Something A Little Different
by SwaySlayer
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the title.
Author’s Notes: Yes, I’m being deliberately vague in the summary, but I don’t want to spoil it! *pouts* Humour me? Yeah, yeah, as if you haven’t done it enough already, but trust me - you won’t be disappointed. If you are, speak to my muse. I think she’s doing a lot of drugs again. Other stuff? My house is being packed into a million boxes and I’m moving to Australia on the 4th of February, so if I don’t write anything after this, consider this fic a ‘swan song’. I’m glad I was here. Quite a ride….
Dedications: Tons. To:
Sasha, for making Slayer Pride, the best site on the whole bloody Web,
Piper, for archiving my fic and for sending me FB without fail,
Chantal AKA Sweet Thing, for ‘Breakdown’ and dancing with me,
Anne, for deifying me and not taking shit on Inamorata,
Sarah, for allowing me to love everything about her,
Miss K, for the SD series and DAoV – I’m a fan for life,
Star, for Lost Slayers, MBWF and creating Taz. Purple rocks!
Kit, for killing me with JALS, as well as the depth of her passion,
Harper, for LTLW, which will never leave my thoughts,
And to the readers. You made me realise that I want writing to be my life. I’m eternally grateful.
Feedback: It complements my perky demeanour!

I’m sitting at my computer when she knocks at my door. She always knocks. She’s quite possibly the most polite person I have ever encountered, people’s impressions of her could not be more wrong. She opens the door and steps inside. The cheap metal door slams behind her and both of us jump. I giggle and she joins in, knowing that if people could see us now, we’d never be able to pull off the Slayers gig again. So much for the superhuman abilities when a door slamming shut freaks the crap out of you. She saunters over and bends down, craning her head to see what I’m doing while resting her hands on her knees. I like my space and I usually ease myself away when someone invades it, but I never feel like that when she’s around. She has this calming effect on me, and if anything, I edge closer, a barely perceptible shift of weight taking place in my body. I’m close enough to examine the smooth surface of her face, and it never ceases to amaze me that her skin is flawless. The amount of make-up that adorns it on a daily basis would surely lead to even a slight blemish. But no. She’s pretty much perfect in that area.

She pulls away and crosses her arms, sending me a goofy look.

“This is how you spend your breaks?” I shrug and turn my attention back to my computer, cursing under my breath as the page takes a millennium to load.

“It relaxes me.” She places her hands on my shoulders and presses down hard with her thumbs. I yelp and swat her hands away. “Ow!”

“Yeah. Definitely relaxes you.”

“These knots are from working.”

“You get stressed from working? Come on! We have the best job in the world!” Her face is flushed and I can’t help but smile at her. She really does love her job. I can see the way she’s staring at me in disbelief when I mumble a ‘yeah, I know’. “Oh that was convincing.” I swivel round on my chair and face her.

“I’m not aiming for an Academy Award here.” She grins and winks.

“You should be.”

“With what? I’m certainly not going to be going to bed with Oscar for this.” I gesture to my surroundings. Her face shifts and although I’ve only known her for a little while, I can see that she’s about to lecture me. Anyone else who was about to embark on a similar mission would be stopped before they even started, but I like listening to her rant. In a way, she makes me remember why I started doing this in the first place.

“If it’s just about the awards and the goddamn accolades, then you shouldn’t be here. Anyone can get a job that screams ‘Award-winning’, but how many people do you know who are happy with what they’ve done? Nevermind *proud* of what they’ve done. If it’s not for the love, then it’s not worth it, and I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Passion drives ambition. Remember that, because if you don’t, in a few years time, no one will remember Sarah Michelle Gellar.” She stops and takes her finger out of my face, where it has been wagging for the duration of her speech, and plops down on the orange beanbag. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all dramatic on you.”

“It’s ok. I guess that sometimes I do forget why I do this.” I stand up and move to sit beside her. “But that’s why you’re here. To remind me, in a most reasonable manner, why I do this.” She starts a mock acceptance-speech gesture, fanning herself with her hands and pretending to cry. I smack her lightly on the leg. “You’re such a fucking drama queen Liza.”

