to keep her against the ground. Her hand made a grab for Buffy’s collarbone again, legs winding around her to keep her stationary. She wasn’t sure if the shaky breathing she felt was her own, or Buffy’s; they were connected in more than just the Slayer sense right now. Faith closed her eyes most of the way as she pummeled Buffy’s face with a series of punches. She didn’t look ‘til her knuckles were sore. One winner, one loser.

As Faith got up she looked exactly the way Buffy felt. She was still standing tall, still at the ready, but she could feel that sharp sting begin to flower out from oh so many places on her body. The only thing keeping her going was adrenaline, if she stopped moving- even for a moment- it’d be over. They both knew that. But she wouldn’t stop, and she still looked okay. She looked like she could win, standing tall while Faith staggered back to her feet. And looking like it was half the battle.

From the looks of it, neither of them had much gas left. One woman’d be dragging the other home any moment now, that had to be what was coming. She readied herself, took in a deep breath. Every inch of her body had it’s own heart beat, she could feel her racing pulse in her fingertips. The cold air stung on the way in, perked her up a little bit maybe. She stared Faith down hard, observing every movement, like one of those hawks on the television. But she wasn’t scouring the ground for prey, she was looking for any movement- any in to take the upper hand yet again. End all of this.

She didn’t say anything about the blood, didn’t really want to think about it anymore. She just wanted to fight. Her muscles ached, her skin was on fire and her lungs stung from the cold. Adrenaline pushed her forward, she moved toward Faith seeing all of the possible moves she could make play out in front of her. First she’d take her fist and- her stomach was in her throat, the pain splintering through her body from the point of impact. Faith didn’t want to drag it out either. Buffy reacted in an instant, but somehow Faith was faster. The world was spinning and then cold hard concrete. No air, nothing in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe and she’d heard a crack come from somewhere in her body, the pain she felt coming from every direction stopped her from being able to pinpoint it. The pain stopped her from being able to even think straight.

Could have been seconds or minutes or hours, she couldn’t tell time anymore, but Faith was on top of her. Their legs were in a tangle and Buffy couldn’t have moved if she’d thought of it. But she didn’t. Everything was in slow motion and she was paralyzed with something. It wasn’t fear and the shock wasn’t doing it. Maybe it was the sharp shooting pain that had started to build, it’s epicenter at her lower back. If she had a “tramp stamp” it’d be shooting off waves of mind numbing pain right about now. As she finally took in a breath of air, jagged and hardly enough for her lungs to ever feel full again, it seemed like everything was happening to her. She could feel the icy wind as it entered her lungs, could feel the punches as they connected again and again with her face, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in control. She was losing to Faith and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Were her eyes even open? She didn’t know. Was this what an out of body experience was supposed to be like? If so, it sort of sucked way harder than she could have ever imagined. It was like she was watching it all from above, she watched until the world started spinning. She watched until there weren’t fists in her face anymore, and when the punches finally stopped she opened her eyes as wide as she could. She was in her body again and she was holding herself in there for dear life. Not her own. She had to stop Penelope, Faith had to let her. If she could just understand, maybe Buffy could still make there. She needed her to understand, how much it made her heart hurt to think about it…

“Faith…” she forced the words up and out. Did her voice really sound that gravely? "Please,“ she was begging now. She’d been reduced to begging. If she was in her right mind she would have been kicking herself. Begging Faith. Begging Faith? Really? Yes. "I have to go. You have to let me go.” She didn’t know if she was crying, but that heavy feeling in her chest sure felt like it. But then again that could just be the pressure of Faith forcing her onto the ground. "Or, if you won’t…“ She was feeling guilty already. She could just see Penelope going up there, some false version of her, she could see her registering. Pictured the woman strapped to a table, marked up for dissection. She pictured herself all marked up for dissection. Her naked body lying there on the table, Penelope’s naked body as her naked body… It was too much. She’d never be able to face that, she swallowed back spit and blood and a few chunks of gravel. She felt them going down, scratching her insides up and tearing her apart, but it didn’t hurt. Not compared to everything else.

