Archive of Our Own ^beta

Before Faith came to town, patrolling was something that ranged between stress relief and the duty that stopped her from enjoying being seventeen. Now though, with Angel’s return and the multitude of classes she’s failing, it’s quickly becoming the highlight of her day. They chat, they exchange stories, and when they fight alongside, it’s the most in-sync she’s ever felt with anyone.  

And it takes her mind off Angel, which is a plus. Don’t get her wrong, she’s glad he’s alive. It’s just…different. When she reaches for the love, the love that used to burn in her so brightly, it’s barely a cinder. But it’s not like she’ll abandon him. He’s still half-mad, and she has an obligation to take care of him. Which includes hiding him from the others. She knows they’ll understand eventually, but not while he’s like this.  

It’s just a lot.  

Can she be blamed for wanting fun and excitement instead of emotional torment? Faith is many things - reckless, mouthy, looks good in leather pants - but fun’s at the very top of the list.  

They’re trailing the docks when the hair on the back of her neck stands on end. By the way Faith’s eyes sharpen, darting hungrily through the shadows, she knows the other girl feels it too. Vampires. 

Faith inclines her head towards a row of abandoned houses across the street. Before they even make it two steps towards the row, Buffy knows they’ve hit gold, her spidey-slayer-senses zapping down her spine like little bursts of lightning. 

“What d’ya say, B?” murmurs Faith, slipping a stake out of her sleeve. “Get the blood pumpin’ before bed?” 

It’s tempting. It’s been almost an hour of patrol with no results, and Buffy’s starting to get antsy. They’ve found nests here before, usually a handful of freshly turned vampires who still think themselves too good for the sewers, never anything they can’t handle. But they’ve always had daylight on their side to catch the stragglers. Going in under cover of darkness is risky, even with two of them. 

“Maybe we should wait ‘til morning,” she says reluctantly. 

“Scared?” 

“Cautious,” she corrects with a frown, “we don’t know how many are in there.” 

Faith gives her the same look she always does when Buffy’s playing it too safe, somewhere between an exasperated eye roll and an expectant grin. Like she knows Buffy’s just going through the motions of protesting before she’ll inevitably concede to Faith’s plan. 

Predictably, Faith follows their usual script. “What do we have to be cautious about? We’re slayers, B. This is what we do.” 

Buffy hesitates again, and Faith huffs. “So, you’re fine with going home right now? Curlin’ up under the covers without a care in the world? You won’t be itchin’ for a kill all night, tossin’ and turnin’, cause you didn’t get some release? You’re fine with that?” 

Faith reaches the nearest house and silently wraps her fingers around the doorknob. She pauses intentionally, not moving until Buffy gives her the go-ahead. Making Buffy feel like it’s her decision, even though she knows deep down that Faith’s already made it for her. 

There’s just something about the other slayer that brings out her competitive side. With just a grin and an eyebrow raise, Faith can egg her on until she’s going along with some half-baked, reckless plan she’d never dream of following if she were alone. It’s her pure, unfiltered confidence, Buffy thinks. She’s always so sure they’ll win, and God help her, but it’s infectious. To tap into her slayer instincts with none of her friends looking on makes her feel bold. Invincible. 

And to be fair - they haven’t lost yet. 

Mind made up, Buffy nods, reaching for Mr. Pointy, and Faith smiles like Buffy’s just promised her a pony for Christmas. The energy crisscrossing down her spine has her smiling back, the anticipation of a fight easily cutting through her reservations. Faith’s right. She needs this. 

Faith edges into the dark house, Buffy right behind her, the heat from Faith’s back drawing her closer. Their eyes adjust in tandem; the lack of light makes no difference to their enhanced senses. The house is in complete disarray, with piles of blankets and chunks of mattresses strewn about the floor, walls smashed through into adjoining rooms, wet cardboard boxes piled high in every corner. Some of it is natural wear and tear after being abandoned for so long, but Buffy recognizes a lot of the damage as their own handiwork from previous house calls. 

Her senses are on fire now. The vampires must be close, but she can’t see- 

Faith puts out a hand, stopping her in her tracks. 

Oh. 

The things she thought were blankets and boxes - they’re moving. Up and down ever so slightly, chests rising and falling with the muscle memory of breaths they no longer need to take. Every dark shape she’d brushed off as debris is a vampire. Twenty? Twenty-five? Too many for them to take on at any rate. They’d be swarmed faster than she could say ‘dust’.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Faith’s tongue dart out between her lips nervously. 

