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Slayer Chronicles

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[23 Aug 2004|10:45pm]

[ mood | weird ]

After having run away from Sunnydale, after the huge big battle of things that shouldn't have happened and I left Faith in charge of everyone.. or, I think I did. God I can't even remember things half the time anymore. But, I'm sure I left her in 'charge'. I needed a break. And.. my break ended up in the desert? It wasn't really meant to be a break but meant to be something else.

My skin feels tight against me, like it's not my own. It's because of all that time hanging out in the desert for that whole ... soul quest search thing. Sure seemed more like the hokey pokey with a bunch of stinky magicks to me. Which was way different than what I had expected. I was expecting Giles to bring me out here to like, turn me over to the Council or something. And they would take me away like they tried to take Faith away when she.. killed that guy. I didn't kill anyone, but I came pretty close. I did some horrible things. Ones that if the Council knew about I'd be half-way to England. Instead, he got all father figurey on me. He helped me, or tried to anyway ... to cope. To deal. With the coming back from the dead, from the slaying of Angelus, my going all Evil!Buffy on everyone and almost killing them, or hurting them way severely.

The images of what I did, how much hell I put my friends through flashed across my mind. These things were worse than what I'd done when we were all posessed or taken over or whatever by that band's song that made us do those things. I had Angelus in me. I did things that I didn't think I was ever capable of. I hurt my friends. My family. My girlfriend. Why hadn't Faith killed me? We got pretty into it when we were fighting and she came close to it, almost had to do it.. almost actually did do it because I was pretty banged up when I went to the hospital, but she didn't. Why? Why didn't she do it? I mean, didn't I deserve it for what I did? Didn't I nearly kill her once before too? It'd only be right, right? To hurt me like I hurt her? .. You'd think so anyway.

Giles was looking at me, probably wondering why I'd gone all quiet on him. I'd been doing that a lot lately. I guess it was an after-effect of everything that happened. I've just been a little.. off ever since coming back, so it's not much of a change. But, now that I think about it maybe he was thinking about how maybe the evil wasn't out of my system? That I was secretly plotting on taking one of his weapons that were in the back of his car, unguarded.. out in the open.. and using it against him. Hurting him. Or possibly killing him. In the past I didn't think that anyone could think that about me. I was Buffy, the Slayer. Sure I killed things, but I killed bad things. I didn't go around almost killing people I loved. Or, was I thinking those thoughts? Was I thinking that and making myself think that it was really what Giles was thinking about me? The thought that it maybe wasn't him thinking that about myself, but however evil thoughts working in my mind made me shudder.

As I shuddered he reached out his hand to grab my shoulder, to shake me lightly. We'd been trying to get the gear back into the car because I said I was tired of being in the desert. I wanted to go home. I wanted to face my friends. If I had any left. Plus, I thought I found some kind of peace out here. But was it really peace I found? Or did I just want to get the hell out of there and said anything to go? When he touched me, I flinched. This caused him to pull his hand away, cautiously. He looked at me warily, as if he was trying to read if I was going to attack him. I swear I thought I saw him look back at his weapons and the distance between myself and them. It was that look itself that made the horrible feeling in my gut return. He was afraid of me, wasn't he?

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" I questioned, looking at him as if I'd been stabbed in the stomach with a rusty blade. It was one thing to be afraid of yourself, but to have the people you love the most even more afraid of you? That was worse. If I was going to live with these people again, I would have to win back their trust. Either that, or make them see that I wouldn't hurt them again. Or, so I hoped.

"Nonsense, Buffy. I'm not afraid of you. I'm..." He trailed off, picking up his glasses off of his face and took out a handkerchif to clean it, like he always did. Which was something he did when he was nervous. That part right there screamed to me. Giles. was. nervous.

"Cautious? That's almost the same as afraid, Giles. You're afraid of me .... and when I go back, everyone else will be afraid of me too." I canted my head to the side a bit, wondering if that was true. Were they still afraid of me? Did they know that it really hadn't been me? Or.. totally me anyway? I mean, I was pretty angsty from being brought back from the dead and having to kill Angel, but it was Angelus' blood mixing with me that caused me to act that way. ... Right?

Giles didn't say anything, instead he glanced back at the supplies in the car to see if they all had been put back. He then moved to the driver's side of the car. Lucky thing he didn't try to ask me if I wanted to drive. I am not a very good driver. Actually, that was an understatement. I'm probably the worst driver in the history of the universe. When I'm near a car, people gulp in fear. Okay.. so maybe that was an exaggeration but still. I bet they did.

The silence continued as I caught the look from him and I too, got into the car, clicking my seat belt in place. This was Giles' new car. His 'mid life crisis' car. The little red two-door tramp. It was way better than his old car though. It'd take forever to get back to Sunnydale from the desert. Actually? I'd prefer that. I wanted to wait as long as I could and hope they had all forgotten about what I did to them. The more they forgot, the easier they'd forgive me.

And they'd forgive me right? For what I did? They knew that I never meant to hurt any of them and they wouldn't be afraid of me anymore. I'd come home and it'd be like nothing happened, right? They'd see me come up the side walk and come up and greet me, saying they missed me and were glad I was back. Fat chance. They probably were glad I was gone. Thinking I was getting the help I needed. And in a way? I did. I guess I did anyway. I just hoped that they realized that. Things would go back to normal.

As we drove in silence, I looked out the window watching as the land I saw out it pass by us. It made me feel a little bit dizzy but it passed the time. Especially if Giles wasn't talking to me. If he wanted to help me so damn bad why didn't he treat me like I was the normal everyday Buffy who wasn't capable of hacking her friends to bits?

I sighed a bit, resting my head on my hand against the car door. My eyes began to shut as I felt myself getting tired. It was a car trip thing. I often felt tired when we went on huge long trips somewhere and, again it did something to pass the time as I waited for Giles to maybe say something or even possibly look in my direction.

Again, the images of what had happened played across my eyes and I felt a wave of guilt pass through me yet again. There was no way they could forgive me. I had to make myself think that they could forgive me though. If I didn't have that hope, then I didn't have anything. Everyone was all cool with Faith now, right? Why wouldn't they be able to be the same with me? .. Then again I did way more damage than Faith ever did. My sins to the gang outweighed hers and she was probably easier to forgive.

"Giles.. do you think they will ever forgive me? .. How can I face them again? I mean, with what I did to them? How can they forgive me for that? I hurt them.. all, even if I didn't physically hurt everyone.." I trailed off, a few tears falling down my cheeks finally showing the first bit of remorse in a while. I hadn't felt many emotions since I got back from the dead, and even more so when I was in shock from having to kill Angel. "Please, Giles.. talk to me." I pleaded with him. If he turned me away now, I would be alone. I wouldn't have anyone there for me anymore.

"Buffy.." he started, while concentrating on the road. We were getting close. My stomach muscles were tightening as I realized that soon enough I was going to be seeing my friends, family, and Faith again and they probably weren't 'mine' anymore. "..I think that, they will be able to forgive you but it will have to take time. They're not going to forgive you right away, you'll have to earn that. And, you will face them Buffy. Because if you don't you will just make matters worse."

I wasn't sure if this was the Giles I knew talking, because I was waiting for something really British to come out. I figured it had to be because he was kind of tired. That, and what he said was true. It'd take time. And, I had the time. I just hoped they had the forgiveness needed to do that, forgive me.

"Thanks, Giles." I murmured to him. It wasn't much of a 'thanks' because it reminded me that I had so much to make up for. I had to do so much to earn back their trust. To be good with them again. But, I'd do it. Although that sort of gave me a slight feeling of doom because I wondered how long it would take if they ever did think to forgive me again as we pulled up into the drive.

As the car came to a stop, Giles was first to get out. I however stayed in my seat, the seatbelt still buckled. I looked down at my hands for a moment, trying to get the courage to get out of the car and face them. Face my friends. I wasn't going to sprint off in the other direction. I was going to go up to the door, with Giles, and look them all in the eye. I was psyching myself up. It was enough though because I undid the seatbelt buckle, and pulled it away from me and opened the passenger side door.

I walked up the drive, behind Giles because he was there as a bit of a barrier. When he opened the door I took a breath. I took a breath and prayed they wouldn't shut the door in our faces as soon as they saw me. Even if the house they were in happened to be my own.

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One step closer [25 Jul 2004|04:03pm]

[ mood | quixotic ]

A date.

Wes wants to take me out on some weird `I'm lonely, you're lonely, so let's hook up for our humanly needs of affection` kind of thing to some party benefiting the defeat of the first dude that ever cared about me. Sure, I'm tight with the gang now; I'm buds with Xander and got myself two cool watcher guys to boss me around watch my back, but I don't know how happy I can be in celebrating his death. Just seems wrong to be throwing a party over his grave, you know?

He was good as gold to me and when he was hiring me out to kill people and pick up his goodies, he was an overall good guy with a big heart and this jolly good exterior that could suck any starved for affection kid into his Rockefeller environment. See, I always wanted that -- the big happy family. I wanted a dad to bounce me on his knee and tell me how beautiful and special I was. I wanted the milk and cookies and the Sunday morning comics read to me over breakfast. Boss gave me everything I didn't get as a kid and I fucking loved him for that. Hell, I would've been crazy *not* to. We were two of a kind, me and him. Just two outcasts making nice with each other and ending up with the closest thing I ever had to a father-daughter relationship. And this daddy didn't even want between my legs. Imagine that.

I don't expect the gang to get why I can't be down with gettin' a big happy over his demise. I gave B the hammer and she nailed the guy. If not for me? They'd be kibbles and bits and I'd be... I don't even know. Maybe Wilkins would've seen my case as hopeless and eaten me up with the rest of the town. If I couldn't be his right hand man, at least I'd make a good crunch between his right teeth, right? I'm a little meatier than B. If a monster wanted a tasty treat, I'd definitely be the preferred meal. Not real sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, though. Whatever. I made my point as far as life goes if we hadn't shared that tripped out dream where I sealed my fate as a betrayer yet the big tool the hero needed to save the day and the world.

Anyway, the real kicker in this story is that I'm harboring some seriously lusty vibes for the not-so-tightly wound anymore English one. Not real sure why, considering I still think I've got a thing with B here, but it excites me more than it should. Every time he comes around for training, I lay the flirt on thick as honey and he ain't so shy in giving it to right back to me. Gotta say, I'm surprised that he's playing along. The Wes I knew would've bitched that we were breaking some kind of watcher/slayer code. I'm sure that in the bad old days of watcher/slayer lore when chicks had no life outside of slaying that their watchers got them off after a long night's slay.

I mean, if you think about it, it's a kinky sitch to begin with. You got your watcher that's typically an older dude type big on the books and not much else. There's gotta be a manimal inside of him just desperate to get out after all that repressing. Every guy out there has beast in him. I don't care how many poems they spout or flowers they buy. They all do it to get between their Juliet's thighs. Strip away the pretty and what do you got underneath? Pure unadultered lust.

Then you got your slayer. Typical Lolita material with the way slaying makes us. You can have a saintly chick, amp her up with slayer juices, and after a little down and dirty slaying action, you got a chick just beggin' for something to come along and pop 'em like warm champagne. Sounds like a match made in heaven, huh? Repressed watcher just dying to get his stake into some warm English channel and a hot young thing high on an adrenaline rush.

I bet B would have a heart attack if I told her my theory. Wonder what Wes would say? He's a little younger and hipper than G-man. He's an older guy, but not so much that he's old enough to have participated in the creating of me.

I bet Wes is real repressed when it comes to sex. The boy hasn't seen any action since his arrival in the 'dale and I highly doubt he's got a stash of chicks back in LA either. I wouldn't blame the guy if he had the hots for me either. After all, he did use the `d` word and offered to buy me a dress. Man, I gotta give him mad props for that one. Anybody with the guts to put me in a dress is one Hell of a courageous bastard. Guess this reunion thing is some fancy shindig where formal wear is in and street clothes are out. Bummer.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone fancy. Once for the Homecoming dance (where truthfully, I was big into fooling myself I was B's date when clearly I was just a tag along as usual while B got her kicks in slaying with the prom queen), once for Christmas at B's (I was just tryin' to impress Mrs. S with the crispy clean image after she was nice enough to go out on a limb and invite the outcast to her digs for dinner), and then there was the five minutes I humored Wilkins and donned some flowery pink thing he bought for me to wear at his post end of the world party. Didn't dig that much and if Wes even thinks that he can dress me up like the queen mum, I'll kill him. Boy better think twice before he tries puttin' me in some kind of prissy British get-up.

Guess we were all feeling a little jumpy at the idea of goin' back to the high school 'cause here it was - a Saturday night - and we're all at the Pump sippin' on over-priced fancy coffee drinks. Party's next weekend and we've all been dreading it in one way or another. Kid's got it worst though. She don't like the idea of us gettin' cozy with all her teachers. I think the runt's been gettin' bad grades or something and doesn't want the witches tattling to Momma B about what a slacker she's turned into. Not like B's got much room to bitch, I hear her grades weren't so stellar either. 'Sides, little D's been through more than most. Can't expect straight A's from a kid that faces death on a regular basis. That's got to seriously fuck her up in the head.

"Are you guys really all going to my school next weekend?" the kid asks, her baby blue's looking hopeful that we'll forget the whole thing. "It won't be all that cool. I mean, just teachers and people who you never liked anyway. Then they'll be all my friends there and other people you don't know and you could do much better things. Like go to the Bronze! When was the last time we all went there?"

"We?" Red arches a brow at D's question. "I don't think Buffy would like it very much if we brought little Dawnie to the Bronze with us."

The kid rolls her eyes and clarifies. "I don't mean I would go, but you guys could! It'll have much better music and... alcohol!" On a side-note, she manages to slam her mocha down on the table and exclaim the expected. "And I'm not little! I'm fifteen years old!"

Her argument's winning points with me, but the witches don't seem too keen on the idea of skipping out on this party. Just for kicks, I hop in on Dawn's hate parade for this reunion. "Kid's got a point. I don't know about you guys, but I'd rather shake it to some techno than get down to Sinatra and Streisand."

I shudder at the thought of slow dancing at some old geiser's idea of what a good jam is. The only thyme and reason to my dancing is deep in my bones when the beat hits me and my body starts groovin' to whatever's blasting over the speakers. I got a wicked knack for knowing how to move to any tune under the sun.

"Sunnydale High dances weren't that bad," Red speaks up in defense for her school. "They were just more into the happy fun pop that the popular people liked rather than stuff that you know, you would like, Faith. Principal Snyder wouldn't have found the music you like school friendly."

"Then it's a good thing he got eaten, huh?" I joke. I heard the little weasel was one of the first to go. Boss had a big hate on for the guy so I can't say I'm surprised to hear he became lunch meat. When the gang gives me looks to kill I just shrug. "What? He was always giving me shit for not having a hall pass whenever I hung around school. Guess he didn't get the memo where I was just visiting."