"If you won’t let me do it, just kill me” the words felt wrong coming out of her mouth. Bitter. But she meant it. That was the only answer she could see. Her voice was feeble on the next few words, it was all she could muster anymore. The edges of her eyesight were starting to darken, the only thing she could focus on was Faith’s face. Her reaction to what she was hearing. She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing of course, or much else really. "I can’t. I can’t. I couldn’t live with myself. I won’t be able to look down without seeing her blood on my hands.“ The words were out. They were all she had left inside of her. There wasn’t any fight. There weren’t any thoughts. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel or hear or… She wasn’t there anymore. She was just floating in the soft whispering blackness.

The Dirty Outlaws || Faith & Buffy

the-better-slayer:

Buffy’s shadowy outline was turning into Buffy herself, like they were pulled toward each other with a string. The serious cut of her face and her hard metal eyes— though Faith swore she saw a flicker of excitement— meant business. Faith meant business too though; she was an instrument perfectly tuned and ready to put on one hell of a show. Shame no one’d be there to see it, but it wouldn’t be one for the kiddies anyways. She pressed her hands together, cracked her knuckles. Buffy’s anxious energy was comin’ off her in waves. This was a long time coming. Faith speared her with a sharp look, lips curving upwards with a smirk to match.

“My idea?” she pushed a hand to her chest, mouth dipped open in mock surprise, “Guess I can spill, seein’ as there’s gonna be a winner and a loser. My plan’s pretty simple, it’s one of those five step action plans, only shorter. Two steps. I knock you out cold, someone registers in your place, everybody wins ‘cept that person.” Faith wasn’t about to tell Buffy that Penelope already agreed to this, but she may have already heard. No one really caught her up with exactly what’d happened at the meeting before she got there. Still, Faith was positive she was in the right here. One non-Slayer behind bars— or worse, killed and dissected— was miles better than Buffy meeting that end. She wasn’t going to be sweet-talked out of this. “Follow?” Faith asked almost sweetly with a tilt of her head; resentment and determination managed to slip into the empty space between the syllables.

“Said we were born to move, right?” The air around them felt charged— no, was charged. Hadn’t had a serious face-off like this since Faith got gutted, and no one was here bearing weapons, ‘least not to her knowledge. She made the slightest motion forward with her foot, signalling that flag to wave. The whizzing of a bullet into the air. The first punch.

“So show me some moves.”

Faith’s arm shot out in an attempt to claim the first hit as her own; Buffy was evenly paced, though— sidestepped it. Easy. Didn’t matter. Faith was just gettin’ started, her muscles were heated and ready to do whatever she commanded of them. Buffy swiped at her, hit her below the ribs. Faith doled out another punch of her own before she felt her her skin icing over where she was struck. Pain was few and far between in fights like this; Adrenaline had ‘em covered, ‘least until her blood stopped boiling.

“Have to say,” Faith bit down on her lip, wincing as Buffy got in another hit, “I remembered you bein’ better than this. But hey, could’ve been wishful thinking.” Or a dream. Not that the two were so different. She couldn’t be sure whether the words took Buffy aback or not, but either way, she managed to pepper B’s stomach with a series of blows. Moved back a few paces and ended up near one of the pillars— couple Slayers hittin’ it and that thing could come down. Faith tried to steer Buffy around, get her back against it. Probably wouldn’t work, but if she could get her pinned, she’d have her easy. Knock her in the face ‘til her head drooped. She felt a sharp pain in her stomach— damn, right near that scar— and grunted, tasted iron in her mouth. “Still no good,” she muttered, grabbing Buffy hard by the shoulders, fingers pressing against bone.

Faith cracked her knuckles, pulled a cocky little grin. Oh, it was so on. Buffy’s adrenaline was way up despite the fact that she wasn’t really even angry about this situation, at least not at Faith. Though her mocking was incredibly close to pissing Buffy off. She was getting there. She glared at Faith, listening to the same plan she’d heard from just about everybody else. Only this time it came out as ‘Snark, snark, snark. I’m snarky Faith and I’m gonna snark you to death with my two step plan of snarkiness.’ Yup, that got a certain amount of heat to rise in Buffy’s chest. She raised her eyebrows as a slight chuckle made it’s way out, only to herself really.

And a sickly sweet insult to her intelligence, Faith new all the right buttons to push now didn’t she. She looked into Faith’s eyes, saw the same fire she was feeling burning behind them. Looked down for a half a second and saw Faith’s fist whir into action. Faith was trying to take the upper hand, but Buffy’d jumped that gun, sidestepping her way out of letting Faith have that satisfaction. She’d get her fair share. Buffy took the first punch all for her own. Faith wasn’t thrown off by it, and Buffy saw the punch coming before she felt it connect. She bounced back from it, she’d have hoards of painful bruise colored keepsakes of this fight to be hurt by after the fight. No time now.