“Duh. Hello? My *job* anyone? Anyone?” She fakes helplessness and drapes a hand over her forehead.

“I take it back. You’re just an idiot.”

“Watch what you say there Sparky, or else…”

“Or else what?” She sits up and the beanbag caves in, leaving me as a mass of arms and legs within a neon orange pit. She giggles and throws herself on top of me.

“Or else I’ll tell Joss that your whole ‘I do believe in vampires’ speech was just a ploy to get him to talk to wardrobe about the pastels. You’ll be back in baby blues, pinks and yellows by the time we get back on set.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She bares her teeth and growls.

“Try me.”

“As you wish.” I reach out and poke her in the stomach, eliciting a husky giggle. She returns the movement in kind and I squirm beneath her, attempting to escape her hands as they find every ticklish inch of skin available. I strike back and catch her on her side, wherefore she winces and pulls back. “Shit! You ok?” She nods and grimaces slightly.

“Just a bruise from the fight scene.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine Sar. I got a little lazy with my footwork and that stunt double nailed me with a side-kick. Nothing to write home about.”

“Was is that bitch Max?” She nods and I can feel the smoke coming out of my ears. “She’s always ‘accidentally’ punching me in the shoulder. I’m going to make sure she gets fired. I don’t come here to be someone’s punching bag!”

“Prima donna much?”

“Taking home your character much?”

“What?”

“Oh come on! That is *such* a Faith thing to say. Bitter much? Nasty much? It’s like her trademark.”

“No way! Her trademark is ‘five by five’.” There’s a short pause. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not a clue. We have to ask Joss what that means. Or Doug Petrie. He’s usually the best person to talk to when you don’t understand the scripts. Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem. I just spew out typical defence mechanism dialogue, try to get you to be bad with me and then run away when it doesn’t work.”

“And me? I spout the largest amount of martyr crap known to humanity, save the world and then bitch because my shoes got ruined. This isn’t exactly Shakespeare in the Park.” She nods and slides off the beanbag, extending her hand to help me up. I take it and she pulls me up – a little too quickly and I end up in her arms. “Whoops. Been channelling some Slayer strength too?” She grins at me and I step out of her arms.

“Nah. That’s pure Dushku power.” She flexes her bicep and squints her eyes. I chuckle heartily, wishing that the world could see ‘Faith the Vampire Slayer’ as she really is: a great big dork. I think that’s why I like her so much. She’s real. Nothing she says has an ulterior motive behind it. She never censors her thoughts. I heard her swearing like a trooper the other day while being interviewed by a magazine journalist, and when asked if they could edit the profanity, her answer was: “I don’t give a fuck. Do you what you like.” I laughed for hours thinking about that reporter’s face. But wait…she’s saying something to me. Come back to reality Sarah – it’s a relatively nice place and I hear the food is good….

“…then why are people still watching?”

“What?” She sighs and repeats her question.

“I *said*, it may not be Shakespeare in the Park, demons, vampires and superhuman girls being a major factor in the belief scales, but then why are people still watching? This is your third season Sar. You must be doing something right.”

“You make it sound like this is a one-woman show. That’s hardly fair.” She nods.

“I’m not saying that. Alyson, Brendon, Charisma, David et al, they’re all fantastic, but the show isn’t called ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ for nothing. *You* are the show B. People watch it because you’re an extraordinary girl with ordinary problems. You may be the Chosen One, but you’re still human, and people relate to that. I’m willing to bet that the main reason people watch this show, is to see you handle your relationships with others – not to watch you slay demons with witty remarks.” I’m gaping. I know I am, but that is without a doubt, the biggest compliment I have ever received. Of course, I choose to focus on the most insignificant part of her words.

“You called me ‘B’.” She frowns.

“I did?”

“Yes. You did. You said: ‘You are the show *B*’.” She shrugs and smiles.

“Guess I am channelling Faith.”

“Could be worse. You could be channelling Buffy.”

“Babble mode?” She laughs. “I don’t think anyone can ever compete with you in that area. Not even Aly.”

