Notes: Another really old crossover! This was written in 2005, again in the midst of putting Let It Bleed together, shortly after I saw George A. Romero's then-new zombie flick, Land of the Dead. I enjoyed the movie a lot (in retrospect, it's the last of Romero's Living Dead series that's really any good) but, had been mildly distracted by my BtVS-obsessed brain insisting throughout that, Well, things would never have gotten this bad if Buffy, Willow, and Faith were around. And so-inspired, this is the result.
It should be noted that this is one of those crossovers where it probably does help if you've seen the movie - quite a few references are made to events depicted in the film - but, it's also possible that there's enough more neutral material to make it an enjoyable read anyway.
I'd also like to note that, when re-reading this fic in preparation for uploading it, it occurred to me that it's quite likely Land of the Dead is even more relevant today than it was twelve years ago. Whilst I never quite bought into Romero's somewhat bizarre attempt to 'humanize' the living dead and make us feel bad about their plight (they're eating people's entrails, George, so sorry if my capacity for empathy doesn't quite extend that far), the other major theme - the widening gap between the rich and poor - worked brilliantly. And, even back then, it was fairly easy to note similarities between the movie's chief villain and a certain real-life smarmy, ruthless, morally bankrupt asshole who cares only about money, power, and himself. Today, of course, given the actual horror show initiated in November of last year, should a zombie apocalypse ever befall the USA, what we see in the movie can pretty much be cranked up to eleven. So … good luck with that!
The Happiest Place on Earth
"What the hell is this place?" Buffy's wearing her half-disbelieving, half-affronted face.
Faith shrugs, casts a sharp eye around the bar. She's seen worse.
Well, okay, not really. A lot not really.
"Does anyone else feel kinda queasy?"
She looks at Willow. "Not gonna hurl, are ya?"
Willow shakes her head, but her grip on Faith's hand tightens.
Faith's not a hand-holder by nature or habit, but she'd been learning. And when the dead started to walk the earth in droves, the learning curve had taken a jagged leap upward. A world full of zombies shifts your priorities and it's probably kinda dumb to feel self-consciously uncool when other people's hands are getting chewed off by their nearest and dearest.
Besides, the warmth reminds her that they're still alive and they've got work to do.
But, fucking typical that she finally falls in love just in time for the world to turn to shit.
The cage in the center of the bar is big enough to allow for plenty of action before the carnage begins in earnest. The hooker's making the most of the space, though – gets a few solid kicks and punches in against her dead foes, even when she's clambering up the side. And, as far as Faith can tell, she's still clean.
Meanwhile, Buffy's affront has switched to the kind of quiet, indignant rage Faith hasn't seen since it was directed at her back in the day.
Willow clears a path through the throng, living bodies jerking back violently in weird contrast to the soft whooshing noise that accompanies the spell. A little magic shrapnel tears one of the nearby sideshow freaks in half.
They're ready to put a stop to the main event, but a good-looking guy and his scar-faced companion reach the cage before they do, oblivious to them. The first guy makes short work of the zombies, the other one takes out the dwarf-in-charge, and the gunfire and confusion clears the joint.
Willow takes Faith's hand again, this time pulling her back into the shadows. Buffy follows and they watch, unnoticed.
For a moment, it looks like the zombies got a taste after all and the guy's about to put an end to her before the living dead version can get started. But, turns out it's a bullet-graze, not a bite, and the hooker looks up and starts talking to him.
The three of them slip out the back door and make their way round the corner, see cop vans pull away.
When they go back inside, the place is empty. Damn.
The guy was pretty hot too.
Willow smirks – she always knows – so Faith tilts a wry eyebrow and smirks right back.
"Hey, just lookin'."
They torch the joint and leave again.
If the Dodge Sprinter's rockin' …
It's a constant source of amazement to Faith that they can still find the joy in sex.
After all, it's not like an ordinary apocalypse, when things are pretty much do or die. Instead, there's the long, slow process of turning the living-dead back into just-plain-dead, not to mention the no-hope-in-hell of life ever getting back to 'normal' – things that don't exactly fill her heart with sunshine. And the 'them and us' division between the still-living is just as big a downer.
But, somehow, pleasure still outweighs the potential for miserable and/or desperate unions. Or – even worse – 'life affirming'. Faith doesn't treat sex like a punching-bag anymore, but she's damned if she's gonna start turning a simple fucking orgasm into a 'reaching out' exercise.
Even if it always feels like she needs this like she needs air to breathe.
She winds her fingers through long, red hair that slides soft against her thighs. Resists the urge to demand (beg for) harder, faster. Willow knows what she's doing. Knows too that Faith won't (can't) stop her from doing what she wants how she wants. Faith can practically feel that superior pussy-eating grin.
And she doesn't mind one fucking bit. She might not be as smart as Will or even Buffy, but she's learned to know a good thing when she's got it. Especially when she's got it right down there.
So, Faith grins just as wide … seconds before her mind shuts down to make way for the sheer physical rush, while somehow there's a part of her brain still functions enough to wonder how the hell Willow gets that rhythm down.
Moments later, she pulls Will up beside her, feels the tremors begin to subside in that way that makes her feel weak and useless, when she's pretty much not good for anything and all the better for it.
"Was that okay?"
"Nah, sucked big time." She frowns over her choice of words. "Okay, that joke kinda didn't work."
Willow giggles and Faith pulls her closer. She feels herself recharging, energy pulsing through her fingertips as they brush against skin that almost shimmers in the dim light from the ceiling-lamp.
But, the regeneration isn't complete yet. It's a two-way process, the kind of thing where you need someone to feel the same way you do. And Willow's not the only one with the talent to turn superchicks into pools of molten nerve-endings.