Suddenly she was being pushed back by the force of a barage of punches. She noticed a pillar getting closer and closer to her, Faith was trying to corner her. She was like a puma backing it’s prey against a bush, a quick lunge to the jugular and it’d be over in a flash. But Buffy wasn’t some tender little gazelle whose only defense was to flee, she was just as catty as Faith was. Buffy punched Faith hard in the gut, regaining a few of the inches they’d moved toward the pillar. She wouldn’t let herself get pinned against a wall and become Faith’s personal punching bag, no way it could be that easy. For either of them.

Faith had both hands in a vice-like grip on her shoulders, couldn’t punch if your hands weren’t free. Buffy took advantage of that fact. Putting her own hands on Faith’s shoulders, forcing her arms to stay where they were, she bent one leg and kneed Faith hard in the stomach with a little jump. The force of it allowed Buffy to break free bouncing back from Faith and landing with both fists raised in self defense.

“Oh, Faith. A couple of insults aren’t gonna make me give this up.” She nodded, bouncing around from foot to foot ready to strike at any moment. When Faith threw another punch Buffy dodged it with ease, a laugh bubbling up from within. "Maybe I’m bad at fighting, but it doesn’t make me…“ she took the opportunity to land an uppercut punch to Faith’s jaw. "Any. Less. Right.” She said between punches and grunts. She knew she was doing the right thing, didn’t care how selfish her friends were being, how much they wished she wouldn’t go. They wanted her to stop being Buffy, let someone else go in her place. She wouldn’t dream of it, and was still dumbfounded that they thought she’d ever think something like that was okay.

The words seemed to spur Faith on, she perked up and grabbed Buffy by one arm forcing both of them all the way to the pillar. She pulled up her free arm and pinned Buffy there by the neck. She could hardly breathe and Faith just moved her body away so that ever punch Buffy threw to try and get her off didn’t reach her. She’d wasn’t even able to get leverage off the wall to push back against the pressure Faith was putting on her collar bone. Still holding Buffy there Faith got in quite a few good punches to the face but hesitated for a moment, maybe she wanted to gloat. Buffy took advantage of the opportunity.

She kicked Faith on the shin, it was so middle school soccer team, but it worked. Faith recoiled back enough that Buffy could get another kick in to her stomach, this time knocking her down and across the hard concrete floor. She ran over to where she was still down and put her foot down to hold her where she was. It wouldn’t stick for long she knew that much, but it’d be long enough. She didn’t punch or kick she just spoke.

“You all love me so much,” she said it with a smile her bloody teeth peeking out from beneath her fat upper lip. "But none of you care about what I want, that much is clear.“ She wet her lips but the harsh wind dried them in a second, she never got windburn like this in Sunnydale. She continued on, pushing down harder on Faith’s stomach she tried to protest. "You can think you know what’s best for me all you want, but if you stop me from registering tomorrow and Penelope goes on for me and dies. Guess whose hands that blood will be on? Just thought you oughta know what you’re getting into.” She knew what she was implying, that she was trying to pass the guilt on. But it was all a bluff. If she didn’t go there tomorrow, if she couldn’t fight hard enough, the only person she’d be able to blame would be herself. She stepped off of Faith, jumped back as far as she could and readied herself for the fight. Buffy never felt guilty about showing Faith who was boss, they were equally matched, whatever came of this would be fair. But it wasn’t just about Buffy and Faith anymore, there were so many other people involved and she needed Faith to know that. If she could stop her knowing that, well that was all on her. She waited for Faith to get up and get on with the fight, terms and conditions all laid out.

“Come and seal the deal.” It was a challenge.

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.

start a commotion || buffy & spike

lovetobrag:

“I want her out.”

Spike didn’t remember driving over. He’d got out of the car with one tire on the curb, but he couldn’t pull the keys out straight, so he hadn’t a clue how he’d gotten ‘em in. Made it left-foot-right-foot up her steps and to her knock-knock-knock door — that part was clear, really, no fog. How it’d felt like he was gonna boot in the time it took her to get there. These nights without moons always made his skin freeze. Now it was hot underneath. Closed his eyes and she was—

He didn’t close his eyes.

