Landslide
by cheebs!
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to
the wonderfully insane people who created them, and
apparently to some other people who paid lots of money
to own bits. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. Title
belongs to Stevie Nicks, whose lyrics inspired this.
Spoilers: Little bits of most things Faith from Graduation
Day onward. Use of Dawn as a plot device.
Dedication: The gals and guys of Fanfic
Revolution, who continually impress me
as people as well as being some of the most talented authors
I've ever read. Y'all rock my world.
Feedback: Give it to me baby! uh huh! uh huh!
Buffy arrived home after a long day at work and an even longer night of slaying. She'd barely made it in the back door when the front doorbell rang. "Dawn, can you see who that is?" she called, certain the cartoon din in the other room signified the younger woman's presence. Although in her third year of college, she still had many childlike traits as a result of her genesis; watching cartoons was but one.
"'Kay," came the reply, then the sound of footsteps to the door...but there was no hinge squeak, just a sudden, angry hail of dings and dongs.
An odd feeling that usually meant danger came alive at the base of the Slayer's skull while another sensation gnawed at her gut. Quickly, silently, she went to the living room, to find her sister inching away from the door, eyes saucer-wide and mouth agape. A glance at the door's window brought bile to her throat. Just barely visible through the glass were familiar dark brown curls.
"Dawn, go to your room and lock the door," Buffy said in a calm tone that sent shivers down Dawn's spine; hastily she did as she was told.
The blonde glared at the door, as if to burn a hole through it and the woman beyond. She steeled herself with a deep breath and gave the knob a mighty yank. "Faith," she hissed through clenched teeth, automatically dropping into a defensive stance. "Out so soon? Can't be for good behaviour."
"Hey, B." The once-rogue Slayer spoke quietly as she held out her open hands, then opened and lifted her black leather jacket, slowly turning to reveal her lack of weaponry. "I didn't come here to fight."
Buffy's hazel eyes narrowed. "Well, there's a first time for everything," she commented icily, dropping her fists but not her guard. "So, why are you here? And don't you dare try to apologise, or say you've changed...." Her threat went unspoken, but it was apparent.
Faith sighed and ran a hand through her unkempt hair. "Wouldn't dare. Can I come in for a few?"
The blonde hesitated, then stepped aside. As the hallway light streamed out, Buffy's eyes widened imperceptibly at the other's pale skin, dull hair and shadowed eyes, but she remained composed. "Well?"
"B...Buffy, I gotta sit." The brunette limped inside, heading for the living room. Noting the older woman's expression, she offered as explanation, "Took a couple of beatings; they didn't all heal right." She settled into the nearest chair, coiling her legs beneath her.
Buffy, leaning against the doorjamb, nodded in reply. "It could've always been worse...at least you didn't die." Her mouth twisted wryly.
"Heard about that from Angel." Faith's expression nearly matched the blonde's as she quipped, "Death would've been easier sometimes. First couple of months I did a lot of time in solitary for fighting. Had too much time to think, and once the pills cleared up my head" -- here she paused, wishing she hadn't revealed that minor detail -- "it was all I could do, and what I thought about most was how I fucked everything up... and I'm sorry." She held up a hand, stalling the inevitable comments. "I know, you don't care...but maybe someday you will. Won't change anything. I was beyond cruel, and knowing that hurts in ways you should never know." Her midnight eyes looked everywhere but at the woman to whom she spoke.
Empathy and pity flitted across the native Californian's features, then dissolved. "I...um...thank you, I guess. I doubt that's the only reason you're here, though." She crossed her arms impatiently as she insinuated herself onto the sofa.
'That's my girl, all business and no fun,' the Bostonian thought. Aloud, she said, "It's related to a dream I had."
Immediately Buffy tensed and her demeanor shifted. "Prophetic...?" she prompted, but was met with silence. She sighed and remarked, "Faith, I faced a Hellgoddess -- make that the Queen Bitch of Hell -- and _won._ There's nothing you can say that will faze me."