“Oh you’re too kind.” She bows.

“I know.” There’s a comfortable silence as I roam around my trailer, picking up odds and ends and placing them in what I consider to be a relatively neat pile. She’s sitting at my computer now, her hand resting lightly on the mouse as she slides it and clicks. I give up my attempt at turning my trailer into a respectable establishment and grab a chair, moving it to sit beside her.

“What you doing?”

“Just surfing. I like to see what people have to say about me.”

“And what do they say?”

“Read for yourself.” I lean over and peruse the website. Words like ‘sexy’, ‘dangerous’, ‘vivacious’, ‘talented’, ‘strong’ and ‘beautiful’ jump out at me, and I can’t admit to disagreeing to any of them. “So?”

“So I think that’s pretty cool. They like you, they like Faith and they basically worship everything about you.”

“I guess.” I roll my eyes at her.

“Oh for… since when have you started fishing for compliments?”

“I was *not* fishing.”

“Liza, your reel was visible from outer space.”

“Bite me.”

“You’re so profound. Add in a ‘Blondie’ and you could write for our show.” This elicits another chuckle from her and suddenly the mouse is moving again. I wander over to the fridge and get a mineral water for myself, and a Coke Light© for her. I don’t know how she drinks this stuff, but the fact remains that she can go through a two-litre bottle between takes. Surprisingly enough, there have yet to be any ‘burp’ bloopers on her part. Would make a good addition to the DVDs though.

I take my seat again and sip my water, my eyes settling on the screen as I…spit it out. I’m staring at a picture of myself, kneeling and brandishing a riding crop.

“What the…!” She gives me a thumbs up.

“Very nice Miss Gellar! Or should I call you ‘Mistress’?” I groan loudly and she pats me on the knee. “We all have our moments Sar. My breasts were an entity unto themselves in my last photo shoot.” I giggle, snorting halfway through. She chuckles and shakes her head. “And here they think you’re a ‘lady’ and ‘the-girl-next-door’. Oh how the mighty have fallen!”

“Shut up and let me read.” I skim a few of the pages. Most people are pretty nice. They like my work, they like me…no complaints from the Gellar gallery. I see a link at the bottom of the page and on closer inspection, notice that it’s a picture of me and Eliza. “What’s this?” She peers at the screen and shrugs.

“I don’t know. I think the whole purpose of having it there is so we can find out.” I stick my tongue out at her and click. The page is full of info about me and Eliza, and not only that, there are in-depth analyses of our characters. It’s a veritable Faith-and-Buffy-alopalooza. We begin reading. I’m halfway through the ‘Faith’ analysis when Eliza turns to me and clasps a hand over her mouth, muffling a guffaw that threatens to escape.

“What?” She bites down on her lip and points to the screen.

“Keep reading.” I sigh and continue. “Polar opposites..blah blah blah…upsetting the comfortable setting…blah blah…challenging each other…blah blah blahdy blah…explains the apparent attraction between….” I stop reading and look at her. She’s still got her hand over her mouth but her entire body is shaking with unreleased laughter. My mouth drops open. “They think we’re gay?!” She explodes with laughter and in a matter of minutes tears are streaming down her face.

“That was the funniest thing I have ever seen! You should have seen your face! I wish I had a camera…”

“This is not funny!” She wipes at the stains on her cheek. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Because there’s obviously a reason for them thinking this.”

“And that reason would be?” I look at the ceiling for a minute. And then it dawns on me.

“Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

“I know why they think we’re gay.” She chuckles again. “What?”

“Uh, it may be a technicality, but if we’re going to actively discuss this, *we’re* not gay. *Buffy and Faith* are gay.”

“I know that Genius, now stop interrupting me.”

“Yes Mistress.” I glare at her before continuing.

“It’s all about subtext. I mean, look at the stuff they write for us: “Really, we’re just good friends”? Your “All men are beasts’ comment? The way you asked me to Homecoming?” And have you read the script we’re shooting today?”