Buffy got there when she got there. He saw the curtain pull back and he saw her nose poke through, and it made him knock harder ‘cause maybe she’d get there faster if he showed she had to hurry. Couldn’t she hurry? He had so much to say; that sick behind his adam’s apple was all-rolled-up should’ves. She was the only person he had to find. And when he did — when she found him with his palms slamming open against her door and she pulled it back to let him in — he didn’t waste the time, not any of it. There wasn’t enough. She was wearing blue. He threw up and words came out. They were: “I want her out.” She wasn’t careful steady ground like she used to be, and he didn’t need an invite to shove past her shoulder inside. ”I want her tied to a pole on the national broadcast with her knickers on. Call Anya! I’ve got a bloody wish to make.” Didn’t remember the shirt she had on, but he was hardly looking at her. ”Get you brassed enough, you can make it for me. Did you see the show? Did you catch the end? That’ll get you brassed enough.” He was talking straight to her, and he couldn’t hardly see a thing.

They’d gone straight for him in the wing. Off-stage, where the rest of the people did the rest of their things, three came at him holding clipboards, waving hands. What are you doing? You have to stay on. That’s two hundred dollar equipment you felt like stomping on back there, you know. He’d been heavy and light and he’d shook his head to get them out. Not that easy. Easy enough. They were just people. They’d moved when he swept half the makeup off one of the tables with the lamps ‘round the mirrors. Crash, bang, boom. Yelled. Yelled something. His fingers’d come away from his face white at the tips so he’d pulled a washcloth for the drive. And he bleedin’ well hoped it was off now, ‘cause this wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to do lookin’ like a cold Marcel Marceau.

So why wasn’t she moving? Said maybe four emphatic sentences, felt like he’d just ran twenty miles straight and was still runnin’, and Buffy was standing in the hallway a couple metres from where she’d let him in. ”I mean it,” he said. He pulled his phone out, flip-top and cracked. ”Call Anya. Get her over here. We’re gonna put this bitch on the sun. See how she likes her hotseat when it’s charring her tight, plastic ass.” Euphoria. It was the best idea. It’d work. He didn’t have a soul to keep him from wishin’ other people pain, and it’d certainly allow him to wish other people’d wish it for him.

So why wasn’t she taking the phone?

Spike rolled his eyes. There may’ve been a groan in his mouth. He wasn’t paying attention. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t remember what he’d heard the slag say as he was pushin’ out through the back, but it’d been bad. Tellies in every sodding corner of the back room like they all needed to watch every damn second. He’d caught something. Couldn’t remember. Hadn’t heard, really. Couldn’t remember puttin’ his smokes in his pocket, but they were there when he turned his back on Buffy and stepped further into the den. He wanted someone to put kerosene in her vodka and stick a candle in her mouth. He wanted her in water up to her nose so she breathed it in real slow. He wanted—he wanted his lighter to light, but he struck it and struck it and struck it and it wouldn’t even hiss.

Click. Click. He shook it and tried it again. Tried it with his wrist twisted to the side. Tried it with the other. Cigarette between his teeth now, biting into the sponge of the filter so flat he’d have to fluff it back if he ever got it started, standing on her carpet pressing the plunger down. Lettin’ it come back up. Pressing it back down. What the hell was she waiting for? Flashing arrows? Let’s get the pitchforks and—god damn it, the thing wouldn’t start, wouldn’t even—you know, he was just standing there looking at her look at him, and he was gettin’ real tired of hearing what he imagined was Ross’s whiny little posh voice calling him limp and pathetic and now he couldn’t even—.

“Bloody piece of shit!” Spike shouted it. He curve-balled the lighter across the room, and when the black edges came out of his eyes, he saw. It’d lodged itself into the wall. His lighter. Stickin’ out ten centimetres from the plaster, little cracks in the paint around it. His laugh was mostly air in the quiet. His hands, hell, they wouldn’t stay still. ”Buffy,” he said. ”Buffy, what the hell am I doing here?” He couldn’t remember where it’d all got lost, but now he couldn’t find it. All the red’d drained out and left him white, white, white.