"He did think he was god of the school," Xander points out with a friendly grin. "I'm with Faith in cheering on his untimely demise."

It's good to have the Xand-man back in the mix-up. He disappeared for a while there, lickin' his wounds after the big verbal beatdown B gave him. A part of me wants to reach out to the dude and tell him I understand. I mean, I get the wonderful title of second string slayer. Nothing puts a damper on your ego like hearing some other chick does your job better than you do. If anybody gets what it feels like to be left out -- it's me. I dunno though, I'm not exactly a fan of the heart to hearts. Think I'll stick with laying off on the Xander ribs and actually being nice to the guy for a change.

"Anyway," Red continues, shooting glares at us both. "We're all going and that's that."

"Man, who died and made her boss," I mumble to myself. Only Wes hears me since I'm practically on his lap with how cramped this fuckin' table is.

He just shakes his head and leans in to whisper in my ear. "Quit your complaining. You'll have a good time, I promise you."

I just snort in response, causing the gang to send me some mighty curious glances before finding something more interesting than me to stare at. Equally quiet, I reply with a cynical, "Promises, promises. I'll believe it when I see it, Watcher man."

"Hey! What's with the whispering?" Once again, the fiery Wiccan is on my case. Goody. I just love having to justify my actions to the chick.

"Chill Red, it's got nothing to do with you."

But the damage's already done. Suddenly everybody's lookin' at us like we just had sex right here on the table. It's not like the Wiccans haven't been playing footsie the entire night. I got a load of foot coming my way after Blondie misjudged the distance of Red's ankle and I suddenly had a stranger's foot traveling up my calf. Tara noticed her mistake right when my eyes went wide and looked around the table accusingly. Girl's been quiet ever since her mistake. Probably scared I'd tease her if she got on Willow's bossy bandwagon. I seriously don't remember Red being such a take charge kinda girl.

"Slayer/Watcher business," Wes clarifies. I snort again. If only he knew what my thoughts on slayer/watcher biz was these days. "Don't mind Faith's unhappy spirits. We had a slight mishap during training today. I think it'd be best if we headed home now."

He gets up from his chair and looks at me expectantly. "Faith?"

"Y-you're leaving?" Blondie asks, looking slightly disappointed.

I take one look at the way Wes is lookin' and agree with the man for a change. "As fun as mochas are, I got a promised massage waiting for me back home. Sorry T, but you'll have to create your own fun now. I'm bailing."

Though I'm seriously doubting she won't be gettin' a whole lot of fun with less people around. As soon as she drops the kid off with Xander, her and Red will be playing tonsil hockey. They've been shooting each other red hot looks all night. No wonder they've been down with the footsie.

Me and Wes head for his car and soon enough we're riding out down Revello Drive, past B's and over to the part of town my place is at. Kinda weird to no longer live in the poor section. Weirder yet is how much I almost miss the broken down buildings and dirty barefooted kids playing with broken glass. Gives a place character, you know? I hate fancy high rises and little 4 bedroom houses all built in lines and squares to be as perfect as possible and totally lackin' any originality. B's house is like that. I dig that my window's still busted from my throwdown with B. It gives it more of a homey feel, you know?

"So Wes, fill me in here, are you really here to help a girl out after a hard day's work or did you just want to get in some more alone time with me," I tease the boy once we're in the elevator and goin' up.

"A bit of both," he answers, a ghost of a smile on his scruffy face. He must be at odds with his razor again. He's had a five o'clock shadow for days now. It's bordering on sexy. "Didn't you want an excuse to leave?"

I cross my arms defensively but probably just look like a pouty kid. I *did* want an excuse to bail on the superfriends. "Maybe. But I won't say either way. That'd make you right and we can't have that."

I grin at him and the both of us step out of the elevator, wearing matching strides as we walk the 10 feet to my door. Wes just shakes his head in amusement at my call while I make quick work of the lock. "No, we can't. You're far too stubborn for that."

"Got that right, buddy."

Once we're in, we lose our jackets and shoes. All this time with me has really chilled him out. I swear it took me about two weeks to get him comfortable enough to lose the loafers when we hung out at B's house during Dawn Duty. I've got him house trained now. He can actually take a seat without given permission. Gotta love a submissive male. I got him eating out of the palm of my hand now and he fuckin' loves it. This guy is such a trip, I swear.

He comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder and starts to rub it in, a precursor to that promised massage I guess. I've gotten over my issues enough to *not* freak when people get touchy feely with me on a more intimate basis than the usual wham bam thank you ma'am deal.

"Where does it hurt?" he asks me, with actual concern in his voice.

Earlier today we were doing the usual thing, goin' to the park for a run and then hittin' other places around town that could put a little variety into an old routine. Wes found us this park with these wicked cool wooden planks that looked like balance beams. He made me get up there and practice concentration and balance by doin' a handstand for a timed period. Then some kid came outa nowhere with a soccer ball and I took a hit in the center of my stomach and toppled over. Real smooth, huh? Slayer gettin' taken down by a fuckin' kid with a ball. Not my proudest moment, but I'll live. The fall was long and woodchips aren't exactly cushy. Ended up flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me. Wes went all guilt trip guy on me and closed up, mumbling about how he wasn't cut out for this watcher gig after all. Let's just say it took a whole lot of reassuring on my part to get him back to the dude I could have fun with.

"My back," I reply without tryin' to cover it up with some fake bravado about how I was tough shit and could handle a little fall off a makeshift balance beam three feet up in the air. His hand trails down to the place between my shoulder blades and my eyes flutter shut. This felt good. "We should take it to the bed, Wes. Better that way."

He `hmmph`s in agreement and off we go. When I make a move to lose my top, he turns away like a perfect gentleman. I'm kinda disappointed, I take great pride in the nice rack I've got and when I so willingly show it off, he's gotta be nice about it and not cop a peek. He still doesn't turn around even after I make a big bounce on the bed and settle on my stomach.

I roll my eyes and finally call out, "You can turn around now... wimp. I'm decent."

The shuffling sound of feet on carpet is the only way I know he's spun around to face my half naked figure and then there's a weight change on the bed and I know he's taken a seat down next to my legs. I should've lost the pants and made him massage me in my underwear but I got too much respect for the dude now to pull a skanky act like that on him. He's been straight up with me and I won't ruffle him too hard. Don't wanna scare the boy off, you know? He's cool.

He doesn't even comment on the wimp thing. He lets it pass and reluctantly gets on the bed. There's a moment of hesitation before he asks, "Do you mind terribly if I sit on top of you?"

His words come out strained, like he can't believe he has to ask such a question. I snicker and nod the best I can in my current position. "Do I look good in leather pants?"

"Erm, yes," he mumbles and then catches onto what I'm doin'. In other words - yea, he can get comfy on my ass as long as he gets those longer fingers of his working. "Must you always answer a question with a question?"

"Why? Does it frustrate you, watcher boy? Maybe you should spank me."

Wes chuckles and presses his down deep into my back, enough to get a moan out of me. "But I'm afraid that might add to your injury. Then I would have to massage that as well."

"I wouldn't mind," I put it out there, makin' it clear that I've got no problem with it if he doesn't. "I get off on pain."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Beats me," I answer, though that confession of mine wouldn't surprise anyone on this planet. I'm known for gettin' off on the rough stuff. I even found it kinda sexy when B was kicking my ass. "I thought you didn't like questions."

We share a laugh at our not-so-subtle flirting and then get silent when he goes into massage mode. I'm not really hurting, not anymore at least, but I ain't gonna say no to a good thing. This is nice. This is more than nice. Apparently watchers know their way around sore muscles and I'm turned into pudding under his touch. I can feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness, lost in good feelings. Horny me wants more than close but no cigar. Logical me says to enjoy the ride and wait for your fucking girlfriend, you cheating bitch. Granted, I haven't done anything with Wes, but my thoughts are bad enough. It's only a matter of time before I lose the already weak grip I have on self control and fuck his brains out.

"Are you all well now?" Wes half questions me and shakes me out of a slew of bad thoughts I'm having. Some only bad in the way of what I'd do to him if I didn't have a girlfriend, the others bad in the way that I'm beating myself up over the first batch of thoughts. My brain's having a fuckin' tug of war and let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

"Five by five," I reply, grinning sardonically to myself. "Where'd you learn to do that? I know that's not in Watcher training. G-man never cared much for after slay rubdowns. Did you and Angel have some kind of kinky routine I'm not aware of?"

He nearly chokes when I hint at him havin' a thing for the now dusted broody one. I really shouldn't joke about the big guy but fuck, it's just so easy. We all know what happens when Angel gets a big happy. Maybe that's why the guy still carries a shitload of guilt around with him for that whole thing.

"No!" he exclaims quickly, ruining my homoerotic fantasies. Bummer. "Angel and I... we never did anything quite like that. Not even close actually. In fact, I can't recall a time where we even hugged one another."

"Too manly for hugs, Wes?" I joke.

But I gotta admit, I really don't peg either of these emotionally stunted dudes as the type to be down with the hug and cry, learn and grow crap. Angel's good for hugging, if you're a damsel in distress type. He's got that brave warrior complex goin' on. He can't pass up a chick in distress. And Wes? Well, after hearing what his folks did to him, I'm finally startin' to get why this boy has issue on top of issue. He's probably a lot more screwed up than I think.

"I am British, you know," he reminds me in a prissy voice. How could I forget? Brits don't dig human affection much. "We aren't exactly known for our quickness to hug and kiss our friends and family."

"You're more of a shakin' hands kind of guy," I add in. "Only hugs I like are the kind that lead to something more."

Wes knows I'm spouting bullshit now, but he doesn't call me out on it. I really wish I hadn't wimped out on everyone after the big battle with B and gone all boo hoo-y straight into Wes's arms. That was seriously stupid of me. When was the last time I even cried? Better yet, when was the last time I cried and let someone hold me? It's hard to act like the bitch around him after he saw me so screwed up and totally off my game.

"I wouldn't doubt that," he chuckles and then slides off of me. I frown at the loss of contact but say nothing. Instead, I flip my body over and hug my pillow to my chest, a questioning look painted all over my face as I stare him down.

"Going somewhere?"

"That's entirely up to you. Would you care for a night of vampire slaying?"

"Hell yea!" I exclaim, sitting up in bed. "I haven't been workin' my ass off just to look buff. I could use a little stake action."

"Alright then," he smiles. Watcher man just got his cast off a few days ago, so I'm not surprised he wants back out in the field. "Get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs. Perhaps I'll even grade your progress tonight."

I flip him off instead of sayin' what's on my mind. Watcher's Council. Gotta be honest here, I'm not looking forward to those prissy bastards marching into town like they're the bees knees of all things slayery. They're not the ones out there every night bustin' their asses to keep the streets safe. They sit up in merry old England and think they know what it's like to be out on the hunt. I don't get what beef they got with us, though. Giles and Wes got sacked, B quit, and I was never the favored slayer. B was their golden girl and I was the mistake that went bad. Think I pretty much lost my place in their ranks when I turned rogue.

I just can't help but think that as much as Wes acts like he couldn't give two shits about the Council, that a part of him does care what those jokers think and he'll get a kick out of showing 'em how he put a leash on naughty Faith. I don't let him boss me around because he's some big bad guy I'm scared to disobey. I train with him 'cause I want to. When B went bad, he showed me a man worth knowing. I dig the fact that he's as messed up as I am. It's what makes us such a great team. I'm flawed, he's flawed and it doesn't fuckin' matter with us. I'll be damned if the Council thinks they can ruin the good thing we got going on here.

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incidents and accidents, hints and allegations [15 Jul 2004|11:40pm]

[ mood | discontent ]

Tara is an interesting running partner. Her stride is slightly shorter than mine, but her hips are wider, which provides her with the inertia of swivel motion. Faith's hips are narrower, less womanly, but she runs faster.

Every ten strides, I fall slightly behind Tara and start quicker. Faith, a seven-minute mile even at this ungodly hour, is two miles ahead of us.

Between puffed breaths, our discourse is moderately intelligent for five thirty in the morning. As we round the first bend of our five-kilometre route, we begin conversation.

"What was Watcher training like?" she asks, each 'w' a short exhalation on its own.

I gather my thoughts for a few paces. "I felt as if I were born to be a Watcher. Years of studying the classics; vampirology, prophecies, histories, linguistics, slayer lore. . .I was never more comfortable than during my schooling with the Council." I pause, scanning the path in front of us for Faith, not seeing her. "All that studying, useless. I was a terrible Watcher."

"I don't think Faith would be here if you were that bad, Wesley," she replies.

I suck in breath and listen to our footfalls for a moment. "Faith requires guidance," I reply slowly, around the required breathing, "She knows that. For some reason, she believes that I am capable of guiding her now, when I once was not."

Tara says nothing. I look over at her and see that she is half-looking at me, half-glancing at the path. Her blonde ponytail bounces as she smiles at me. Sweat trickles down her face then cools on her flushed skin in the early morning chill. Her lips large, her forehead expressive, both pulled into the perfect expression of wistfulness, or possibly pity.

"She believes in you, Wesley," she remarks after the second bend.

I smile, knowing she's right. I know Tara sees it.

We spend the rest of the time, before neither of us can speak from exhaustion, discussing her solo rune magick studies. I remark that Gaelic was my third-best human language, and that she would most likely speak it excellently with her melodic voice.

We plan for her to borrow some of my books on the topic.

Later, Faith, Tara and I stop by Giles' flat on the way back to the Summers’ residence, where I have been staying since he took Buffy on retreat. The post has arrived by the time we walk in, and amongst the junk mail, I find an elegantly inscribed pair of linen envelopes. One is addressed to Giles. The other. . .shockingly, to me. Another envelope, addressed to Giles, from the Sunnydale High School.

The Sunnydale High School envelope is snatched from my hands with Slayer speed. "Hey, G-man's goin' to the reunion, too!" she said.

“Cool,” Tara enthuses, looking over Faith’s shoulder. “I’m going with Willow.”

"What reunion?" I ask as I puzzle over the linen envelopes. I lay them on Rupert's desk and note the severe copperplate script. Slightly medieval cadence to the indentation in the envelope.

Tara explains that there's some sort of soiree next week for those who survived the Mayor's attack on the high school. I look up at Faith. "Are you going?"

Her brow furrows, mood darkening. "I dunno. Maybe. I guess I should go, if B's not back by then. . .I dunno. I wasn’t really there the first time." I feel as if Faith is unsure of whether she should look at me or not.

“I w-wasn’t either, Faith. But you’re p-part of it now, with Buffy, with us,” Tara replied. Tara’s true skill lay not with her magickal abilities, but her empathy and expressiveness.

I threw the junk mail into Giles’ recycling bin. "Go as my date."

"Huh?" Faith asks incredulously, definitely looking at me now.