Faith had a brief flash of herself raising her eyebrows, giving a wolfish smile and challenging, 'Wanna bet?' but common sense won out. "Dream was about you...me...old times... got me thinking about how things went so wrong, and why."
Something resembling regret flickered in the elder Slayer's eyes. "I've often wondered about that myself. Why did you hate me so much?" She leaned forward, anxious to hear the answer.
The younger Slayer closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose, then opened them again, letting the fathomless depths bore into the other woman's now greyish orbs. "Because...I loved you," she voiced shakily, eyes widening at the sound of those words spilling from her full lips.
"You...what?!" Buffy was incredulous.
"I loved you." Faith's voice was stronger and had a hard tone to it which hadn't been there previously.
The blonde choked back something resembling laughter. "What do you want from me, Faith? What did you expect me to say? Or do? Did you think I'd discover some long-hidden, deep-seated feelings for you?" She paced angrily, gesticulating with her hands, before stopping to face the brunette, legs slightly apart, feet firmly planted and hands on her slim hips. "Did you even bother to think at all?"
With indescribable speed Faith sprung from her seat, her right hand extending to Buffy's throat mid-flight. Her momentum carried them both to the floor where the smaller woman's head hit with the dull wet thud only a serious skull fracture could produce. Hazel eyes widened in panic as copious amounts of something warm soaked Buffy's shirt, both front and back. Dimly she registered something -- no, make that some _things_ -- digging into her neck. Panic gave way to years of training and survival instinct, and finally grim realisation, as attempts to dislodge Faith's hand failed. Her grip on the dark Slayer's arm did not lessen, determined as she was to free herself or break the other's limb with her effort. Pain emerged from the slow burn of the injury inflicted by surgically-sharp fingernails, causing her to wince, in turn causing blood to bubble up into her mouth. She gagged on the thick metallic taste and coughed, sending a crimson spray onto her attacker, who still knelt heavily on the elder Slayer's abdomen.
What started as an odd shaking became a low rumble which barely passed for laughter from the now-obviously psychotic woman. "Loved," she snarled, accenting the 'd.' "_Past tense,_ you dumb, self-centered bitch." She twisted her hand, embedding her nails deeper and widening the wounds. "I can't believe you let me in the house, much less bought that someone had actually been able to cripple me; had them all wicked scared of me after the first day." She bounced her leather-clad knees hard, forcing air and more blood from her victim's mouth. "What the fuck were you thinkin', B? I just spent eight years in prison, with little to do but weight training. Picked up a few martial arts styles from the other inmates; a few of their nastier tricks, too." Faith leaned forward until her face was but an inch away from that of the woman beneath her, shifting all her weight against already bruised ribs, delighting in the cracking which followed. "And to think, you were the one who insisted I go to jail! Gotta hand it to ya, it was the best I ever had it: roof over my head, three squares a day, freshly-laundered clothes on my back. Food sucked and the uniform wasn't my style, but hey, can't have everything, y'know? But I _can_ have the one thing I've wanted for the better part of a decade...." She freed her arm from the weakened grip and raked her long, razorlike thumbnail along Buffy's neck, slitting the artery wide open as she settled back on her heels to avoid the bloody geyser. "You tried to kill me, twice. You _did_ kill the only person who ever cared about me enough to care _for_ me. Payback's a real bitch...so am I." Her voice dropped to a low growl on the last three words. Mad eyes glittering near-black, she ran a gore-covered digit down the doomed blonde's front, creating a trail between her barely-there breasts, before bringing it to her mouth and sensuously licking it clean. "Always wondered what you'd taste like, B," she purred with a maniacal, bloodstained grin.
That smile, which had once held such fascination for Buffy, was the last thing she saw as her vision finally succumbed to the long-encroaching darkness. A few words, tinged with laughter and something else indefinable, made their way into her fading consciousness:
"Who's the world's best actor now?"