“Insert ‘duh’ here. I kind of have to know my lines Sar - of course I’ve read the script. What about it?” I leap up from the chair and grab my copy off the couch, flipping to where she has me…Buffy. *Faith* has *Buffy* chained to the wall.

“Here. Read your line here.” I point to the page and she clears her throat loudly. “Just say it Dushku.”

“I don’t need the script *Genius*.” She looks right at me and suddenly she’s not Eliza anymore. She’s Faith. Even the way she’s just inhaled looks different. She comes right up to me and leans in until I think she’s about to kiss me. Then, words begin oozing out of her mouth, caressing my ear and driving deep into my gut. “Kill me? You become me. You’re not ready for that…” She moves her mouth to my ear and whispers so I can feel her breath. “…yet.” The air is thick with tension and suddenly I can’t understand why we’ve never picked up on this subtext before. She pulls back and flashes me a wide smile. “So?” So I can’t feel the one side of my body? So I want you to be close to me like that all the time? So I have this insane urge to kiss you? Kiss…kiss….why am I thinking about a…kiss! Faith has to kiss me! Fuck!

I mentally slap myself.

Faith has to kiss *Buffy*. I am *not* Buffy. I am Sarah-fucking Michelle Gellar. Crown Princess of Unreality. I am a good actress with a firm grasp on what is real and what is not. Right. I’m ready to try my hand at being a normal human being.

“Kiss.” She cocks her head and looks at me strangely.

“Excuse me?” I clear my throat but my voice still comes out as a squeak.

“There’s a kiss in the script. Right after you say that line, you kiss me. Well, you know, Faith kisses…fuck it. It’s in the script. Look here.” I point to where it’s written and her forehead crinkles in confusion.

“That’s not what it says in mine.” I blink.

“It’s not?”

“No. I’ll show you.” She runs out of my trailer and is back in a matter of seconds, holding her script in her hand. “Look. Same scene, same dialogue, but read here.” She points to the stage directions. It says “Faith kisses Buffy on the forehead and runs out”. “See?”

“That’s so strange. Since when do we get different instructions for the same scene?”

“Beats me.” We stand there in silence, each pondering this strange turn of events until she smacks me hard on the arm.

“Shit!”

“Ow! Fuck! Can you not *do* that?!”

“Sorry.” She rubs my arm. I stop whining. “Do you think it’s possible that someone, be it the head honchos or their lower minions, got wind of what the audience’s perception of us was, and is trying to ensure that it doesn’t get anymore attention than necessary?”

“English Liza. Please.” Damn! This girl is way too verbose for her own good. Wait a minute. I said ‘verbose’. I’m definitely keeping her around.

“Everyone thinks Faith and Buffy are gay. They’re trying to quash it.”

“You think?”

“I think I *know*.”

“Don’t you think this is a little extreme? I mean, it’s not like we’re going to jump each other. We follow the scripts.” She nods. She’s about to say something when a slow smile starts to spread over her face. It starts at the corners of her mouth and expands until I’m almost blinded by the white of her teeth. It reaches her eyes, and I am convinced that she is undoubtedly, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

“We do, don’t we…” I respond to this by channelling Buffy.

“Huh?” She drapes an arm around me.

“We follow the scripts Sar. We’re good, responsible actors. We walk when we’re supposed to, talk when we’re supposed to and, in accordance with this script…” She lifts up mine. “…we kiss when we’re supposed to.” My heart is pounding like a drum in an exotic ritual.

“We do?”

“Hell yes.” I must look terrified because she throws our scripts on the floor and laces her other arm around me. She’s looking at me with such intensity, and if I wasn’t frightened before, now I’m petrified. “Gellar. This isn’t brain surgery. We’re going to screw with their heads a little. Think of it as their punishment for printing us different scripts...and… as a reward for all those people who picked up on the fact that I flirt shamelessly with you in every scene.” If my mouth were any wider, I’d be scooping up lint from the carpet.

“WHAT?!” I have to hold myself back from throwing my head forward in shock, seeing that she’s so close to me that I’ll head-butt her. “You did what?!”