“Maybe waitin’ ‘til morning isn’t the worst idea,” she murmurs. Without another word, they both start backing towards the door. Just as they reach the threshold, Faith’s heel catches on a pipe, sending it scattering across the floor with a series of clangs. 

“Shit.” 

Heads whip up, snarling. 

She doesn’t know who takes off first, but within moments, they’re clear of the docks. Buffy cuts through an alleyway, blood pounding in her ears. She hears Faith’s footfalls behind her; trusts her to follow Buffy through the side streets and shortcuts she’s spent three years familiarizing herself with. She risks a glance behind her to see Faith at her heels as she hoped, and a literal horde of vampires charging after them. She reaches a fence that’s easily six feet high, and vaults over it heavily but doesn’t break her stride as she lands and sprints on. There’s a shout from behind her, and she looks back in terror, but Faith’s made it over the fence - and she’s laughing. 

The vampires have stumbled at the obstacle, clambering over it one by one, snarling and pushing at each other, trying to be the first ones to reach their prey. The two slayers push on, now with a bit of distance from their pursuers, and Buffy can’t help it - she laughs too. The adrenaline of a chase roaring through her veins - while not tickling the same spot as a good dusting - invigorates her, makes her push her strides a little longer, her legs burning with every step. Faith’s gaining on her now, and suddenly they’re not just running from the vampires, they’re racing each other. 

This is what slaying is about. Exertion soothing her better than a massage, muscles and tendons flexing with the strength only a slayer possesses. Tearing through the night with no fear, no hesitation, invading the land of the demons and owning it. Conquering the hellmouth one day at a time. 

It’s what Faith keeps telling her - that they’re in charge of this world - and it’s moments like these that Buffy truly believes her. 

They reach Revello Drive, the horde not far behind, and make it through the front door just before the vampires turn onto the street. They fall against the door as one, panting hard. Buffy doesn’t think the vampires saw which house they entered, but she stays silent for a moment just in case. While they obviously can’t get in, she’s not sure she wants them knowing her exact address. She squints through the peephole, sees the group flit past, and breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Think they noticed us crashin’ the party?” says Faith quietly. 

Buffy stares at her incredulously before realizing she’s joking. The adrenaline and ridiculousness of the situation crash down on her all at once. They lock eyes, and the corner of Faith’s mouth twitches, and then they’re laughing, all while Buffy swats at her in a vain attempt to quiet them down. 

“Shh, they might still be out there,” she giggles. 

“Aw, what they gonna do, growl at us? They’ll be dust by tomorrow anyway. You wanna skip double English, do somethin’ fun for a change?” 

Buffy doesn’t hesitate. “God, yes. I’m failing anyway, what’s another unexplained absence?" 

“Now you’re speakin’ my language, B,” grins Faith, nudging her with a shoulder. Buffy ignores the rush that zaps through her at the contact and starts moving towards the kitchen. 

“There’s a spare mattress under the bed, and pajamas in the bottom drawer. Help yourself.” 

There’s a beat of silence.  

“You want me to stay?” Faith sounds uncharacteristically hesitant and Buffy turns back with a frown. 

“You’re not going back to the motel, not with Kool and the Gang hanging around. I need some water; do you want some?” 

Faith nods, still looking at her strangely. Buffy opens her mouth to question it, but Faith just raises an eyebrow and makes her way up the stairs. Buffy shrugs, heading to the kitchen. Faith’s not exactly the sleepover type, she supposes. 

She moves quietly around the kitchen, not bothering to flick the light on, making two glasses of water. She spies a bag of cookies on the counter and snags them at the last second, remembering Faith’s propensity for food after patrol. Among…other things. She flushes, glad Faith isn’t there to make some lewd comment. 

She’s always so open about her sexuality, a trait Buffy cannot and will not share. 

Not that she doesn’t feel it too. Before Faith came to town, spewing jibes about being hungry and horny, Buffy’d always thought there was something wrong with her for being pent up after slaying. At least now she knows it’s normal, but she wishes Faith wasn’t always so brazen about it. It…confuses her. 

Faith flirts with her. Like a lot. And Buffy frowns and chastises her, brushes her off, and redirects the conversation when she can. But she’s noticed. And truthfully? She kind of enjoys it. 

