Author's Note: This is my first Buffy fanfiction EVER. It was just stuck in my head all day after reading issues—what was it?—#5-7 of the Season 8 comics. Definitely grab yourself a copy if you haven't already. It's a tad on the angst-y side, but I guess I was a little down, too. Oh well. Read & review if you please.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It's Another Day

To say that she was angry would be an understatement. To say that she was livid would be a tad warmer. To say that she was pissed the fuck off and ready to annihilate any Big Bad with her bare hands was red, scorching hot.

Because that was how Faith felt right now as she was sitting on her barstool, a can of beer in her hand, and absently staring at a brown smudge on her countertop. Images of that day came unbidden into her mind—memories of her and a certain blonde trading blows with one another, yet again. A kick here. A punch there. Choking her underwater. Seeing red. Feeling the same. So much for all those steps taken to rebuild what could potentially be a beautiful—though shaky—friendship.

Faith threw back the rest of her beer, letting the nasty amber liquid churn in the pit of her stomach the same way her hopes did. She laughed bitterly, "Who the fuck am I kiddin'? This is B we're talkin' about."

B. No matter how hard Faith tried, nothing could appease the other woman. She lost the blonde's trust back when Sunnydale was still on the map and it was pretty evident during the Genevieve ordeal that even after some one-to-one chats and companionship pre-"Move The Slayer HQ to Scotland," Buffy would never trust her again—even when Faith laid her life on the line to fight the good fight, stuck by Buffy and her Scooby gang, toned her crap down, and believed that there was mutual forgiveness on both sides.

But to the original slayer, Faith would always be the reckless, psycho, murderous bitch who gave a shit about no one. Wasn't life grand?

No, it fucking hurt. It hurt like when Buffy stabbed her with her own dagger. It hurt, because once again, she felt so alone. She felt so hateful. She felt so worthless, especially to the one person she ever truly gave a damn about. Funny how she had to show it by getting bashed in the face and bashing in return.

"I ain't gonna do this," the brunette growled, fighting back the stinging tears that threatened to surface. She clenched her fists, crushing the can in her grasp and throwing it aside. "I'm not the same Faith that her and her damned friends expect me to be. No, I changed. I'm better."

She knew she was. At least, she thought she was, until the blonde showed up guns a-blazing. What could the dark-haired woman do but fight back? It was just the way their dysfunctional relationship worked: fine and friendly one moment, ready to break each other's faces the next.

Suddenly, her phone rang, snapping Faith out of her dark thoughts. She almost dared to hope who it could be, but she wasn't dumb and naïve. She knew it couldn't be her. She fished the device out of her pocket and she was right; it was Giles.

"Yeah, G?"

"Hello Faith. How are you?"

"You know me. Five by five, as usual." They both knew she wasn't, but neither was about to call her out on it. "Not that I don't wanna chat all day with ya, Giles, but I'm kinda in the middle of somethin'. You got a job for me?"

It was the only reason that he'd call, and of course, the ex-Watcher did have a task for her in the Philadelphia area. Another slayer was abusing her powers and wreaking havoc in the city, was what one of Giles' sources said; usual larceny, and the idea was to catch the teen before the cops finally did.

Eventually, after plans were set, Faith hung up the phone. She'd be leaving in a couple hours to the bus terminal where she and Giles would then head off to Pennsylvania on this "rescue" mission of sorts, if she could call it that—rescuing the girl from herself before she fell into doing much more than merely petty theft.

And the brunette understood that this may well be her purpose: helping those girls who got led astray, being there for them before they spiraled into darkness. Faith was living proof of a slayer gone down the wrong path, and she knew what it felt like—the confusion, the loneliness, the pain, every single bit of it.

And Faith knew no amount of evil and wrongdoing was ever going to be worth seeing again the anger and hatred behind green eyes. She shakily sighed. She had a purpose now, a different purpose, and... it almost made her feel special, even when the one she loved didn't think she was.

A soft, bittersweet, haunting sort of smile touched Faith's lips; the saddest of expressions lined her face. She looked so worn, much older than she actually was, but the shit she had been through and done made her feel like the graying cat lady back in Boston who used to sit on her porch with her eight feline friends. At least the widow had friends, and Faith couldn't say that much for herself.—

"Whatever," the brunette finally announced, getting up from her seat. She was done with wallowing. It made her head hurt, among other more painful areas. She had a bus to catch anyway and needed to pack her stuff soon. She headed off toward her room. "Maybe I can haggle some cash from G. I'm wicked hungry...."

Same shit, different day, was slowly becoming the mantra.