I smile as brightly as I can. "Your girlfriend is out of town, and I'm lonely."

Her eyes twinkle devilishly, and a dimple appears in her left cheek. "Come on, Wes. You know I don't swing that way." Faith loves the idea, grinning at me as if Tara were not present.

"I seem to recall a time when that didn't matter," I counter disrespectfully.

"What makes you think it matters now?" she asks, noticing the envelope on Giles' desk.

"Bollocks. I'll buy you a dress and take you to dinner."


Tara intelligently breaks in before Faith gets out of hand. “What’s in the envelope, Wesley?”

"I’m not certain. Giles and I both received them."

Faith brushes a lock of hair from her eyes and hoists herself up effortlessly on Giles’ desk. "Watcher shit?"

"That or well-coiffed junk mail." I decide to open the envelope addressed to me. Carefully, using Rupert's sterling silver letter opener, I slip the blade of the opener into the gap under the flap of the envelope and gently pull it back. The paper rips quietly, satisfyingly. I open the card inside and read it. Watcher shite indeed.

"What is it?" Faith asks.

"The Council are coming here. To Sunnydale. They want to meet with us,"

Tara raises a brow. "The whole Council, or just that one old guy?"

I read on hurriedly. "The delegation will be headed by. . .my father." My heart sinks into my trainers.

Faith plucks the card from my fingers. "Let me guess, you have issues with dear old Dad."

I saw no reason to hide the truth. Faith doubtlessly understood the pain of my father’s behaviour as well as anyone. "He used to lock me in the closet under the stairs."

Tara stepped towards me, even in shorts and ugly t-shirt managing to appear comforting and serene. “And the books, that’s how you got out?”

My expression must have shifted, as she nodded. Faith kept her eyes on the floor, lips pursed.

“A-after my mom died, my dad. . .He convinced me I was going to turn into a demon.”

Even Faith was stunned at Tara’s revelation. “That’s fucked up, T.”

Tara looked at me wryly. “He said it was to protect me.”

“Yes, and locking me in the closet was how my father showed me how to be a man,” I murmured bitterly.

Faith summed it up practically. “Parents suck.”

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Talking to Tara... [23 Jun 2004|08:03pm]

[ mood | distressed ]

I know what they're thinking.

Xander is the biggest baby in the world.

Big bad Buffy said a few little things and he ran away. I can see why they'd think that, truth is, its not like that. Its way more complex than that.

I just went a away for a few days. Kind of had to. Missed everyone, even Buffy in someways. I tried to check my machine, but its been broke for a while, so I don't know if any of the gang called, but I'm sure they did.

When I got home I found Tara's note.

I went to get a cup of coffee at the Java Hut, that's where I found Tara. I tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey stranger. Long time no see huh?"

She turned and smiled. "Xander."

Tara pulled me into a tight hug. "We were worried about you Xand."

"I know. I'm sorry for taking off like that. It was just something I had to do. I just had to get away for a while."

"I understand you were upset Xander, but you didn't have to leave."

I gestured for her to sit at a nearby table.

"I know," I began as I sat with her. "It just...I've had a long, trying year. Everything with Anya, all my friends suddenly joinging the gay train, Buffy going bad."

"We've all been feeling the strain Xander."

I nodded. "But the thing that hurt me most is everything Buffy said. I know its not a good excuse, but that hurt me more than anything. For years, I fought along side Buffy with nothing more than stupid jokes and what ever I could do to help. Always been kind of insecure being the only normal one of the group. Buffy and Faith are the Choosen Two. Anya's a former demon, Giles has his watcher knowhow and you and Wills are both uber-wiccas. And me? I'm the one who gets into trouble. The weak link of the group and Buffy made that really clear."

"She didn't mean that. She was under a spell."

"But the feelings are always there. What happened to Buffy just gave her a chance to say what she's always wanted to say but was too nice to. Hearing her verbally say everything I was afraid she'd say one day...it just got me to thinking about my place in the Scooby Gang."

"You're leaving us? But we need you Xander. Don't worry about what Evil Buffy said. You know we love you and need you. You're part of the team. Part of our family."

I didn't say anything. I just nodded.

"I'll stop by the house tomorrow. See the gang. Promise."

I stood up to head out.

"Xander...are you going to be okay?"

I turned around and smiled a little. "Yeah. I will."

I kissed her cheek then headed down the street to my place.

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Playing around [17 Jun 2004|12:38am]

[ mood | happy ]

No one has seen Xander for a few days now, I’ve tried calling his apartment a few times and finally I felt confident on the last attempt to leave a message on his answer phone, right after the whole theme tune for the Green Hornet, But as yet there has been no return call. So I thought I would stop by after class and see how he was doing.

I tentatively knocked on his door and waited….

No answer.

I knocked again, but still no answer. I took out a piece of paper and wrote out a message for Xander

Dear XanderCollapse )

I slipped the note under his door and left, back to the Summers house for my stint in the Dawn occupation. I made my way through the back door to Faith sitting at the breakfast bar and Dawn deeply rooted in the refrigerator.


“Yergh! no cheese, had my fill of dairy crap this millennium.” Faith said with a snort.

“Okay, well we’ve been through everything in here and we’re back to my original suggestion of banana and peanut butter.” Dawn said, carefully extracting herself from the fridge.

“Damn it munchkin, that’s just evil. I’d feel like I should be wearing one of those lame ass party hats and pinning the tail on Xander.”

Dawn tried her most disapproving look, I had to smile - I’m pretty sure I taught her that one.

Faith raised her arms. “Whoah there! Just not into going back to kindergarten with my choice of lunch…no offense..”

“Most of none taken.” Dawn said.

Faith shifted a little on her stool. “I just need something to get my teeth into you know?”

“Well I could rescue the turkey from the trash, it’s only a few days over...”

“Noooo squirt, four second rule has definitely been and passed. Cast iron stomach or not.”
Faith turned her head to me as I stepped from the doorway into the kitchen. “Hey T, how was looking at the butt nekkid ladies today?”

I smiled before I set my bag down on the table. “Art history isn’t just about nude ladies Faith,…”

She wigged her eyebrows and unleashed one of her more sultry grins.

“It’s about everyone being naked.” I finished.

“Those artists were serious pervs man!

“Yeah, but it makes the lesson more interesting.” I said before I moved over and took a seat next to her. “I wasn’t expecting you here, I thought you’d be training with Wesley.”

She shrugged . “Just here to snack before patrol - food always tastes better out of someone else’s refrigerator.”

“Faith’s already bolted down the rest of yesterdays casserole, all the potato chips she could find and now she wants me to make her something.” Dawn stated before turned back towards the fridge and made a subtle piggy noise and extremely quiet imitation piggy snort.

“Hey, You’re not cute enough to get out of me dangling you out of your bedroom window by your shoe straps…”

Dawn visibly stiffened.

“Slayer hearing half pint and don’t you forget it.” Faith smirked. “Besides, I got wicked metabolism.” she continued, patting her stomach.

Have to admit, she’s certainly in shape.

Willow breezed in from the living room, her head firmly implanted in book. She looked up as she entered the kitchen and smiled as she looked my way.

“Hey you, good day?”

I smiled back. “Great day, just tons of reading to do.”

“Cool, then we can be study buddies…” She gracefully stepped over and kissed me on the cheek.

“So how was your day?”

She shrugged. “It was okay, did some long division in my head for fun, drew up a few new ideas to help with patrol, lost to Dawnie at Chess…” She winked at me. “I think she cheated when my back was turned, something about my notebook catching fire…”

“Or maybe your coaching is finally paying off?” Dawn interrupted with a nervous shrug.

“Ooh…and I got a letter….They‘re having a reunion at the High School, wanna be my date?” Willow finished.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I looked at the book in her hand and raised a brow. ‘The Malleus Maleficarum.’ A little light reading huh?”

She looked down at it and gave a pained expression. “I know - more witch hunting history, But I can’t not know the details of what happened, just because I might not want to know…you know?…I say knowing is understanding and healing, that makes me ‘in the know’…and that was too many knows, right?”

“No.” I said with a smile

She headed off back to the living room, a sad sigh as she flipped the pages.
I’m trying this whole new getting to know people better approach to my friends since Buffy took her little trip to the insaneo side of her character. My next stop would be Faith and what better way to get to know her better than taking an interest in her ‘interests.’

“Um…Faith you still go out running in the mornings right?”

“Sure thing T, when Wesley calls round at some insane hour - telling me that I should fill my lungs with fresh air and smells of the morning…did you even know there was more than one five o’clock in the day?” She shrugged. “So what’s the sitch?”

“Well do you think I could join you guys a few mornings?” I said quietly.

Faith smiled. “You building up your fitness? Having trouble keeping up with Red?” Her smile turning into a smirk.

Before I could even feign a response a voice drifted in from the living room. “They don’t call me gifted for nothing.”

Wow it’s hot in here…isn’t it hot in here?

“I I figured it would help a little with the chasing…of vamps, demons, the bus even? Digging Tara, you’re really digging.

“Well miss shy retiring, I’ll need to check with Wes, training…more his thing ya know, But maybe I’ll show ya a few things, with a bit of work we could get you strong enough to kill an Ox with just your bare hands.” She said grinning proudly.

“Opening lids off jars first time is pretty much a good start for me.” I nodded enthusiastically. “A..and maybe enough pace to keep me half a block ahead of an erupting Hellmouth?”

Faith stood and flexed every muscle she had before responding…maybe a demonstration, you know - you too can look like in six weeks thanks to the gut wrencher…an intensive stay alive work out.

“You know it wont be easy, if you come along -I don’t hold back…I’ll give it to you hard.” She growled.

That helpful voice returned from the living room. “You’d be surprised how hard she can give it back…I have bruises…I can show you if you…”

“Will, honey!…Please stop helping me!” I interrupted with a squeak, whilst watching the glee erupting on the face of Queen double entendre as the scene was unfolding. Suddenly the floor became far too interesting…maybe I should mop it, clean every square inch with a toothbrush? “I suppose even if I mention the simple explanation of self defense classes here…you’re not going to relent?”

“Blondie! Hell…should have known…demon in the sack huh?” Her Royal highness turned to Dawn. “You should avert your ears Brat, I’m getting a good feeling this can only get more interesting.” She sauntered towards the kitchen door, hanging her head round the door frame and direction the rest of the conversation towards the living room. “So, I’m guessin’ a pretty little plain Jane like you Tara has just got to have a serious stash of naughty underwear hidden well away.”

Dawn’s jaw dropped, as did half the peanut butter sandwich she had in her hand.

“That whole gifted thing includes knowing when to be quiet, or me spending a night on the couch Faith.” Willow shouted.

I smiled and Faith grinned.

Another Apocalypse averted.

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Girls' night in [27 May 2004|02:37am]

[ mood | calm ]

Man, whoever decided I was babysitter material seriously needs a head check. For real now! What the Hell was B thinking when she penciled me in for a night have fun with the kid sis? Not to dis on the pip, but I'm not really babysitter material, you know? It's not my gig. I'm the bad influence! I drink, I smoke, and I used to get off on the five finger discounts. Not so much now, since I got myself some leftover dough from the boss, but once upon a time I had myself one Hell of klepto problem.

An old boyfriend of mine showed me the ropes. Boy was good at what he did and got me in on the know-how. I don't know if I should be grateful or add that to the ever increasing list of shit I'm not so proud of.

So now that I'm on my way over to B's place, I'm trippin' over this whole concept of looking after somebody else.. Granted, I got Wes coming over later to supervise the babysitter, but I'm still a little shaky on the issue. Gonna have to chew B out over this one as soon as she gets back from her desert suite.

Tara opens the door for me after I knock three times. She's lookin' wicked flushed and I just arch a knowing brow. I get the chick's big on the shy violet routine, but I gotta ask. I got no shame when it comes to all things lewd and perverted. "Willow over?"

"No," she replies with a furrow of her brow. "W-why do you ask?"

I motion at her face, my smirk still worn loud and proud on my face. "Look in the mirror, Blondie. You're smoking up the place!"

"Oh!" she exclaims, realization dawning and then a blush covers her cheeks in all kinds of interesting shades of red. "I... I was baking cookies... f-for Dawn and there was a small accident --"

"And then big flames!" Dawn chirps up cheerfully from behind. "You should have seen it Faith! There was a totally big fire in the kitchen. The smoke alarm went off and everything. I had to take out the batteries so that the fire department wouldn't come."

"I missed out on fireworks in the kitchen?" I make a show of acting wicked hurt that I missed all the cookie baking non-fun. "Bummer! So things got hot and heavy, just not in the way of petting, huh?"

I smirk at big T again and duck inside the doorway. The smell of smoke greets me and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Fuckin' nasty! Kissing a smoker might be like kissing an ashtray, but walking into a house that almost went up in flames is like settin' up shop in said ashtray and rolling around for good measure. I'm so not digging this new turn of events.

"Did you at least save the cookies?" I joke, half serious because my stomach's about to growl something fierce and stuffin' my mouth with chocolate is a sure fire way to save myself the embarrassment.

"Actually... the oven caught fire *after* we took the cookies out. We... or um, more like I, forgot to turn off the oven."

"Right on," I laugh. One guess where I'm headed. I pause for a tick to take the time to throw an amused look over my shoulder at Tara. "And here I thought I'd be the dangerous one. I got nothing on you, Blondie!"

I step into what looks like a stage at those rock concerts I used to go to as a kid. They were big on the smoky effects and everyone always left coughing and bleary eyed but it was so worth it. Really added to the overall effect, you know? It's funny, 'cause they weren't even big time bands, just locals with big dreams and big attitudes with enough money to blow on stupid effects that made the crowd go fuckin' wild.

Man, I miss those days. Sunnydale's kinda lacking in the rock band department. Not a decent show around unless you're into sappy pop ballads or dudes that think they're tough but are really chicken shit.

The plate's sitting on the table so I swipe it along with some coke since it's the hardest drink B seems to keep up in her digs. I'm not really the milk type. Just gets me thinkin' of him and how he always tried to set me up with good a tall glass of the stuff. Gotta give the guy mad props for that, I didn't make it easy on him. I mean, how tough can you look with a glass of milk? Imagine that... an assassin with a fucking milk mustache. Just doesn't fit, you know? Told him as much too. Thing about the boss though, he was like a brick wall when it came to the word no. You couldn't pass go until you gave into his demands.

Anyway, I hear pipsqueak call my name so I'm out in a jiffy, balancing my stuff easily and plopping down on the couch beside her. T's getting her jacket on -- some ugly vintage patchwork thing I wouldn't be caught dead in -- and holding a list in her hand. Looks like I'm gonna get the rundown on Dawn duty.

"Okay, so Dawnie and I went to Blockbuster earlier tonight and picked up a few movies. You two can have a big movie night and all you have to do is make sure nothing comes in and attacks Dawnie while Buffy is away. I-I think you can handle that."