“Do Sar. I do flirt with you in every scene. Doug suggested I try it the one day and it seemed to work. You can’t deny that we’re good together on-screen. Can you?”

“No but…”

“No ‘buts’. Are we good together on-screen?” I sigh begrudgingly.

“Yes. We are.” She grins and pulls me into a hug. I feel very stupid and I feel obliged to defend my intelligence. “I’m not surprised that I didn’t notice it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s because I was too busy staring at your ass in those leather pants.” She laughs into my neck, but on realising that I’m not laughing, pulls away to look at me. My face is deadpan. “Take it as a piece of advice.”

“Advice?” Her eyes are dark pools of confusion.

“To watch your back. Otherwise your pants will out-act you.” I smirk. She adopts a false smile.

“Funny.”

“I thought so too. That’s why I said it.” She still has her arms around my neck and somewhere in the time we’ve been standing like this, my arms have gravitated to her waist. She’s taller when we’re performing - it’s those huge boots they give her to wear. I’ve also decided that they need to cut down on the amount of make-up they apply to her face. That dark eyeliner is not necessary to accentuate her already-piercing eyes. But the lipstick can stay. Lipstick that has the privilege of coating those lips. Lips that precede molten tones. Lips that are inches away from mine at present. I swallow loudly. “What time do we have to be back?” She checks her watch over my shoulder.

“15 minutes. Give or take a few for Bren to be able to deliver his lines without fluffing all that alliteration they write for him.”

“Yeah. Poor dude.” We laugh. We stop. “So what do you want to do until then?” She sighs. “Now what did I do?”

“You have the attention span of a mutated gnat.”

“Insulting me is not going to help your cause.” She exhales deeply and I catch the soft scent of tobacco that lingers around her. “You been smoking?”

“Always.”

“I thought you quit?”

“And I thought you were better than this at changing the subject.” I know I’m playing dumb. She knows it too. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so. We’ll go with my “altered” version of the script and all will be well in the Buffyverse. But before you say no, let me put it to you this way: acting is being naked and turning around slowly. It’s about taking chances and not being afraid to take the road less travelled. And I know I sound like a lucky packet of clichés, but this is something that we can do together. Jumping off a cliff with someone is a binding experience. So what do you say Miss Gellar?” She steps back and holds out her hand to me. “You want to jump with me?” I’m having a Jerry Maguire moment – something in the vein of “You had me at ‘if you don’t want to do it”. I take her hand and smile.

“Let’s jump.”

“That’s my girl!” She drags me over to the couch and all but throws me onto it. I like seeing this fire in her. It’s making my insides do somersaults. She sits down next to me, then reconsiders and slides onto the floor. I oblige and sit-crossed legged, facing her. And she’s up again, retrieving a copy of the script and flipping through pages at lightening speed. “Ok, let’s contextualise this. End of the episode. I’ve gone all ‘bad-ass’ on you, been *this* close from torturing you and revealed a large part of my agonising psyche. You’ve screwed me over with David and this is the Mexican stand-off. You, me and massive amounts of rage. It’s the crux. It’s decision time. You ready?” I’m there. I can visualise everything she’s just said and I have this uneasy feeling in my stomach. For a second, it’s all painfully real, and in that moment, I know that I finally understand what everyone else has been able to see. Buffy loves Faith. Faith loves Buffy. Buffy would rather let Faith go than have to see that tortured look in her eyes – the one that is brought about by Buffy’s disappointment. “You ready?” I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

“Ok. Here we go.” She gets onto her knees. I do the same. Her eyes shift to pitch-black as she delivers the lines again. “Kill me? You become me. You’re not ready for that…” She leans forward. So do I. Our heads collide as we both turn our faces the same way. She packs up laughing. “Ow!” I start to giggle.

“I think your line is ‘yet’ Liza!”

“We’ll put that one down as a practise run! Just as well we’re rehearsing this. Ok, let’s do this properly. Which way are you going to turn your head?”

“To the right. Although, I don’t think I should actually turn it. This is more of a forceful kiss than anything. It’s angry, and it’s unexpected, and I don’t think Buffy would anticipate it, nevermind tilting her head to receive it.”