Silence. The apartment was filled with silence- Buffy was aware you technically couldn’t be full of a lack of something, but that didn’t make it any less true. She just sat there staring at the television screen that’d gone black when she turned it off at some point. She couldn’t remember when. Had they gone to a commercial break? Had Spike stormed out of the interview? Had Katia’s smug and manipulative grin become too much? Or was it the way she’d twisted the truth around, said things Buffy’d never been brave enough to admit, that prompted her to turn the damn thing off? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t anything. Couldn’t do anything but sit there while it all fell apart before her eyes. He’d been trying to do something good, she could tell that much. She knew him well enough to read the intentions on his face even with cameras and glass screens between them. She could read how he was trying to do the right thing but it had all turned out so incredibly wrong.

The worst part was how right Katia was. Buffy had used Spike, used and abused and done a whole manner of things no decent person would. She didn’t know the half of it and yet she was able to see right through to the core of it all. And she couldn’t stand to see that look. Spike’s face. Maybe that’s what made her turn it off. All of it made her sick. Spike didn’t have to say a word and Katia’d found enough fodder for the biggest Buffy hate-fest of the year. It was all Buffy’s fault. It always had been. She shouldn’t have lost control that way. If she’d never started sleeping with him, he wouldn’t have ever thought… She couldn’t let her mind go there. She had to fight that thought off. Had to fight of how weak she’d felt, how small she’d let him make her. She shouldn’t have let him. None of it would be this way if she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have to see that look on his face, the look that’d burned itself into her eyes long after she turned off the television. The upset, the rage, all of it. It hung there in the silence.

A loud banging at her front door broke it all and it took her a few moments to get up from the chair she’d been plastered in for longer than was healthy. She walked over to the window, just to peek out. It was him. No no no. She hadn’t expected him. She couldn’t see him like this, it was all hitting the fan so hard and she couldn’t do anything. She should be mad. Mad at him, mad at Katia. But she wasn’t mad, she wasn’t anything. She just opened the door, didn’t look in his eyes as he pushed past, the fabric of his shirt catching on hers ever so slightly. She’s been wearing that same blue shirt for how many days now? Hadn’t changed it since the accident, there wasn’t much she’d done since the accident. She’d been wearing the shirt for a while, it was wrinkled and she couldn’t even bring herself to feel self conscious of it. Her hair was up in a ponytail, it never did get greasy but after a few days of not showering nobody’s hair looked too great. She didn’t smell bad, she knew this much. She probably just smelled extra her, she would’ve showered if it was bad. But it wasn’t bad. She couldn’t change her clothes, she’d almost died in them. They reminded her she was real, they reminded her that even slayers can die in car accidents. Even moms could get brain tumors. Her jacket, hat and gloves were still sitting on the table.

He talked. She listened even though she couldn’t move. He was so angry. She wanted to be angry too, he wanted her to be angry. But she couldn’t feel it. Why couldn’t she feel it? Maybe shock. People had an actual honest reason to hate her now and she couldn’t even deny it. She and Spike had never been a thing, he made that much clear, and Katia filled in the rest. Buffy had just been using him, even after the soul. It had always been about use. Why hadn’t she seen it before? She wanted to ask, wanted to tell Spike it was okay. Tell him Katia was right, but he never gave her that chance. He just talked fast and angry about revenge and Buffy’s brain couldn’t process it, at least not fast enough to respond in a timely manner that is. She just stood there and watched as he took out the phone. Call Anya? No phone needed, she could just draw the symbol or summon or something if she really needed her. Only she couldn’t.

She watched him fiddle with the lighter. Watched and watched and watched, it was unbearable. She was about to move, about to help him, but then it was too late and he’d thrown it. It whirred past her and into the wall. And he was shaking and asking things of her and she couldn’t do anything. He was saying her name and she just wanted him to stop shaking, she had to make him stop. She couldn’t see him this way, if anything could make her move it had to be watching him this way. Watching him shake and fumble and rage and question what was even going on- watching him weak, it was too much.

She walked toward where he’d ended up on his rampage around her apartment and wrapped her arms around him, didn’t care that she’d squeezed his arms tight to his body so he couldn’t hold her back right if he tried. Maybe if she held him tight enough he’d stop shaking, he’d see that he could be okay if he was there. She would make it okay, she didn’t have words yet to answer him, but she had actions. She needed to make him okay because she couldn’t make her situation okay. If she could make him okay… If he was okay then she could be okay, they could be okay together and they could find a way to fight it if they were okay. He’d come in and gone wild; made a commotion that ended in cracked plaster and questions she didn’t know the answer to. His hands had to stop shaking.