She smiles at me in that shy way of hers and I meet it with a shit-eating grin of my own. "Don't worry, T, I got it covered. Got some food, got some flicks, and got my guns." I flex a bicep to show off my newly toned arms. All this working out with Wes was starting to show in some wicked obvious ways and I'm damn proud of the cut look I'm getting. I hope B likes her babes buff. "Get home to the girlfriend, I'm sure she's just *dying* to get you back in her bed."

Runt starts to giggle and Shy Violet just gawks at me, her eyes wide and mouth open wide enough to catch a whole fucking swarm of flies. I just love ribbin' this chick. She's just too easy. You know, I'm starting to think that's a trend around here. First Wes, now Tara. People around here get embarrassed far too easily. At least that Anya chick's got a blunt vibe that I can respect. Might not always be what we want to hear, but sometimes you need that little dosage of truth. Keeps you grounded, you know?

Once T's out the front door, Runt turns to look at me anxiously. "You are so bad!"

"To the bone, baby," I husk, working the sexy for all it's worth. No, I'm not about to hit on bite-sized, I just gotta make my point here. "So what're we watching? Chick flicks?"

The kid shakes her head, an evil glint starting to show. Don't even tell me she got Tara to rent her porn. Now, I'd be down with that... but B would throw a fit. I'm torn between being the good girlfriend and the `cool` big sister type. Oh who the fuck am I kidding? If the kid's got Good Will Humping, I'll be all over that shit and keep it tight lipped when B asks what we did.

"No... scary movies!"

She thrusts a bunch of DVDs in my lap and I start to leaf through 'em, noting she's got all the classics covered. "Halloween, Hellraiser, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th... damn, kid, you in the mood for bad dreams tonight or what?"

"Yea right, like any of these movies could actually scare me," she rolls her eyes at me like your typical ticked off teen. Nice to see that even mystical keys can have a little attitude. "Nobody thinks that I can handle scary stuff but I totally can! Why would I be scared of fake monsters when I've already met a ton of real monsters and they never hurt me? I have you and Buffy to protect me."

Kid's got a point so I just shrug. "Hey, I just thought I'd give you fair warning. I'm still working on this responsibility thing so cut me a break, yea? I'm trying here."

"Whatever." Another eye roll. "I'm not stupid and I'm not scared... of *anything*."

"Riiiiight," I say and I can't hold back the cynicism that cuts through my tone like a chainsaw. "You're a regular daredevil. I got it."

Tired of this chat, I pick up Halloween since Michael's about the scariest dude of this sad bunch of TV villains and pop it in the DVD player. B's gone high tech since I saw her last. The flick starts up and me and the kid make ourselves cozy on the couch. I've seen this movie so many times it's lost the thrill for me... and like the kid said, movie monsters don't seem so scary once you've faced the real deal up close and personal. I could slay this dude so fast and I know how to make sure they stay dead. There's no lame ass sequals in my movie. We make sure the death scene is big and gory and utterly impossible for the baddie to make with the resurrection.

And just as predicted, halfway through the film I got a teenager glued to my arm and biting the Hell out of her nails. Damn, kid! Chill! She's not gonna have any nail left if she keeps this marathon chewing up. Eventually, I nod off about a third into Hellraiser. Pinhead just wasn't doing it for me tonight. Figures that's when Wes decides to pop in to make sure my maternal instincts are kicking in for the night.

Not sure how long he's been here, but when I start to come to the first thing I hear is a very British voice asking the kid, "How long has she been out?"

"For like two hours now. She totally missed the ending of Hellraiser and now she's missing out on Freddy!"

"I'm sure she finds it tragic as well," Wes chuckles at D's pissy vibes at my lack of enthusiasm for her choice of terror.

"I tried waking her up but she sleeps like the dead. I could have done all sorts of evil things to her, like cover her in peanut butter and whipped cream and she would've slept right through it!"

Whoa. Big mouthful of big promises, kid. I wouldn't exactly call prankin' a slayer a smart move. Especially one known to snap on occasion.

"Words of advice, kiddo, don't fuck with a slayer," I say suddenly as I shoot up from the slouched position I'm in, shocking the socks of the both of them with my apparent waking from the dead.

"Like I would want to waste good peanut butter and whipped cream on somebody anyway," she huffs. Kid covers well but I know a lie when I see one. She looks between me and Wes and then decides to take off, leaving us with a rushed, "I'm tired. Goodnight!"

We watch her run up the stairs as if somebody lit her pants on fire and then look back at each other. Watcher man speaks first. Figures. "How's babysitting going?"

"'Bout as well as can be expected," I reply somberly. "Movies and food, it was your typical stay at home girls' night in. We painted our nails and everything. All in all, it's not half bad. Not my ideal job but you know, what is really? Slaying's my primary gig. The rest is just details."

Think I snagged that catch phrase off a T-Shirt. I got a fuzzy memory of kids marching around in T Shirts stating "(insert lame interest here) is life, the rest is just details." Mostly popular with the sports crowd who really did think that dicking around on a football field or prancing around in a short skirt was the be-all and end-all of everything cool and trendy.

Wes loses the glasses and now he sits beside me on the couch. "Sounds terribly exciting for you."

"Oh yea, I'm just jumping for joy." I roll my eyes in reply. I inch a little closer to him until our legs are touching and then make a grab for the remote that's sitting on the other side of him. "B's got digital. Want to check for porn?"

He grins at me, his brows raising as he takes the remote from me. I drop back into my former position, assuming that he's gonna be the big man and start riding the channel surfing wave. "Only if it's tasteful."

I snort; I should have expected an answer like that. Only snag in that plan is that porn is far from being anywhere near tasteful. They're on opposite ends of the ballpark and I'm not so sure I know what Wes is going on about with this tasteful crap. If it sucks, we all know I'll end up with my head in his lap. I got a long history of dropping off when the lights are out and there's nothing to keep my interest peeked.

"Good luck finding porn that isn't all blondes with big boobs and men with big dicks going at it full throttle with a zoom lense right smack in the middle of the action."

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Strange Customs [24 May 2004|04:11pm]

[ mood | confused ]

How very strange. Today I went down to get my mail, hoping I had received my ebay orders, and instead received nothing but a flimsy envelope that did not contain money or a friendly exchange of greeting. It was an invitation to attend a special ceremony for the survivors of Sunnydale High's bombing. Is this a normal human custom?

Usually parties are for celebrating newborn children or the turning of a new age and my personal favorite (that I hope Cordelia and I will live long enough to do in our puny but curvaceous mortal bodies), the joining of two people in matrimony. What kind of strange people throw a party about a bombing? Cordelia and I have both been invited, as well as the entire surviving graduating class and the faculty members.

Maybe it's just me, but isn't it common for people to not want to go back to the place where they were ridiculed and humiliated on a daily basis? I would know nothing of the sort since I was immediately since as beautiful and powerful and accepted into the popular crowd but someone like Xander Harris may not want to attend. He was often teased for being not very intelligent nor attractive and for having terrible fashion sense. Every time I think I have these human customs figured out, I'm thrown something like this and confused all over again. Damn humans.

To add to my misery, all of us have been enlisted to take care of the annoying teenager. I'm far too young to play mommy with an ungrateful brat with devious undertones for turning my ex-boyfriend into a pedophile. I don't know the first thing about looking after others! I think children like games... like monopoly and the game of life.

When it is my turn to watch the teenager, I will bring her games and tell her that Xander has many venerable diseases and she can catch them just by holding his hand. I know all about syphilis and herpes. I could tell the little girl many terrible tales of the sexually transmitted diseases I have bestowed upon cheating bastards throughout my 1120 years of serving as a vengeance demon. Then we will go out for ice cream sundaes and I will find her an attractive male of her own age group to have orgasms with.

I have to admit, it is kind of nice without the annoying slayer and her still somewhat attractive looking old man watcher around to boss us all about as if they are king and queen of the world. Faith does her slaying alone with the other British man and does not make everyone come with her to stand around bored in cemeteries for hours of the night I could be having orgasms during. Once Cordelia and I snuck behind the mausoleum and performed many pleasurable activities while we were supposed to be playing look out. It was one of our most creative positions ever. Hmm. Maybe we should go out to the cemetery again to serve as Faith's "look out".

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See Food [11 May 2004|06:43am]

[ mood | relaxed ]

So, B's decided to take off and leave me in charge of the troops for once. Trippy. Okay, so I get that the girl might need a little break from the slaying, what with the pulling a me and all, but it just seems strange for B to be the one running off while I'm sitting pretty with my head screwed on straight for once. Though I gotta admit, it doesn't suck. Not at all. It's just.... weird. Running was always my gig, you know?

Guess it just proves that we all get dealt a shitty hand once in a while. Even little miss perfect can't handle a trip to the dark side without having to take a serious look at herself. You know, it might sound whack, but it's actually kinda comforting to know that I'm not the only one who cracks under pressure. My girl's a regular head case and I'm loving her all the more for it. Granted, I'm not exactly equipped to deal with her baggage on top of mine, but hopefully Giles shrinking her out in the desert will do the chick a world of good.

I know I could've used a major breather like that back when I killed the deputy doofus. What kind of idiot goes prancing around in dark alleys like he owns the place when they know the `truth` is out there? Fuckin' dumbass. Guy almost deserved the fate he got. If not me, it would've been some bloodthirsty vamp or stray demon looking for a little fun. I did the dude a favor by making it quick and easy. I'm not saying I was right in offing him -- I wasn't -- I'm just saying that it would've happened sooner or later. Boss always said the guy was wicked careless.

At least, that's what I tell myself to get through those nights when all the guilt's so bad it hurts to breathe. Peace ain't an easy thing to find. Me and Angel are prime examples of that.

All this stuff with B just stirs up the shit I put on the backburner long ago. Training's one way to get out the aggression -- poor Wes is living proof of that -- but it's a far cry from healing those old wounds. They're like scabs, you know? First they're raw and sting something awful, so you cover it with a band aid and it soothes some. Makes you feel better and covers up the hurt. Then it starts to itch, just a little twitch every now and then that's more annoying than painful, so you tell yourself to buck up and ignore it. It's no big. You're better than some tiny piece of scar tissue. Eventually though, the itch grows to be something fierce and soon enough you give in, ripping that band aid open like a Christmas present and scratching until it's raw and bloody again.

God, Freud would have a fucking field day with me. Here I am, the high school drop out known more for her boobs than her brains, trying to philosophize or whatever it is I'm doin' with all this scab talk. Maybe Wes and his stuffy books are finally starting to rub off on me. I've been put on research duty more than once in the past week.

Speakin' of, he's just the guy I'm expecting to show up any second now. See, we got ourselves this mad training schedule all mapped up. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are work out days. Mondays got me working on the brute force stuff -- you know, pumping metal and kicking the crap out of the punching bag the Boss set me up with back when he leased this sweet crib to me. Wednesdays are for endurance. We usually hit up (or more realistically, break into) the Sunnydale High swimming pool and Wes times me while I swim laps. It's not so bad, it's low on the sweat factor and I get to strut my stuff in bikinis.

I'm starting to think Wes might be getting the hots for me. Fuck knows I make it hard for him not to end up with the lusty thoughts when I'm around. I make a good show of wearing next to nothing and throwing out the usual sexual puns. I can't help myself; I fuckin' love rubbing this guy wrong. It's nice to see stuffy Wussley has a sex drive too. I was beginning to think that maybe they clipped off his noodle at birth. Hey, you never know, he was pretty much raised since day one to be this perfect watcher dude. Not his fault he got stuck with the slayer from Hell.

Gotta say, I think that in the long run, it was good for the dude. People that uptight need to learn to live a little at some point, you know? I just gave him that boost he needed to cut the prim and proper and get down with his badder self. He's a decent guy with the personality makeover. Man, if I wasn't head over heals for B, I'd so break every watcher/slayer taboo there is and jump his bones. I always did get off on that whole forbidden fruit concept. Before I dropped out of school, I got bouncy with my biology teacher. Let's just say it was the only class I ever got an A in... besides gym. Not my proudest moment, but you know, I was horny and he was there. He wasn't as bad as teachers go. Guy was young and straight out of college with a killer bod. He doubled as the wrestling coach. Most girls had his name written all over their notebooks. Whenever they called me trashy whore, I just flashed the pearly whites and told them to keep dreaming about Mr. Mackey, 'cause I knew what his cock tasted like. Vulgar? Yea. But those girls are vicious, man! I had to break out the big guns.

Okay, enough trippin' down memory lane. That left Fridays as my favorite -- weapons day. Wes is kind of lacking the manpower right now, what with the broken arm and all, but he's been getting on my case about technique, so I've been learning as much fencing as Lefty can handle with one arm. It's kinda cool, not really what I would have expected when he said fun with weapons, but I can dig some swordplay action.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days I dread. God, it's like being in school again. Wes has this thing where he thinks I need to start cracking books to be a better slayer. He doesn't know it, but I got this thing where I sneak my comic books in between the pages. I got some pocket sized ones from this place Harris showed me. So while Wes thinks I'm reading about demonic curses and shit, I'm actually checking out the X-Men and Catwoman. That bitch is hot stuff. Kinda reminds me of me too. She's got that whole darkness thing flying with her and rocks the black leather like none other. I gotta get me one of those outfits sometime.

Today was a Tuesday and Wes would no doubt be knocking on my door with a backpack full of demonic texts. Just as expected, he shows up right on the dot at three PM. Gave me enough time to sleep off last night's slay and be in good enough a mood to answer my door without a string of curses and possible hitting of things when I got frustrated.

I'm still in a pair of boxers and a wifebeater when I open the door, a slice of leftover pizza in one hand and can of cherry coke in the other. I dig the sweet drinks, okay? Cope. I smirk when I see him standing there, huffing and puffing while I'm the picture of relaxed.

"Damn, Wes, what happened to you?" I ask, half concerned and half amused. I'm tryin' my best to hold in the laughter that wants to bust out at the sight of him all disheveled and half dead looking. "Get chased by a book eating mountain lion on the way over? Or maybe just a demon that wasn't down with you teaching the rogue slayer her demonic ABC's?"

"Your elevator was out due to maintenance," he grunts out unhappily. Okay, now I get it. I'm up on a high floor and Princess Margaret can't handle a little jog up the staircase when he's equipped with books that make the dictionary look like Dr. Seuss.

A grin forms on my lips as I shove the slice of pizza in my mouth and use my right hand to take the bag from him. Damn, that is heavy! What's he got in here? Bricks? "Cuh mah ih," I say with my mouth still full of pizza crust.

"Is that a new form of slayer speak?" he teases me, some of his bad mood already seems to disappear.

I drop the books and remove the pizza from my mouth, taking a mo to chew up the piece I bit off. Just for shits and giggles, I decide to see if kids in England pull the same lame tricks that kids in the good old US of A do. "Hey Wes, do you like seafood?"