It’s an ego boost, she thinks, that’s all. Who doesn’t like to be flirted with? Faith’s easy on the eyes, and she’s got that whole disregard-for-rules thing going on. The constant confidence she’s going to win, her insistence on doing only what she wants to do - it’s intriguing. Tempting. And Buffy’s always liked a bad boy. 

She reminds her of Angel, in a way. But while Angel slinks into shadows, Faith moves with a demand to take up space, to be noticed. While Angel is almost forcefully controlled, Faith says, ‘Take me as I am, like it or not.’ 

But no. She doesn’t have, like, a thing for Faith. No. It’s just post-slayer fuzziness getting in her head. Faith’s there and flirty and, well, hot. But that’s it. 

Buffy takes a gulp of water, slinging a blanket from the couch over one arm, before creeping softly up the stairs. She peeks in on her mom, sees her snoring softly, blissfully unaware of the danger on the street below. 

“Mom’s asleep,” whispers Buffy, slipping through her bedroom door. “I got you a blanket.” 

Faith grunts her thanks from across the room. She’s peering intently through a slit in the blinds, the moonlight washing over her cheekbones and bathing the tips of her eyelashes in a soft, white glow. 

Buffy’s grateful she hasn’t turned on the light, knowing the excuse of exertion only goes so far to explain the heat lingering in her cheeks. 

“Your mom won’t mind me crashin’?” 

“She’ll probably be thrilled,” replies Buffy, joining Faith at the window. “She wouldn’t want you walking back at this time. And seeing as she won’t let me borrow the car after the mailbox massacre inci-” 

She’s cut off by a firm palm cupping her jaw. 

Faith leans in and kisses her, light but intentional, her ringed fingers brushing the spot under Buffy’s ear gently. Instinctively, Buffy’s eyes flutter shut, but before she can even think about kissing back, it’s over. By the time her brain reboots enough to open her eyes, Faith’s looking back out of the window like nothing happened. 

“Uh…what was that?” Buffy flushes at her own inelegance, scrambling to elaborate. “Not that it was bad, it was just a shock. I mean, not that it was good-” She cuts herself off before she overplays her hand, heart pounding. 

Simple sentences. Those are important. 

“Why did you do that?” 

Faith glances over her shoulder, brow furrowed, like Buffy’s babbling is distracting her from her surveillance. 

“‘Cause you’re lettin’ me stay.” 

Buffy blinks as she catches up to Faith’s logic, and when she does, her heart breaks a little. It’s the way Faith says it. Like Buffy’s the dumb one for even asking. Like she hadn’t considered doing anything else. 

She knows Faith’s life has been…rough. The little glimpses she’s seen so far have told her that much. And not just after becoming a slayer, as far as Buffy could tell. She just didn’t know it had been like that. She guesses it makes sense, though. Faith’s general flirtiness, the way she dresses, acts, talks. She’d always kind of assumed it was some kind of mask, a way for her to navigate her life in Sunnydale, keeping them all at a distance but giving the illusion of closeness. It’s the first time she’s truly realized that maybe Faith’s been made like this. That this is how she survives. 

And now she has to tread carefully. 

“You’ve, uh, you’ve done that before?” says Buffy, keeping a deliberate casualness in her voice. The blinds crinkle as Faith drops them, turning to Buffy fully. 

“Done what?” 

“Traded…” she gestures between them, words failing her, “for a place to stay?” 

“Well, yeah,” replies Faith, the unsaid ‘duh!’ clear in her tone. “Slaying don’t exactly pay well.” Her eyes harden, hesitancy wrapped in annoyance, like she’s deciding whether to be offended or not. “Are you callin’ me a slut?” 

“What? No, Faith, I-” Buffy takes a breath, considering her words before the conversation gets away from her. “You shouldn’t have to kiss someone unless you want to. It’s not some kind of payment.” 

Faith scoffs. “Maybe in picket fence fantasyland, B, but that shit don’t really fly in the real world. People aren’t in the habit of givin’ you anythin’ unless they want somethin’ in return.” 

Sometimes with how she acts, Buffy forgets that Faith is younger than her. Now, though, she’s astutely aware of it and has to clamp down the rage that bubbles in her chest at the people who’ve deserted her. Used her. 

“People haven’t been good to you, have they?” 

She says it without thinking and immediately regrets it. Faith crosses her arms, her face closing off completely. She looks back to the window like she’s considering taking a chance with the vampires. 