“So what do you suggest?” I gnaw on my bottom lip while thinking.

“How about this: you grab my head with both hands and pull me towards you. That way, there’s no escaping the kiss on my part and yet, it’s still quite brutal. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me. Take two?”

“Action.”

“And how!” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I chuckle again. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I half in the past half hour or so. “Ok. Ready?”

“Ready.” The same process. She exhales, her eyes go dark and that molasses-covered voice envelops me. “Kill me? You become me. You’re not ready for that…” She grabs my head as discussed, her thumbs on either side of my face and pulls me towards her. I release a small gasp. She crushes her lips against mine and my eyes close involuntarily, savouring the feeling of her mouth. Something in the air begins to crackle, and where the kiss should have ended, it doesn’t. There’s a moment during a kiss when both people release the initial frenzied approach and sink into it, and that’s what happens. A low murmur escapes and I don’t know if it came from me or her, but this is inconsequential as she releases some of the pressure of her lips. Her lips go softer than the harsh ones that originally captured mine and they begin to move, seemingly exploring every part of me that is available. She relaxes her grip on me and her thumbs softly stroke the sides of my face. Another low moan, and this time I know it’s from me. My hands come to rest on her knees and I can’t help but dig my nails into her slightly when I feel the tip of her tongue slide out to caress my mouth. I part my lips, allowing her easier access, and slide my tongue out to meet hers. It’s soft and warm, and I feel as if my mouth is melting into hers. Just as quickly as it began, the softness disappears, and we are suddenly ravaging each other’s mouths, utilising the full extent of our lips and tongues to convey the heat that is rapidly forming between us. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and kiss until my lungs are close to exploding and I have to pull away for air. My face is still in her hands as I gulp in air.

Her lipstick is smudged.

I bring my hand up and wipe away the excess. She’s breathing hard as well. She leans forward and brings her mouth to mine, just out of kissing distance, and delivers her line against my lips.

“…yet.” We stay like this for what seems like an eternity until a knock on the door, followed by the voice of an harassed gaffer, informs us that we have five minutes until we’re back on set. We both know what has happened yet there is an unspoken agreement between us that we need not classify it. There is no need to label. In fact, I don’t think either of us would be able to. All I know, is that we jumped off a cliff together – and we survived.

There is a buzz of activity outside my trailer and it prompts us to stand up. I smooth down my hair and she re-adjusts the straps on her top. There is no awkwardness, merely stolen glances and knowing smiles. There’s another knock on my door. She goes to answer it and it’s Joss, looking highly aggravated, as is his usual demeanour.

“Are you rea…Eliza! We’ve been looking for you!” She cocks a hip and sends him the grin that never fails to put a smile on his face.

“Well you found me.” He cranes his neck and peeks inside. I wave to him and he gives me a thumbs-up.

“You two ready?” I can see her smiling at his words. I know what she’s thinking. “We have to get this scene down so we can work on the fight scene for longer. How’s your side Eliza?” She shrugs.

“Ok I guess. Max nailed me pretty hard.” He nods.

“I’ve warned her about hurting my actors. She doesn’t seem to possess much in the way of brain matter. I’ll see to it.” He shifts nervously from foot-to-foot. “You two ready?” I giggle.

“We’re ready! I promise!” I join her at the door and we step outside. Joss starts walking and she steps in time with him, humouring him as he natters on about the networks. I’m a pace or two behind them and as we’re about to arrive on set, I reach out and brush my hand against hers. She doesn’t stop walking. Instead, she clasps my hand in hers and threads her fingers through mine. We reach the mansion set and come to a stop. I’m standing a little way behind her, our linked hands invisible to anyone else, when she asks Joss about the filming.

“What about it?”

“Well there was a bit of confusion regarding the one scene.” She squeezes my hand lightly and I squeeze it back.

“Which was?”

“Nothing in particular, but I just wanted to let you know that Sarah and I sorted it out.”

“And what are you planning on doing?” She turns her head and smiles at me.

“Let’s just say: we’re going to try something…a little different….”

The End