I can see him mentally scratching his head at my question. Random, I know, but he'll get it soon enough. "Yes I do actually. I enjoy a fair bit of salmon on occasion and breaded shrimp is simply delightful."

I was happy with the yes part; I couldn't give a rat's ass about the rest of the sentence. I stick my tongue out at him, revealing the bits of chewed up pizza still inside my mouth. "See food!"

"Faith!" he berates me, shaking a finger at me in the old Wes manner. I roll my eyes and take a gulp of my soda. "You can be such a child sometimes. I had hoped you'd be past childish pranks like that by now."

"I had to grow up fast," I reply good-naturedly. "So sometimes the kid stuff creeps back up on me. You know, as like a second win or something. That was always my favorite trick to gross people out."

'Course, the time I did it to a guy my mom brought home I almost got my tongue ripped out of my mouth. It was worth it though, the guy was a real jerk and I was Hell bent on gettin' rid of him. Guy got a little too friendly with me when he'd "tuck me in" at night. So, I took measures to be a real brat and scare him away. It worked. Fast. I wasn't about to become some pedophiles fantasy before I even got a training bra.

"Well, it works surprisingly well," Wes murmurs with a slight shudder. I know it's all show though, there's laughter in his eyes. They're practically twinkling. "Now, today's matter of business -- The Chronicles of Feuer-Entlüfter."

Watcher man pulls out a wicked intimidating looking book and I just gawk. I can't even pronounce the title, let alone read passages from this thing. Maybe now would be a good time to fake sick. I'll blame it on the pizza being bad shit that's been in the fridge for weeks. If I act all sullen and monosyllabic, he's bound to get all paternal on me and ask me what's up. Then I'll lay it on him big time.

"The Chronicles of what?" I spit out, bug-eyed and skeptical looking as I take a seat on my couch. I make a show of leaning back and rubbing my stomach some, as if I'm just now starting to second guess my chosen meal of the day.

"Feuer-Entlüfter," he repeats, slower this time and stressing each syllable as if I'm stupid or something. "It translates into Fire breather. It was a demon that inhabited Germany and surrounding areas for hundreds of years in the Middle Ages."

"Let me guess," I drawl out, tryin' to prove that I'm at least brainy enough to get what kind of demon this was. "It breathed fire and torched medieval towns, killing everyone but a few lucky survivors who lived to tell the tale. If it were present day, they'd be front page on the National Enquirer."

My brow arches up at him and I continue to casually rub at my stomach, making sure to frown occasionally like I got cramps or something. Wes seems satisfied enough by my description and nods his head at me. There's a little pride laced in his voice when he tells me I'm dead on.

"He was quite the troublemaker. He was known as a terror back then, the devil incarnate to some. No one even dared to battle him until a Germanic slayer was called in the year 1509. Unfortunately, they both died in battle, the slayer having too many substantial injuries to survive after she defeated the beast."

"Fuck Wes, way to kill the mood," I grumble from my spot on the couch. Hearing about past slayers biting the big one is never a cheery subject. Just makes my eventual demise seem even more... eventual. B and I once had a big talk on the subject. We decided that is was always a bummer to hear about the slayers before us. "What's so important about this book, anyway? The thing's long gone, why read about it? The Cliffnotes version is enough for me."

"It's important to learn about history, Faith," he answers all prissy-like. "The past can often help deal with the present."

"Yea, well, I'm not big on reading about my fellow sisters in the slayerhood dying, so why can't we stick with actual demons that we're dealing with now instead of some lame flashbacks that aren't doing shit for me now? I'm cool with the knowledge thing, I've been a good sport about getting a little book friendly, but I can't read stuff for the sake of reading, Wes. It's just plain depressing to hear about all these chicks dying before their eighteenth birthday. I've got enough negative thoughts as it is, I don't need one more crowding up my mind."

Wes makes a little `hmmph` noise and closes the book in hand. Thank fucking god for that, I thought I was gonna have to run off to the bathroom and start making sounds like I was turning up my lunch. He lets it drop back into his bag and then he comes to sit beside me, looking a little uncomfortable to be getting cozy on the couch with me. Hell, I'm a little freaked by it myself. We don't usually get this close unless we're sparing or I'm trying to ruffle his feathers up with a little flirtation.

"Alright, no more history lessons," he gives in softly. I guess he understands why I wouldn't want to read about a bunch of dead slayers. Maybe Watchers get a kick out of it, but us slayers sure as fuck don't. "Tell me about last night's patrol then."

"It was your average night of slaying, nothing special," I shrug. Truth is, it was so dead out there I was practically falling asleep on the headstone I had staked out as my look out point for vamps on the rise. "Two newbie vamps fresh from the grave tried to throw down with me. They were quick to go down and even quicker to dust. I didn't even break a sweat."

"Nothing that could warn of an upcoming apocalypse then?"

"Nada. It was dead out there. I checked out the Bronze too, since vamps like to feed on the chicks dumb enough to go outside for a little hanky panky and the only thing I slayed there was a couple of drinks. Scored a few numbers too, but we both know I won't be calling them back."

Wes chuckles and leans back, the amusement twinkling in his eyes again. "Have you ever called anyone back, Faith?"

"Why, you in the mood for a little Faith action?" I tease, sneaking my finger out to poke him in the chest. I'm surprised to find that he's actually got some muscle up there. Good for him, been working out I see. He'll need it when we can finally spar at full strength. I'm gonna kick his ass *so* hard.

"Well, I would be more in the business of asking you if you wanted some, as you put it, `Wes action` with the way you've been behaving lately."

I almost cough on my soda when the tables are turned on me. So what if I've been shamelessly flirting? It doesn't mean I'm crushing on him or nothing. I got B and she's all the woman I need to keep me satisfied. "You wish, Wes."

"Do I?" he challenges me, his eyebrow raising up as he tries to gauge my reaction.

"You tell me," I challenge back. I turn my body inwards to face him, burning my gaze into his. You can't deny the kind of smoldering looks I can give a person. I lift my hand up once more, this time my finger trailing down his chest instead of poking it. He doesn't squirm the way I'd expect him to. He just grins at me, a shit-eating one that tells me he's getting a kick out of this. "No one would blame you, I *am* hot stuff."

He stares up at me, unblinking and unreadable as he grabs my wrist to stop my wandering hand. "And so humble my slayer is too." He releases my hand and I let it drop down beside me. "You don't fool me for a second, Faith."

"What do you mean," I ask cautiously. I hope he's not gonna give me that speech again about how I'm confused and desperate and use sex as cover up so I don't have to face my real feelings. I could go without hearing that lecture a second time around. It was bad enough the first time. Just salt to the wound, is all I'm saying.

"This flirtation," he signals between us with his good hand. "You only do it because you can and because it's proven to be a game you can win at."

Okay, so he's not wrong about that. It also makes up one Hell of a distraction from studying demon names. I roll my eyes at him and back away, accepting that this game is over. For now. "Fine, maybe I do like to play with you, Wes. It's only 'cause you're so damn easy to tease. I gotta get my kicks in somehow, you know? B's not around so..."

"You need some distraction," he interrupts with an amused smirk on his face. Since when did Wes get to be such an expert on all things Faith?

"More or less," I confirm. "You don't hate it though; I know that for a fact."

Wes just shrugs at me, his expression as stoic as Angel's used to be. Man, he's really picked up a lot of qualities from the big guy. I'm almost freaked out by it.

"Then there's no need for me to confirm or deny either way," he says with a devious tone to his voice. I'm thinking it's safe to say that watcher boy here gets off on playing me as much as I do him. There's no way he's gonna admit to having the hots for me.

"So, you want some pizza?" I ask, going for the subject change. I got a feeling that if I keep pushing it, I might end up actually jumping him just to prove that he wouldn't say no to me.

He smiles gratefully at me, obviously aware of the same things I am. You see? We're on the same page now. "What the Hell?" he says enthusiastically, surprising me that he actually broke the mold and swore. "Heat me up a slice."

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I always get left behind [06 May 2004|01:45am]

[ mood | lonely ]

Buffy's been back for a while now. I guess you could say things have been a little... stressed. I mean, I totally forgive her for everything she did. She's my sister. No matter how much I hate her for treating me like a baby and throwing hissy fits when I steal borrow her clothes, she's *still* my sister and I *still* love her. We're Summers girls and Summers girls stick together!

Xander hasn't been by as much lately. I miss him tons, but I understand why he wouldn't be all, "Yay Buffy!" He's way more sensitive than he lets on. Boys are such dummies sometimes. They try to act all macho but we know that they still have feelings that can so get hurt just like a girl's. So right now Xander's being a total baby about everything and doesn't even come to see me! How rude is that? I didn't try to kill him! I played nursemaid to him and made him feel better and gave him much in the confidence department with all the compliments I gave him about his nice arms and handsome features. Whoa, run on sentence much? I so have it bad for him.

So, my life has been completely with the normal as of late. I've been going to school regularly, making a few new friends, and doing my homework like a good little slayer's sister. I'm the brains of the family. Have you seen the kind of grades Buffy used to get? Geez, no wonder she had to drop out of college. I don't buy that whole slaying makes it too hard to study excuse. She was just too dumb for it!

Anyway, today I come home from school and I think everything will be how it has been for the past few weeks. Buffy will be in the kitchen cooking something in an attempt to make up for her big sister lacking back when she was evil. She'll ask me how my day was and if I have homework and blah, blah, blah. Typical big sistery stuff. Then she'll go train with Giles and be back in time for dinner. Today is different, though. Today there's a packed duffel bag in the living room and no food waiting for me on the kitchen table. Are we going on a surprise vacation?

"Buffy!" I yell out after I've slammed the door shut hard enough to show how not pleased I am without some macaroni and cheese waiting for me. "Buffy!!! I'm home!"

Instead of Buffy, I get Giles. He comes in from the dining room and does his normal Gilesy thing of cleaning his glasses. "Ah, Dawn, you're home."

"Duh," I deadpan. "Where's Buffy?"

"She's upstairs retrieving a few last minutes necessities for the desert," he answers, very matter-of-factly might I add. Ugh, are we going to the desert? I don't want to go to the desert! There are snakes and sand and it's really, really hot. I'd much rather stay in my bug free air conditioned home.

"Buffy didn't tell me anything about going to the desert," I say crossly, narrowing my eyes at Giles and glaring at him the way I glare at my gym teacher when he makes us run a whole mile.

"Well, it was a last minute thing, actually. I'm terribly sorry we couldn't inform you sooner, Dawn, but Buffy and I are headed out to the desert to perform a sacred slayer ritual."

Just then Buffy comes bounding down the stairs with a backpack in tow. She's totally leaving me here isn't she? "Giles I'm rea - OH! Dawn! You're home."

For the second time today, I say, "Duh. I can't believe you're going to the desert!"

"Well, Giles said it would be good for me," she explains quickly. "You know, because of the whole bad Buffy thing. He thinks it would be good for me to get in touch with my inner slayerdom, right Giles?"

Giles nods. I roll my eyes. "Yes, I've been doing some research and I believe it would benefit Buffy to go on a retreat of sorts."

I crinkle my nose up at the idea. I wonder if it was like a Wiccan ritual. I hear they dance naked under full moons. Does that mean Giles and Buffy are going to dance naked under one? That would be totally gross.

"And! I know it's last minute and all, but I figured that you're growing up, Dawnie. You can take care of yourself. You don't need me here every moment of the day. So today you are an independent woman until Willow and Tara are finished with their classes for the day and can come over to make sure you're doing okay."

"They're spending the night aren't they?" I more state than ask. Woo hoo, three hours of Dawn time and then I'm back to being babysat again. At least Willow and Tara are cool. They always let me stay up extra late and eat lots of ice cream. Okay.... I just sounded totally childish there, didn't I?

Buffy nods. "You know it's not safe to be alone at night in Sunnydale. If anything nasty pops up, Willow and Tara can work their mojo until Faith shows up. I left the number to her apartment on the fridge."

I sigh a little. God, I'm always going to be shipped around like some foster kid, aren't I? I bet Buffy has a whole schedule of who gets to watch me and when. Xander will probably come tomorrow and then Faith. I wouldn't be surprised if Wes, Cordy, and Anya got stuck with Dawn duty too. It sucks being fifteen. I'm old enough to get a learner's permit and date, but I still need a parent present for R-rated movies and can't be home alone at night.

"It won't be so bad, Dawn," Buffy says with a big fake smile plastered across her face. "I shouldn't be gone too long. You probably won't even miss me."

Keep this up, and I won't. I want to say that but I just smile back, just as fakely. "I hope you know I'm going to throw a big party when you're gone and make you clean up all the pizza boxes and beer bottles."

Buffy ruffles my hair and laughs. Yea, laugh it up now, big sister! I am so making your life Hell when you get back! "You've been hanging out with Xander too much."

That's not true! I so have not been. I barely get any Xander time in and it totally sucks. Buffy then envelopes me into a hug, practically squeezing my guts out in the process. Slayer strength! Slayer strength!

"Ow," I squeak out.

"Oh sorry!" Buffy exclaims sheepishly as she hugs me like a normal person. "I'll miss you Dawnie. Be good, okay?"

"I'll be as good as you would be if you were me," I smirk back at her. "And I'll miss you too." A lot.

"You've been spending too much time with Faith too," she remarks at my little bout of bratty teenager attitude. Okay, so maybe it was kind of Faithish but I so wasn't trying to be! Buffy hugs me one last time before she's off and waving with Giles holding the door open for Buffy and her various bags. "Bye Dawn!"

"Bye Buffy," I call out less than enthusiastically as she exits out the front door.

I guess this means I can call out for pizza then.

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first day at school [01 May 2004|02:42pm]

[ mood | melancholy ]

Faith walks up to the concrete and wood bench I am sitting on in Riverside Part and flops down next to me.

"How did it go?" I ask, watching children play on the jungle gym in front of us.

She snorts and replies in that almost sing-song way she has when she makes light of something. "It pretty much sucked. Thanks for bailing, by the way."

"I 'bailed' to give you some privacy. So how much did it suck?"

"Are we gonna train or talk here, Wes?"

I smile, still watching the children. One falls off a swing and my stomach tenses up, but then the child's mother scoops him up and dusts him off. Crisis averted. "I thought we could do a bit of both."

"I wanna kick the crap out of something."

"There's a particularly annoying child over there," I say, pointing at a young ruffian as he investigates the inner workings of his olfactory channels, pulls out a prize, and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Damn," she mutters, seeing the exact one I mean, "I could put his mom out of her misery."

We laugh.

After we run through all the static exercises either of us could think of -- crunches, press-ups (one-handed for me), burpees, squats, lunches, headstand press-ups (none for me), stretches -- I suggest we take a run through the wooded paths in the park. Faith jets off, snapping twigs underfoot and rustling the leaves of overgrowing branches as she moves.