“I can take care of myself,” she says darkly. 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

Faith surveys her coldly, all traces of her earlier laughter erased. 

“Done alright so far. I don’t need your pity, Buffy.” It’s a familiar line, and now the anger bursts out of Buffy before she can stop it. 

“For god’s sake, Faith!” She throws her arms up in frustration, blanket falling to the floor. “I’m not pitying you. Can you stop being so damn defensive for a second?” Her volume cuts through the hush of the house, and Faith raises her eyebrows, taken aback by the outburst. Buffy takes another calming breath. Anger won’t help her right now. She softens her voice with effort, relaxing her body language so Faith doesn’t think they’re about to come to blows. Faith’s expression doesn’t change, but she nods her head a fraction, allowing Buffy to continue. She takes a moment to organize her thoughts into something coherent.  

“I don’t feel bad for you. I admire you.” 

Faith’s eyes widen, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening, but she still regards Buffy like she’s playing some kind of trick on her. Buffy continues before she can interrupt. 

“You’ve made it so far, and from what I can see, you’ve done it all on your own. I mean, I had a summer doing things by myself, and it nearly killed me. God knows how you’re not more screwed up. But you don’t have to anymore, okay? You’ve got me. And Willow, and Xander, and Giles, and Mom, if you want them. I don’t want you to feel like you have to get by on your own, cause you don’t.” 

Faith is looking at her with something close to dread. She doesn’t believe her; Buffy can see that much. Or doesn’t want to believe her. And who can blame her? Trust - hard to build, easy to lose. Buffy sighs. 

“I just wish you’d been treated better, that’s all.” 

And then, Faith’s expression softens. She tilts her head like she’s considering something, wetting her lips absently. Buffy can’t help it; her gaze flicks down at the movement. Faith nods like she’s figured something out, then leans forward and connects them again. 

It’s gentler this time, her lips brushing across Buffy’s like a question. Buffy finds herself answering before her brain catches up. 

It’s nothing like kissing Angel. Or kissing anyone else, for that matter. Faith tastes a little sweet, like the red vines she’s always chewing on, with a trace of something richer, like black coffee or whiskey. She’s only slightly taller than her, so Buffy doesn’t have to crane her neck. And she’s warm. 

After so long of being with Angel, she’d forgotten what it’s like to kiss somebody alive. Faith’s lips are warm as they move against hers, her hands are warm as they thread through Buffy’s hair, and her tongue is warm as it probes Buffy’s lower lip. 

She allows Faith entry. The roar of adrenaline and want, quelled by frustration, makes itself known again now, and a soft groan slips from the back of her throat. This seems to spur Faith on. One hand snakes down from Buffy’s hair and lands on the small of her back, skin exposed by her flattering but impractical top, pulling Buffy in closer as she deepens the kiss. Buffy’s hands fly to Faith’s waist to steady herself, a hot, crushing dizziness surging through her in waves. 

Okay, so maybe she has a little thing for Faith.  

Buffy stops thinking about Angel, about what-ifs and consequences. She lets her body melt against Faith’s, soft and firm in all the right places, and Faith responds with practiced, confident hands, fingers scraping lightly across the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. Her tongue flicks against Buffy’s own, and another groan spills out unbidden into the quiet house. Buffy, working on impulse, sinks her teeth into Faith’s lower lip and Faith exhales hotly into her mouth, the breath shooting through her and settling much, much lower. The hand resting above her ass flexes, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise. She can feel callouses on Faith’s palm, the same rough bumps Buffy shares, nights of clutching rough wood leaving a permanent mark. 

A clatter from outside smashes through the moment, and Faith draws back sharply. She peers through the blinds again. 

“A cat or somethin’,” she says, her voice rough. 

Honestly, Buffy thinks an entire army of vampires could be parading down the street, and she wouldn’t care. She struggles to get her breath back, unable to do anything but look dopily up at Faith, silhouetted in the moonlight. 

Faith turns back to her with a self-satisfied grin, eyes dark and hungry, lipstick sinfully smudged across her mouth. Buffy’s brain short-circuits when she realizes the rest of it must be painted across her own lips. Faith advances again, eyes trailing unashamedly across Buffy’s face and neck, and Buffy can’t help but notice the bite mark indented on her lower lip. 

“That one was ‘cause I wanted to,” Faith says, gravelly and confident. 

Buffy rolls her eyes and reaches out, drawing her back in. Guess they won’t be needing the spare bed after all.