Buffy, (Tara/Buffy)

meet-tara-maclay:

It had been a long time since Buffy and Tara had had a real conversation. Before her death, it seemed like her and Buffy were getting closer. Buffy had confessed to Tara she was sleeping with Spike, a fact which all of her closest friends had no idea about then. They were in the beginning stages of being really close. And then…she died. Tara shook off the thought of death and the old life she would never get back as she walked up the steps to the coffee shop they’d agreed to meet at. Tara wanted to have a real conversation, and she doubted the comings and goings of the slayers at Buffy’s house was the ideal place to do that.

The shop was fairly small, a cosy place to have private conversations. It was exactly the sort of place Tara liked—and the coffee add on didn’t hurt. She took a seat in one of the back tables, placing her bag on the chair opposite her to keep people from taking Buffy’s seat. AT A TABLE. BACK CORNER she texted. Tara ordered a plain coffee with sugar from the waiter, glad she chose an unusual place where you didn’t have to go to the counter to get your coffee. For a while she sat, listening to the soft music playing on the speakers.

Tara knew the moment Buffy entered. One of the perks of being a witch was she always knew when someone she was close to was around. She could feel their essence, though in a much purer way than Willow had felt Warren’s when she was looking for him. She looked up, smiling and waving her arms so that Buffy would notice her. The shop wasn’t well lit; it was meant to be a place of relaxation and small conversation. “Buffy, hey.” she smiled as the slayer herself approached.

Tara, of course. Why hadn’t Buffy thought of it sooner? She already had Spike on her side to help her out with Dawn, but he wasn’t the only person that could help. Dawn also held a lot of weight in the things that Tara said to her, and Tara wasn’t involved with the Faith situation the way that Willow was. Sure Willow, Giles, and Xander cared about Dawn, but as far as Buffy could tell Dawn herself was a little burnt out on them. Pissed, even. Buffy couldn’t blame her for feeling that way, she didn’t have a reason to move on the way that Buffy did. Tara was the perfect person to add to the team of bringing Dawn out of the post resurrection funk that Buffy remembered quite clearly. Of course funk was a major understatement, but at least in Buffy’s head it sufficed. She knew what she meant, that’s what really mattered.

That’s why Buffy’d gotten a hold of Tara in the first place, to help with Dawn. But once they’d started making their plans Buffy realized she wanted to talk to her just as much for herself as for Dawn. She remembered the way that Tara had listened so open mindedly when Buffy was going through her depression, when she was using Spike as some sort of instrument of self-hate. Tara didn’t judge her then, even in her darkest hour. And Buffy never really had a chance to mourn the loss of a friend in Tara’s death. Nope, she’d had to run along to try and stop the veiny Willow that was ready destroy the world. She couldn’t help her excitement at seeing Tara again, rekindling their friendship. She needed someone who had an objective and non-judgmental point of view, maybe not in that many words, but that’s what she really needed. As she left for the coffee shop Tara’d suggested (Tara thought Buffy’s place was way more of a mad-house than the lonely fortress it’d become; she didn’t deny it because she wished it wasn’t so empty herself) she really hoped that they could sort of pick up where they left off with their friendship, that Tara could be that person for her.

Buffy got out of her car and took her phone from the back pocket of her jeans before it had a chance to really start buzzing, it was a text message from Tara. She kept her eyes on the message as she entered the shop, looking up and scanning the back of the place once the door shut behind her. She felt the breeze of the displaced outside air ruffle her hair ever so slightly. It was dark enough that she had to squint to see the other blonde waving from afar, but after a moment’s searching she did see her. She walked with purpose over to the table where she was sitting. The energy the place seemed to give off was warm and inviting, Tara’d picked a good one.

“Hi,” she said with a small smile to return the one she was greeted with. She looked to the chair across from Tara where her bag was sitting and moved in that direction. "Long time no see,“ she said with a chuckle as she picked up the bag and handed it to Tara, sitting down in the chair in a smooth motion. She had so much to say to Tara, so much catching up to do, that it was hard to choose which words to say first. Tara open face and inviting smile made her want to spill her metaphorical guts, but she held back. They both knew that they were there for serious conversation, but a little small talk never first never hurt anyone.