"Faith!" I call.


I catch up with her at a gentle jog. "Stealth. No noise."

She nods and begins jogging at a less superhero pace, soundless. I keep a reasonable distance behind her, hindered by the plaster's weight and encumbrance. She cracks a small tree branch under her left foot.


She looks back. "What?"

"Every noise will cost you. Fifty press-ups," I replied, catching up to her. She looks back in disbelief.

"Wes, you gotta be. . ."

"On the ground. No counting. No noise."

"And I'll know when I'm done because. . .?"

"That's another fifty. I will tell you when you're through."

"How do I know. . ."

"One hundred and fifty."

She glowers at me and gets down on the ground, pushing her body up and down on the dirt trail. Truth be told, one hundred and fifty reps would barely tax her.

"Tell me what you hear, Faith. What are the sounds around you?"

"Besides you yappin'? I can hear the kids screamin' on the playground. One's crying. There's some kinda animal in the brush, behind you, scattering shit around. Some joggers are coming up behind us. They're just human, but goin' pretty fast."

A few moments later, two women run past us in designer sports kit, giving us an odd look.

As Faith reaches 150 press-ups, I extend my free hand to her. She grabs it and I help her up. She's dusty, a fine sheen of sweat over her exposed arms and neck. For not the first time in the past few days, she reminds me of her power and beauty in a single motion.

"Remember, not a sound."

She nods and races off ahead of me. I roll my eyes, knowing there's not a chance in hell that I could either keep up or actually stay close enough to hear if she made a noise. I wander back the way we came, back to the bench, and wait for her.

I pick a thick twig up from the ground and slip my knife from its scabbard on my shin. The children still play on the swings and slides and see-saws under the watchful eyes of adults. Faith and I will never be a part of that world. Those people will never see us. If they do, they have stepped into a world where they control very little, where death comes in either a veil of silence or a bloody burst of violence.

Do the lucky ones die, or do the lucky ones live? Very morbid, Wesley. Stop thinking like this. Faith needs your attention.

And she appears before me, as if we'd planned such a thing.

"Whatcha got there, Wes?" she asks, looking at my hands.

I look down as well. A stake.

"Nice work," she appraises.

"Thanks," I reply.

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making up [01 May 2004|01:18am]

[ mood | accomplished ]

In a way, I feel Xander’s pain.

It’s not physical - well apart from trying to use my arm in any capacity, I’m pretty much one handed girl at the moment so doing anything useful is pretty much out of the question…including dressing myself, kinda embarrassing , getting caught up in the strap like sling - unless Willow gives me a hand of her own…though that borders back into the physical again and I’m losing my trail of thought.

Broken bones will heal…being hurt emotionally by a friend takes a lot longer, sometimes it never heals at all. So when Xander left this afternoon, part of me wasn’t surprised - in fact a little part of me - the awkward, self doubting side of me that used to be was screaming to run away with him. I can’t lie, even though I know Buffy really didn’t mean to be so crude and cutting - in between breaking my arm - I still felt the sting, of her not being close to me at all. After all, she said she didn’t see me as any more than Willow’s girlfriend, though I’m sure I put it a little more eloquently than she did.

But then I did some thinking…and maybe that’s my problem - it’s about time I did something rather than just thinking about it.

Despite the cruel jokes at my expense, Buffy wasn’t lying - it wasn’t as if we spent a lot of time really getting to know each other and it’s not all her fault for seeing me as part of Willow, I never really found the time to get to know her much more than Willow’s friend.

I can’t take back the pain from the things she said to me - but I can change the truth behind them. So I set about making them right.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar at Buffy’s when she came through the door.

“Tara, hey.” She said a little hesitantly, almost sheepishly at the door.

I tried to give her my most reassuring smile. “Hey Buffy, You find Faith?”

“In the spiritual sense no,” she said with a sad smile. “But in every other sense, I caught up with her at the Espresso Pump…”


“We did the talking thing, it’s a lot more productive than I remember it being.”

I smiled again. “Who knew talking could be the best communicating tool?”

She sat down next to me and her own smile faded. “Has Xander come back yet?”

I looked down at the table. “No, n-not yet….Willow wants to go look for him, but I thought maybe it’s best he has a little time to himself.”

“Tara I’m so sorry, I made such a mess of things…I really didn’t mean the things I….”

“No, you did…but it’s okay…….you know…you weren’t entirely wrong.”

She stared at me a little, clearly confused.

“I prefer ‘La Isla Bonita’...” I stated.

Her expression became blank.

“But I have to agree, ‘Like a Virgin’….hilarious.”

The realization flashed across her face of our not too comfortable ‘hostile bonding’ crept back into her mind and she subconsciously ran her fingers across the bruise on her forehead, Buffy smiled a little, before becoming a little uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about your arm…a-and the back hand.”

I shrugged it off. “Ditto with the lead pipe.”

“I never knew you liked Madonna.” She said

I grinned “It was her or Barbara Streisand, and I’m just not ready for that level of commitment right now.”

Buffy rolled her eyes in an attempt to disguise the snort of laughter. I turned to her. “We don’t really know a lot about each other, …well, apart from the whole saving the world every week…I just figured….we could….”

“Save the world?” She asked with a tilt of the head.

I smiled. “Get to know each other better. Hang out a little more.”

Buffy shifted before she nodded her head firmly. “You know, I’d like that. Tomorrow at the Mall?”

I nodded. “Though I know I don’t need to be a fortune teller to see we will not be shopping for clothes at the same stores.” Finishing with a grin.

She took a moment to look at me before smiling. “Hell no! those boots were never going with that skirt! And yet I feel the compelling urge to borrow them!” He face darkened a little. “Now I just have to make peace with the rest of the world….”

“Xander’s a good guy, I guess he wants a little space right now.”

“A whole ‘nother state wouldn’t be too big a surprise.” She said, ending with a dramatic sigh.

I gave her a sympathetic smile and took a sip of my long cold coffee.

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[ooc post] [14 Apr 2004|05:26pm]

[please read the ooc community

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The days of our lives [11 Apr 2004|07:15pm]

[ mood | curious ]

Things have gotten boring again. I have taken up soap opera watching to make my day more interesting. The post apocalyptic sex did wonders for working off energy late at night. We decided that since Buffy and Faith are still both alive that it would not be impolite to be having sex after an epic battle fought to save the life and soul of one pretentious and annoying slayer Buffy Summers by her former arch-nemesis the girl without a last name Faith. Who does she think she is anyway? Madonna?

Does this sound like a television drama to anyone else? I swear I could market this idea as a fictional storyline and receive millions of pretty green papers with the number 100 written plainly across the top. I like the part where I merely say words and receive much praise and money in return. Whenever I say words here all I get is "Shut up, Anya". Only my orgasm friend appreciates my so-called bluntness.

The other day Cordelia and I went to visit the pretentious and annoying slayer in the hospital. It is custom to bring the sickly one items from the overprices gift shop inside so I bought one of those little teddy bears with hard peppermint candy in a brightly colored bag attached to the bear's stomach. I would be complaining about the stuffed bunny I saw (evil vile creatures!) but something much worse happened. We were informed by the attractive looking young male doctor that Buffy was released. Why weren't we informed of this? I go through all this trouble of taking a day off from running The Magic Shop only to find out that my attempt at being nice was going to go unnoticed. And they say I'm rude.

I am now eating the delicious little mint candies and the bear makes a wonderful decoration for our coffeetable. Maybe the little girl will want it. She is less annoying than her older sister Buffy even if she is a deceiving little Lolita who is out to manipulate Xander into performing pedophilia. Not that I give a damn about what Xander Harris does. I couldn't be more happy with Cordelia.

She has nice breasts and has much more nimble fingers than Xander. She is also very talented with her tongue in ways Xander could only hope to be. I just find it insulting that Xander would move on from me with a scrawny fifteen year old miniature Buffy. I always knew he had a crush on her -- Buffy that is. He looked at her with lusty eyes and made me jealous on a regular basis. I often had to slap him out of his stupor. Now that Buffy is a lipstick lesbian, he had turned his attention towards the young but very straight and illegal teenager.

This also sounds like a television movie. Hmm. This could have promise.

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That dreaded conversation... [11 Apr 2004|06:29pm]

[ mood | sad ]

I want to kill him.

Those are my first thoughts when Wes strolls off all chipper and ridin' proudly on his horse. I can't help but think that maybe he set me up. I mean, what are the odds of us running into B at the Expresso Pump? I know I ain't no doctor, but shouldn't she be resting up? Even slayers need a little downtime to recover from something like that yet here she is, kicking it like nothing ever happened.

I take a good look at the chick in front of me. She smiles, tight lipped and sad and like she's just doing it to try to put me at ease. We're both on edge here and it shows in big ways. A thousand watt smile couldn't change the way her shoulders are tensed and she's perched on the edge of her chair like she might haul ass out of here at any second. Broken arm or not, I'm giving Wes Hell in training today.

"You're training with Wesley now?" Buffy asks in shock once Wes's form is lost in the crowd of thirty somethings pushing strollers and teenagers looking for some trouble. If only they knew where the real trouble was at.

"Yea," I reply, one side of my mouth turning up into a small half smile. "Guess I should send Giles a pink slip. He's fired. I know it's harsh without the two week notice, but hey."

We both laugh at that, nervously, but it's a start. I bite my lip and B looks away. We've already reached some dangerous levels of awkward silence between us. Why does everything gotta be so goddammed hard all the time? All I want is for us to be okay, you know? Thing is, I don't even know what's making me feel worse -- the fact that she hurt me when she was bad bad Buffy or the fact that I hurt her to bring her back to us. Both of them fit into the category of majorly sucking and yet I still don't know who should be apologizing to who. So we just sit here, neither of us knowing what to say.

I break the silence, thinkin' that I did the wrongs to her first, way back when, so maybe I was in the way of owing when she made a mockery out of our relationship and then tried to kill me. Twice.

"Buffy, I'm sorry I -"

"Wait," she interrupts, holding up a hand to stop me in my tracks. I'm bewildered but shut my trap. I figure she's about to chew me out for even trying to say I'm sorry about guttin' her like she did me. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Faith. I'm the one who's sorry. I guess you could say I deserved a whole lot worse from you for everything I... everything I said and did. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore."

My mouth drops open at B's apology. What the Hell? I don't think the girl's ever apologized to me for anything before. Usually I'm the one in the wrong. Trippy.

"What?" I ask, still seriously dazed about this whole matter of me getting to be the one deserving the respect. "You think I don't want to see you anymore, B? Where the Hell do you get that idea from?"

Her lower lip trembles as she slowly brings her gaze back to mine. The face I see staring back at me could be my own. You know, if I was blonde haired, green eyed, and sporting a Walmart tan. "I don't," she sniffs. "Xander doesn't and I did much, much worse to you. How can you ever forgive me for what I did? I told you that I didn't love you and then I nearly broke your leg and god, Faith, I tried to push you off that catwalk! If it weren't for those pipes underneath, you'd be..."

She trails off, unable to say what we both know. Dead. I'd be dead.

"You don't know that, B," I deny, both to myself and her. I don't want to think about yet another close encounter I had with my buddy death. I'm alive and that's all that matters. "I'm tough, I could've just gone into another coma. I tend to fall into those a lot. Me and comas? We're like this."

I cross my index and ring fingers, clicking my tongue inside my mouth to show how tight we are. Buffy's the one who dies and comes back. And me? I just go into hibernation for a while. Damn, I really am like a zoo animal aren't I? I even got the sleeping patterns down to a T.

"Oh yea, and that's a big improvement from death," B deadpans sadly, her eyes downcast once more. "You should've killed me, Faith."

I nearly choke on my fuckin' latte at her words. "What?"

"It's true. I wasn't myself and I hurt everyone I love! I made Xander feel worthless, I broke Tara and Wes's arms, I probably had Dawnie scared for her life, I tortured Anya and Cordelia just for being annoying, nearly burned Spike to a crisp, and then... there's what I did to you," she pauses, her voice catching in the back of her throat. "Why didn't you just kill me? I gave you every reason to, Faith. Nobody would have blamed you if you did."

"Because I, don't mind the pun, have faith in you, B," I reply quietly, a little smile sneaking it's way onto my face. My mom really screwed me over with this name, didn't she? If I ever have kids, I ain't naming them a name that's also a word. "You never gave up on me, even after I teamed up with the mayor, you still couldn't kill me... and I made it easy for you too. Let's face it, I didn't exactly keep a low profile, you know? You only came after me when I pushed you to it. So how could I give up on you when you never gave up on me? I was just returning the favor, Blondie."

Now it's my turn to pause. I seriously hate this touchy feely crap. Guess I'm still gettin' used to the idea that I ain't the cold hearted bitch I'd like people to think I am. "Besides, I kinda love you a little too much to let a little thing like you bein' evil get in the way of us."

"And do you still?" B asks hesitantly, the fear evident in her voice. It funny, as long as I've known her, she's never been scared. Now she's full of the stuff nightmares are made of. I might not be a vampire, but even I can sense it. It almost seems wrong that golden girl Buffy be put in this spot. "Love me that is."

"Yea, I think I do," I answer softly. With a sigh, I add, "Fuck it, I know I do. Always have and always will. Now can we drop this mushy crap? I'm gettin' a toothache here."

"But you were doing so well with the Oprah worthy performance," Buffy jokes, sounding a little more like the old B I know. She picks up a napkin and dabs some at her eyes. Her eye make up's fucked and now she really does look like some doe-eyed talk show guest. "I don't know what I did to deserve to have you still, I feel like I don't, but I love you too, Faith. I didn't mean what I said about not liking girls, or you, or your sex being, god... I can't even believe I bagged on your sex skills. I must have been really desperate for insults. I just... I wish i could take it all back."

"It's hard to look people in the eyes now, huh?" I ask, feeling like now might be the time to play that whole `I was evil and you were evil so let's bond` game. "Knowing you said things you can't take back no matter how many times your sorry, always wondering if the person you're talkin' to is gonna flinch the second you make a fast move at them because they remember the times you hurt them without so much of a warning."

Buffy nods, her eyes still shiny from her previous confession. Since when did I become the chick people confess their sins to? "Willow, Tara, and Dawnie have all been great, but..."

"It'll never be the same," I finish for her, my tone sympathetic in my own relationship to the gang.

I still wonder if Harris wigs every time I get a little too close or my hands go anywhere near his throat. B might've dissed him, but I almost strangled the boy to death. I'm wicked surprised he can stand the sight of me at all. If Soul Boy hadn't of showed up when he did, I don't know what would've happened that night.

"Yea," she answers sadly. "I almost wish they would lash out. It'd be easier to listen to insult then to suffer through the painfully nice get well cards and balloons. I know their intentions are good but it all feels so forced somehow."

"I know the feeling," I sigh, almost as sadly as B is sounding.

Fuck, this is depressing. Playing shrink to B shouldn't make me feel this shitty about my own colorful past. All it does is drag up all the emotions I try to keep a short leash on. I don't need to be feeling that crap 24-7, you know? I deserve a little peace of mind, as deranged as that sounds coming from a screw up like me. Yea, yea, I know self pity isn't "becoming", but we all do it from time to time. It's human nature. It's when you don't feel bad about deeds gone wrong that you gotta take a step back and ask yourself what the fuck your problem is.

"Sometimes I think the gang only puts up with me 'cause I'm screwing the brains out of their best friend," I admit. That point bein' moot though, since now they're gonna have an equally hard time putting up with Buffy. Now we're both the odd man out. Sucks to be us, huh? At least I got Wes on my side now. He was never welcomed into the gang with open arms. In fact, he was always kind of joke among us.

Speaking of, the clock up on the wall says it's been twenty five minutes. If I'm not in the park in five, I'll be spending my afternoon with my nose buried in dusty books.

"B, I gotta..."

"Go," she smiles, motioning for me to leave. "I'll be okay here, I need some alone time, just to think and do some Buffy reflections."

I grimace at the thought of B exercising her brain. I love that girl, but when it comes to smarts, she's kind of lacking. It must be a rule that slayers are all brawn and no brain. It's why we got Watchers. I ain't exactly Einstein either.

"Don't hurt yourself," I joke as I bring myself up into a standing position, stretching out a few still sore muscles.

Buffy sticks her tongue out at me in a very Dawnlike manner. Taking tips from kid sis. See, I told you she's not the brightest crayon in the box. I flip her the bird in the nicest way possible and head back out into the sunshine. It's almost weird being out during the day. Us slayers are on the same hours as the vampires. No wonder B has to use that fake tan junk. I'd be all over that shit too if I weren't so fond of the borderline goth look. I learned long ago that pastels and me just weren't meant to be.

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to celebrate the fact that we've seen the back of another black day [11 Apr 2004|04:46pm]

[ mood | accomplished ]

"So when am I going to find the rest of it out?" I ask quickly, grinning, turning my face back to Faith.

She smiled that sidelong grin, all half-lidded eyes and akimbo hair. She obviously liked a bit of flirtation -- it surprised her when it came from me. "I would tell you to play your cards right, but something tells me you don't play poker, Wes."

"Not my game," I say, wishing I had a pint in hand. After the past few days, I could use a marathon session. Obviously last night just took the edge off.

I again admire her artwork on my plastercast. It is quite good. "Thank you. You have a real talent for artwork. Did you draw the original yourself?" I ask, indicating her tattoo.

"Yeah," she replies, a little smile of pride on her face. "It was in my first Slayer dream."

I look out over the balcony, seeing her cigarette butts and soda cans. Then, I look at all the homes, inhabited by families saved several times over by the tough-looking high-school-dropout social outcast standing next to me. "Have you had any lately?"

"Tattoos or Slayer dreams?" Faith counters.

I chuckle. "Either, although I suppose the former is none of my business."

"Nada on each count. Tattoos ain't cheap. I want another one, on my other arm, but no cash to get it done."

"Do you have a picture of what you want?"

She shakes her head, dark hair shifting across her shoulders. "Nah, just in my head. It'd probably be crappy anyway."

"I doubt that."


"I checked into a guest house not too far from here for a few weeks, until things calm down a bit."

She grins. "Why, my hotel room floor not good enough for the stuffy Brit?"

"I'm getting older now, Faith, you've got to learn to let go," I respond, teasing right back.

"You're gonna make me go see B, aren't you?" she says, her gaze following mine.

"I won't make you do anything, Faith. You must remember, though, that although she has her gang, you are the only one that can truly understand what she is feeling. The guilt. The heartbreak of losing Angel, finally and completely, by her own hand. They can listen, but they cannot share."

"I hurt her, Wes."

My anger from last night boils forward. "Nothing like what she did to you, Faith. She's walking around the next day; you teetered on the edge of death for almost a year. You could have killed her, or mortally wounded her quite easily and did not."

She crosses her arms defiantly across her chest. "You think I've gone soft?"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Faith, it's not becoming," I retort almost angrily. She is so infuriating. Such a teenager, even with all she has done, heard and seen in her short life. "Learning control is a more difficult lesson."

She shuffles her shoe on the floor. We're still not looking at each other, just looking over the town. "You sound like Angel."

"Angel's dead, Faith."

She mimicks me perfectly, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Wes. It's not becoming."

I laugh. My Slayer, all leather, attitude and artistic ability, can make me laugh faster than Gunn. I used to loathe her, the representation of every word from my father. Everything has changed now.

Turning slightly serious, I ask, "I still need to address the matter of your training. How would you prefer to proceed?"

She snorts. "You're Watch-man here, Wes, that's your gig. I just gotta show up, right?"

"Yes, and that went so well last time," I reply drolly.

She grinned and lit another cigarette up. "Okay. I don't know. I kill stuff, you help me?"

"Yes. There is that. . .also, I could lecture you," I smile, inhaling her cigarette smoke. Carcinogenic, but so lovely. "But I doubt you'd be interested."

She exhales. "Got that right."

"Giles has a copy of the Slayer Guidebook, but I feel that is an out-moded and. . .well, it's written by a bunch of now-dead Council anoraks."

She inhales. "Anner-huh?"

"Anoraks. British slang term for 'geek' or 'nerd' of the highest order."

"And if you're calling 'em that, I'm guessin' it's pretty bad." Another sidelong grin.

I turn to her conspiratorially. "Tweed you haven't seen in your worst nightmares."

She blanches. "Eesh. We'll give the guidebook a miss."


She looks out, searching for something. "Come on, Faith, let's take a walk," I suggest, hoping that she's simply feeling caged. She agrees. We leave her place.

As we wander through Sunnydale high street, I muse, "I thought that we could try some Russian martial arts training. You might find the techniques interesting, and it could decrease the time spent actually fighting. Basic firearms training. . ."

"I can already shoot, Wes."

"Not as well as you could."

"Wanna bet?" In the middle of a populated area, I draw my gun and point it at her chest. A split-second later, and. . . She sees it; I practice. Frequently. Not a soul on the street noticed I had a pistol tucked under my shirt. "Okay, what else?" she grins.

I sigh quietly, still inhaling her second-hand smoke. "Hear me out on this, Faith, but I want you to have a basic grasp of research."

"Aww, Wes. . ." she whines, "I'm not down with the books. You know this. You can lead the Slayer to the books, but she ain't gonna read."

"Faith, there may very well be a time when you might need to, and it could be the difference between life and death."

"Wes. . ."

We stop next to the Espresso Pump. "Just try it. I'll try to make it painless." She ground out her fag with a boot as we walked in together. We both had lattes, minus the whipped cream.

When we sat down at a table outside, we picked up where we left off. "We'll see. Anything else?"

"I have some sensory training I'd like to try. You have Slayer instincts and senses, but with additional development, they could be serious assets in a battle instead of occasional help. I think your precognitive abilities -- the prophetic dreams -- can be harnessed and used to predict events as well."

"You think you can do that?" she asks.

"I think we might," I reply.


"I confess that I've given this some thought over the past five years."

"Sounds like."

Buffy walks into the Espresso Pump, looking worse for wear but certainly not as bad as I do. "It's time, Faith," I say quietly.

Faith starts to panic. "I'm not ready, Wes."

"When she sits down, I'll tell her you have half an hour before I expect you for your first training session. Which, by the way, is true."

She nods, exhaling some more smoke. "What are you gonna do?"

"Wait outside for you. Every day, until you aren't afraid anymore."

"I'm not afraid," she spits back reflexively.

I slurp from my latte. "Bollocks."

Buffy walks over to the table, limping almost imperceptibly. "Hey," she said quietly, more to Faith than to me.

I smile up at the woman who tried to kill me three times in the last two days. "Hello again, Buffy."

"Hi, Wes." She peers at my cast. "Hey, you let somebody sign it!"

"Yes." I look at Faith. She doesn't hide anxiety well as a rule. "A gift from my favourite artist." I smile at Faith, hoping it'll break the ice somehow. She smiles at me, at least.

I stand up and offer Buffy my seat. "I'll leave you two alone to chat. Faith, don't forget that I expect you in half an hour. If you're late, we'll start on research first."

"Where you wanna meet?" she asked.

I pondered for a moment. "Riverside Park, west entrance."

"Cool. Later, Wes."


I leave the Espresso Pump and wander over to Riverside Park, wondering what the hell I plan to teach Faith today.

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I guess, forgiveness comes in different times. [09 Apr 2004|05:03pm]

[ mood | uncomfortable ]

I sat there and watched Xander and Buffy kind of go at it. In a way it reminded me of when Buffy came back to Sunnydale after dealing with Angel the first time around. Xander was hurt, my best friends were hurting and..

I couldn't finish my thoughts. "Xander, okay, so you're a little huffy and I guess rightly so," Xander just looked at me blankly. "And Buffy well you're a bit, well frozen, and I guess, rightly so."

Buffy just sighed at me.

Again, so not going well.

"Okay so we're all not very chipper. I get that, and maybe not all woo and hoo with forgiveness today, but us standing around looking at each other like this isn't helping either."

Xander just shrugged at me. "I'm not ready for this. Not now. I have to go."

Buffy blinked, "Wait Xand.."

"No. No waiting," he opened the front door of the house and left.

Tara squeezed my hand for reassurance. I saw Buffy look towards the door. "Buffy, he's just feeling well kinda moody."

Moody. Understatement of the year, I'm sure.

"Moody? Will? No. He hates me. Just like the rest of you. Don't blame you really," again with the big dramatic sigh breath.

"No Buffy, I don't hate you, and," I turned to Tara. "Neither does Tara."

Dawn raised her hand, "I don't either. But you're my sister."

"See, no hating. It's just you know um, you kind of went a little.."

She finished. "Crazy. I know. I can't change that, but if it wasn't for you guys, I'd be well dead. Again."

"All in favor of the not raising the Buffy again?" Dawn raised her hand.

Buffy walked closer to me. "It's okay Will you don't have to apologize for other people. I know I hurt you. I hurt all of you. And," she swallowed. "All I can do, is try to go forward."

"Hey, we're all still here, and, not like I didn't make a few mistakes either Buffy," I tilted my head at her. "Blackeyed girl remember? I mean I said some bad things to you too at some point."

Finally a smile, even if she wasn't all smiley girl. "Thanks Will. I need to go find Faith. That is of course if she still wants to talk to me."

I shrugged. "She's Faith. Five by five."

She put on a jacket and she was off again.

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Put on a brave face [08 Apr 2004|07:14pm]

[ mood | contemplative ]

I'm sitting out on my new favorite thinking spot -- the balcony of my place -- when Wes comes back just as promised. I still don't know what to make of this, well, us really. Ever since this whole thing with B started, I've been counting on the guy more than I should. After all, I'm Faith, I don't need anybody. I'm the tough chick, rogue slayer extraordinaire. Who needs some British guy to lean on when you're Miss I Can Do Everything Myself?

But, truth is? I did, well do need somebody to lean on. Just like that lame song dictates. We all need somebody to lean on. Why not him? B's got Giles and her friends, and who do I got really? Nobody. So maybe it's a good thing he came back. Maybe we got brought together by circumstances, but I'm still digging the company. I haven't told him to get lost yet have I?

I've done the usual routine since he went to check up on my girlfriend. It should've been me at that hospital but I'm chicken shit as usual. I'm just itching to ask the guy what's up with B but something in me makes me hold back. Don't wanna seem too eager, you know? I gotta be cool about this. Just act as nonchalant as usual. It's no big, I roll with the punches. It's what I've been doing all my life.

I've got a cigarette in my hand and a breeze in my hair, my leathers fit me like a glove and I know I can be the perfect picture of stoic when I want to. Angel wasn't the only one who could brood. I got an A in that class. Imagine that, huh?

I keep my gaze stony and straight ahead when he joins me out on the balcony, his hand shifting to rest in his pockets in a move I would have guessed would be the patented clean the glasses. Maybe he ain't so much of a Giles the second after all. I had all these nickname possibilities for that too. Damn.

"She's fine," he states, his voice giving away nothing and everything all at the same time. "She's healed up nicely and seems to be in fairly good spirits."

I turn my gaze up at him and force a smile on my lips. Is it bad that maybe I wanted her to suffer like I did when I got stabbed? What's with her always besting me? It took me eight months to recover. "Good."

"The doctors are allowing her to leave," Wes continues on. "She inquired about you."

I snort some at that. Yea, I bet she wants to see me. Probably wants to chew me out for what I did to her. "Let me guess," I drawl out sarcastically. "You made up an excuse for me, right?"

I don't mean to be a bitch to Wes, but I can't help it. When I'm hurting, I lash out. Anybody who's anybody should know my game by now. It's my cover up, works just like concealer on a beauty queen's face. It's all eye shadow and lipstick and stuff to cover the zits but underneath it all I'm just like everybody else. I'm not as bigger than life as I pretend to be. He knows, B knows, they all fucking know. That's the thing about going soft, everybody learns your weaknesses. Sucks, but at least I got something that resembles friends now.

"I happened to mention that hospitals didn't agree with you," he admits, sounding somewhat frustrated by my 'tudes. Guess I better take it down a notch.

I take a long drag of my cig, thinking of what I can get away with and what I can't. I should give B a call, just to tell her that I'm five by five. It'd be a shitty thing to do, though. I always hated those jerks who broke up over the phone. If you wanna say shit? Have the fucking decency to do it in person. At least when I `got gone` people knew not to expect a call from me next time I got horny.

"That's almost truthful," I chuckle, stubbing out my cigarette on the cement. "Wonder if she bought it. B can be wicked dense sometimes, you know? You think she knows I'm not exactly overflowing with joy at the prospect of being in a face to face proximity with her after all that happened?"

Wes shrugs at me. "You would know better than I, Faith. She did seem to truly care about your well being, though, whether or not she thinks you're in any mood to face her."

"I'll go see her soon," I breathe out softly. I mean it too. I ain't just throwing out words here to please the watcher. "It's just, I don't know if I'm ready to be someone else's rock, you know? She's gonna need somebody who gets what it's like... and I know I'm the perfect candidate for that seeing as how I was the first slayer around these parts to color outside the lines, but am I really qualified for playin' mentor? I'm still working through my own redemption... I got enough on my plate without B's burden on my shoulders too."

I leave out the part where I need a rock myself. Man, I really wish Angel hadn't bit the dust. He knew about this gig more than anyone. All jealousies aside, guy would've been good to have around at a time like this. What did I know? Jack squat. I know how to keep my head above water, I know how to quench those killing urges, but I've never been much of a talker. How am I gonna play shrink to Buffy? She's better off crying to Giles about her problems.

"Sometimes you help yourself in helping others," Wes speaks quietly from behind me. I cop a glance in his direction and get a load of something I never really noticed was there before. Pain. Did my man Wes have a some guilt issues too? I know he failed big time as a watcher, but that was as much my fault as it was his. We were like oil and water back then. "It's what Angel was doing in LA, Faith. He hadn't found true redemption yet but he believed that the more souls he saved, the closer he came to earning that. Perhaps helping Buffy is part of your redemption."

I frown at that. Boy did have a point. When did Wes get so insightful? He almost did sound like Angel... but you know, a Hell of a lot more British. I do love B and I'd do fucking anything for her. So if I gotta be the one to show her that she can still be the goody two shoes she used to be, I'll do it. Besides, it's not like the chick chose to be evil. Not like I did, anyway. What happened to her wasn't her fault. Somehow, I gotta show her that. I know B and I know she's probably kicking herself now. She's gonna be makin' big with the self inflicted prison until somebody comes along and tells her the real deal.

"You know, Wes, sometimes I really hate you," I say jokingly to him. "Why do you have to be so fucking smart all the time?"

He chuckles some at my comments and shrugs once more. He mumbles something about watchers always being smart but my attention span isn't long enough for me to tune into the whole speech about how well educated he was. I'm transfixed by the cast on his arm. Looks like he got that checked out after all. Good. I'd hate to have a watcher with a deformed arm.

"Hey, can I sign it?" I ask, interrupting his ramble on intelligence.

He just gives me a puzzled look. Not so smart after all are you, Wes? Or maybe he just can't follow my train of thought. Whatever.

"Your cast," I clarify with a grin. "What? Isn't it a custom in England to sign a person's cast? I broke my arm once in a third grade. I..." I trail off, not sure if I want to let Wes in on the gory details of my past. I might be digging the guy, but I ain't big on the sharing. Not just yet anyway. Mom told the hospital I fell down the stairs. I'll give you one guess what really happened. "It's not important what happened. Anyway, I got a red cast and for the next day at school all the kids fought over who got to sign their name on it. I think it was the only time I was ever popular."

I let out a little bittersweet laugh at that. Been a loner all my life so it ain't surprising it took something like that to happen for the other kids to see me as something other than the poor kid who always sits in the back corner. Took me going rogue to get noticed by Buffy and co. I'm just a regular drama queen.

"Well, if you must..." Wes trails off, looking at me suspiciously. What? I ain't gonna draw a pair of tits on his cast or anything like that.

"Wicked," I grin triumphantly, hopping up because if I'm gonna do this thing, I'm gonna need a pen. Can't exactly sign with a cigarette butt. I know I got a sharpie in here somewhere. "You won't regret it."

"Funny how I'm already feeling strangely regretful," Wes mumbles as he follows me back into my digs and off the balcony.

I search around in some of the drawers in the kitchen I rarely use. Score! Found it in the top left drawer along with a few other oddities like one of B's hair scrunchies she left over once and some coupons for the local pizza pub. I order in a lot, alright? Pizza's the best after slaying food the world's got to offer.

I twirl the pen in my hand, much like I would a stake, and motion for Wes to get his skinny British ass over here. Where's the beef? It sure ain't on this guy. He could use a little toughening up. Boy was looking a little haggard. I doubt he's gotten much sleep or food in ever since he unleashed Angelus. I take a minute to decide on what I'm gonna mark him up with. Gotta make it good, you know?

I end up going more for a picture than words. What more can I really say at this point? It takes me a while, but fuck, if it doesn't ever look good. I drew my tattoo on his cast. I figured it would show him things I wasn't yet ready to say. We were bound together now, watcher and slayer. I signed a little `F` underneath the symbol as if it isn't obvious who pulled a Picasso on his plaster.

"Now we're twins," I boast proudly when I finish. I got a hidden talent when it comes to doodling. I spent a lot of hours holed up in my room with nothing but a pen and a piece of paper to keep me company back when I was a kid. "Are you still feeling regretful?"

He looks down surprised that I didn't write some dirty joke or nasty remark about him bein' a pussy on his cast. "Impressive. I had no idea you could draw."

"Told ya, Wes," I smirk playfully at him. I would've smacked him on the back too if he didn't already look like a walking bruise. "There's a lot about me you don't know."

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[06 Apr 2004|02:16pm]

[ mood | numb ]

"Welcome home Buff," I said as I stood in front of Buffy with my hands folded.

"Welcome home Buffy," Tara said after.

I have to give props to Tara. She's treally a sweetie to be nice like that after what Buffy did to her. As for me? I don't know if I'll be as forgiving. The things she said to me...the things she did at the Bronze? She didn't just hurt my physically, but she pretty much hit every insecurity I've had for a long time.

Sad thing is, I know she partly meant it. She would never say it aloud, but given what happened to her, she was able to say what she always wanted to say without being held back.

"Feeling any better," I asked.

"Little bit. Look, Xan...about what happened at the Bronze," she started.

An apology. I didn't know if I wanted to hear it because I think on some level, she meant everything she said.

"Save it," I said crossing my arms. "I don't want to hear an apology. You want to do that to someone, do it to Tara and Willow or Cordy and Anya. I don't want to hear it."

"Xander," Willow said shocked.

"I'm sorry Willow, but I seriously don't want to hear her apology. Not after the things she said."

"She wasn't herself," Willow continued.

"I get that. She had part of Angelus in her or whatever. But all that meant was she wasn't being held back. Everything she said or did to get under my skin, to hurt me...I think she's always wanted to say that stuff, but never could. Just like Angelus did when he was evil. He may have been an evil bastard and I hated him with every fiber of my being, but he was nothing if not honest when he was trying to hurt you."

"I didn't mean what I said Xander. That wasn't me. You have to believe that," she said starting to get more and more upset.

"Oh? So, I don't just make jokes with my stupid mouth? Didn't want me to be the first person on your list of people to die cause you think I'm that worthless? You said it yourself. I'm nothing...just a boy who won't grow up. If thats what you really think of me, just say the word and I'll walk out. No more Xander to push around."

"She didn't mean it Xander. Right Buffy," Dawn asked Buffy.

"Of course not," she replied looking right at me. "You're my best friend Xander. I love all of you. I never wanted to hurt you. Any of you."

I wanted to forgive her. I've done it a hundred times before, but this time was different. I know she was possessed in a manner of speaking. It was hearing those words from my best friend, the woman I've given up so much to support and stand by, without a thank you because I wanted to help her fight evil. I didn't want her fighting alone.

And in one day, in the span of about ten minutes, she made me feel like the big loser I was before I met her. The physical pain hurt less than hearing her say I was nothing. Wether she meant to say it or not, made me think of all the times my parents said that to me. My mom when I brought home a less than great report card or my father after a drunken night.

Once I moved out and built a semi-normal life with a job and bills, I thought I had gotten away from hearing that. But in a second it came crashing down.

"I just don't know if I can this time Buff," I said softly.

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...reflections on the former self...for slay_chronicles [04 Apr 2004|01:52pm]
[ mood | determined ]

Go back home to Texas?

I don't know what Wesley was thinking when he even suggested that. He, of all people, should know that I can't go home. I couldn't go then and I can't go now. Gunn thinks he knows me, he doesn't even have a clue. I had them all fooled into thinking the goody-goody-little-southern-belle-Fred was on her way home back to the same little small town she grew up in, tucked out of the way of sight and danger. Basically just sheltored once again from the harsh realities of Los Angeles.

They don't know the real reason why I came to L.A. though and Wesley's on his way back to Sunnydale where he came from. He was a Watcher there. He did the Watcher-ly type things that they did there. Faith was his Slayer. The assigned one. And there was something about a Buffy, but didn't she die or something?

She did and she came back. And then everything ensued and now I'm being sent back to Texas, because I'm a distraction. Imagine me, a distraction to Wesley, but that's what he's thinking. He hasn't said anything, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. I'm not that stupid or naive. And if I was any kind of right I would tell him that he's a distraction for me too. But I don't, I just hide in dark places because that's what he told me I liked to do once.

And hey can you blame me? I'm the one who lived in a cave for five years of my life, trapped in a hell deminsion where they killed my kind like cattle. I endured having to get out of a collar and being referred to as a cow and treated like a slave-woman who wore nothing except rags. Then I lived in the cave. I wrote on the walls, because that's all I had to write on. And I had to keep writing something down because if I didn't then it would all be for nothing and it couldn't be for nothing. It had to be for something.

Mostly it was just different scientific formula's and mathematical equations that nobody else in their right would be able to figure out, unless you had a proper edcuation in it or was just naturally trained. Me, I slipped into it because I was inclined. And that's where I chose to feel the most comfortable. At night I would find myself lying awake calculating pi or something like that to help me relax. I'm nutty, I know but what do you really expect from an experience like that?

Back in the day I was crazy-Fred. Ya know all tucked away up in her room at the Hyperion writing on her walls, afraid to come out, afraid to interact with people, hiding underneath the table eating chinese food with her fingers and talking about, 'fork, pitch fork, fork it over, fork in the road - one I'm not ready to take yet.' Part I remember was Gunn laughing at me and what Wesley said to me.

Things is Wesley trying to send me back to my sheltored life really pisses me off. I'm not some damsel in distress, ya know. I spent five years living in a cave where they killed my kind like cattle. I'm not going to stand by and watch Sunnydale be taken down -- not when there was a chance that Wesley would be there and could get hurt or worse yet, he could need me and my geek-to-the-max-Science girl knowledge.

I'll be damned if I was going back to Texas. I wasn't the same girl I was back then. Heck, I don't even know who I was then vs. who I am now. And maybe -- maybe that's a good thing. All I know is I'd spent five years of my life trying to prove that I'm normal when I'm really not normal. And who is normal anymore now anyways? What the hell is normal? I mean, maybe I could have gone home -- Wesley will tell me that I should have when he sent me -- and pretended to have a happy little normal life, but I knew the truth deep down.

I knew that I wasn't normal anymore. And who in their right minds would be normal if you spent the last five years of your life living in a cave in some sort of hell deminsion where they killed your kind like cattle? It doesn't make sense. So no, I'm not normal. And I don't think I ever will be. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I'll always just be that 'nutty-ol'-gonnie-bird-up-in-her-room-doin'-nothin'-bit-moochin'-off-Angel-Fred.' But even that's all changed somehow.

I'm all circles and rambles--riddlely girl who goes on and on and who's so naive that everyone thinks they have to protect her. Well I'm not the helpless anymore, damnit!! I'm the one who built that thingy-mah-contraption that they all stood around in the lobby of the Hyperion looking at it and musing over what it does.

'It either decapitates something or it makes toast.'

And I showed them with the last laugh that it does in fact decaptiate something nasty and creepy--it was fun. A lot. And I even got the last chuckle in. But oh, I said that already didn't I? And I think I over-analyze too much too or even talk for that matter. That's why I restorted to writing on everything and even Wesley can't fault me for that because he kept these journals on everything. And he was always pouring over his books over the next Prophecy or whatever. He would understand that need to note everything down so that you don't forget it.

And what was that about me being a distraction? Well who's to say that I didn't want to be that distraction. There it was done, I was going to Sunnydale to find Wesley, help in whatever it was that was going to happen and I was going to be that distracto-girl because I can be a damn good distraction on occassion. I was going to waltz right in there and just show him what it was like to be distracted. He'd be damn surprised to see me I know. He was working with Faith now--helping her.

Truth is I've got a door now and I'm walking right through it now, baby. And Wesley isn't going to know what hit him. I'm not some damsel in distress. I am not going to be sent off back to someplace where I know that I don't belong anymore.

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I've fallen, I've sunk so low [04 Apr 2004|01:02pm]

[ mood | resigned ]

It's all hitting me.

I fell very hard. I don't know what happened. No wait, this Slayer does know. That's the problem isn't it? That I always seem to be aware sometimes of the events after they happen.

I remember the blood. The feeling of Spike carrying me. I remember hitting Faith, charging, and then the knife. I knew why Faith now had to do it. Like when I had to gut her. The reasons are always the same.


It's always been about Angel hasn't it? Since I came to Sunnydale with Mom. I remember. I remember every little cut and insult now I threw at Xander. I remember how I hurt and broke Tara's arm. I remember hurting Willow. Let's not even talk about what I did to Wesley too. I remember even hurting Cordelia and Anya. These aren't things I want to think about, but then again I guess this is my job isn't it?

I will remember you. Will you remember me?

As I sat there with Dawn and Giles around me, my brain was on overload. The physical wound that I got from Faith would fade into a scar, but much like the bite marks from Angel on my neck, they would never go away. Never completely. Faith and I now matched in many ways.

She was the girl I told never to run away, yet, here I was, always doing the running. I ran when I sent Angel to hell initially and now part of me wanted to run out of this hospital bed and not look back again. I couldn't though.

"Buffy?" Dawn looked at me from the hospital bed. "Are, are you really okay?"

I turned my head to look at her. "Yes Dawn, completely one hundred percent okay. Your sister is ready to get out of here and go out shop the night away." I glanced at her blue sweater she had on. It was mine. "Of course you seem to have already taken stock up in my closet. Sheesh, I go away for a little while and you think you get free reign on my clothes!" I said that with a grin on my face.

Dawn kinda looked down. "It's okay Dawnie. Looks good on you." I patted her arm.

The doctor walked in at this point. "How are you feeling Buffy?"

I took a deep breath. "Like I want to get out of here." Boy wasn't that the truth in more ways then one.

"Well," he said glancing at his clipboard, "I have good news for you. Amazingly you've healed very quickly, and you've got a clean bill of health. There will be some scarring, but you are on your way to a full recovery. I've decided to check you out."

Dawn cheered. "Really? My sister can go home?"

The doctor patted her on the shoulder. "Yes she can."

Giles and Wesley smiled. They looked like the English soccer club celebrating a victory.

Why did this victory feel less than amazing then? Maybe because I didn't save the world. I was almost the cause of destruction of it.

I got my things together, well not too many things together. Wesley was gone, and he never answered my question. Giles drove Dawn and I back home. "Call me, please Buffy," he smiled at me. "When you feel up for it of course."

I didn't say a word. I got out of the car. I walked slowly into the house. Home. It felt so foreign to me. As the door opened wider, I saw the familiar faces. Faces I hoped were still my friends but I wouldn't blame them if they wanted me dead. God.

There was Xander. Willow. And Tara.

I didn't see Faith. I never wanted to run so fast to her, as I did right then.

"Welcome home Buff," Xander stood in front of me with hands folded.

Willow was clutching onto Tara. I saw slightly dried blood from Willow's nose. It hit me, then she must've done a spell. Tara's arm in a cast. I did that. She stood up along with Tara. "Welcome home Buffy."

I swallowed.

I stood frozen.

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