While they dress, Faith glances through the narrow gap in the metal slats reinforcing the windows, can just about see her counterpart walk to the doors of the small warehouse they're parked inside. Buffy's excuse of 'checking the perimeters' outside the van is kind of an unacknowledged joke by now, especially when Will's barrier can hold back a whole army of pissed off, hungry deadheads.
But, it's a pretty cool thing for B to do. The bulked-up Sprinter might not be the Ritz, but it's better than the alternative. Fucking your girl against a wall with a chorus of the walking dead moaning in the background isn't exactly the big thrill you'd expect. Besides, it turned out Will already had some back-of-the-van experience.
("Right before?"
Willow nods, blush rising. "Uh-huh."
"Man, I was on the wrong team.")
Faith yanks the doors open and crosses the warehouse floor toward the other Slayer.
"Everything good?"
Buffy looks at her, smiles. "Safe as houses … if houses came with magic reinforcement."
If B wanted it, Faith would do her too. Has to be fucking ages since the other Slayer last got some and she knows that, circumstances being what they are, Willow would understand. After all, Buffy's dating opportunities are limited: the Have-nots are kinda scuzzy-looking; the Haves are pricks; and vamps have pretty much been driven underground by the newer Big Bad – slower, deader, and really fucking gross. She has to admit there's maybe still a little unrequited lust going on for the Chosen One, but there's a bigger, less horny part that just wants to do something nice for her, to let B remember what it's like to have someone that close and not be so alone. And Will screwing her best buddy would be too damn weird for the Scoobies after all these years.
But, the one time Faith offered her services, couched in double-talk and meaningful glances, Buffy mumbled an embarrassed comeback, easily translated as 'thanks, but no thanks', then changed the subject. Zombie apocalypses might not leave much room for B to yell at her for being a skank, or drill holier-than-thou looks through her skull, but some things don't change.
Faith looks at the woman she loves/hates and who loves/hates her right back, wishes things could be better for her, wants to make things better for her.
Puzzled, she looks away again and remembers she's not into life-affirming sex.
The Council had been too slow to react. Big fucking surprise. Giles isn't a prick like the old guard, but his 'wait and see' policy gave the deadset too much of a head start. Willow insists she could have done something about the 'earthbound energy' that was stirring the dead awake again, but Giles had been concerned about the mass amount of black/white/ grey/pink/teal/whatever-the-fuck-color magic that would have been needed. And, by the time it all got resolved – or not, since they never actually decided on whether it would have been a 'good or bad thing' for Will – it was too late.
What really pisses her off is that the social division that sprung up went unchallenged for so long. She's not gonna kid herself that she's all 'up with the proletariat' (hard-done-by doesn't automatically equal 'better'), but the fact that so much depends on a small bunch of rich white men in suits is a sore point. Too much concentrated power.
That's where the Council really screwed up. Coulda pulled some maneuvers early on and stopped the elite from taking advantage.
So, when Will wants to stick a barrier up around the ghetto, the suits get pissed off, since she's not charging and she's not under their employ. They tell her there's no way and come up with a whole bunch of bullshit 'reasons', trying to convince them it's got nothing to do with the bottom line.
Willow tells them, unless they let her do it, she'll destroy the little piece of paradise in hell they've built for themselves.
This is the woman Faith loves.
They think she's bluffing, so she starts with the penthouse suite. It's a flick-of-the-wrist job by now, but they're impressed. Then they try to kill her, which fucks Faith off no end. Even Buffy ditches her 'do not kill the humans' policy and ends up blowing some skulls apart with an M-16. Needs must and all.
But, Faith knows – they all know – that even when the slimy fucker at the top says that, yeah, fine, she can put up the barrier, he's gonna take the first opportunity he can to fuck it up as soon as their backs are turned.
Faith waits until Will and Buffy are headed back to the ghetto and pays the guy another visit. Snaps his neck and puts a bullet through his brain to make sure he's not gonna come back. Quick, effective.
She may be a killer again, but she's not an animal.
There's probably some irony in the fact that they're headed to Canada now Faith's no longer a wanted fugitive. Willow says she's got a better understanding of what makes the dead tick by now and reckons she can stop the newly dead rising without too much hassle, personal or otherwise. But, she figures it's best to start small and they've heard that there might be less activity across the border.
So, they hit the road and who do they meet? The hot guy, his buddy, and the hooker, plus a couple other renegades. With a huge anti-zombie motherfuck of a vehicle, headed north too.
They ditch the Dodge and climb on-board Dead Reckoning. Faith's kinda sad to see the van go – a lot of great screwing-each-other-senseless went on in that machine – but practicality wins out over sentimental value. She leaves the keys and a note: ZOMBIE-SAFE AND A REAL NICE RIDE.
Introductions are made. Turns out the guy's name's Riley and Buffy gets a look on her face that makes Faith want to pick her up, tuck her into bed and stroke her hair until she falls asleep.
She'd offered to take him out for her, but B did it herself, that trademark icy grit denying the inner meltdown. And when the dead marine dropped to his knees, for a second it looked like maybe he remembered, and Faith would swear blind he smiled right at his ex just before he keeled all the way over.
She turns away and sees something less depressing. Namely, Willow eyeing the hooker with what looks suspiciously like more than just comrades-in-arms interest; not too surprising, since the chick's pretty much who Faith might've been if she wasn't a Slayer. She's even got a little butch going on now – big guns and killing the dead'll do that to a girl. Faith watches the one-way exchange and allows herself a fleeting thought that gets her damp between the thighs.
"Enjoyin' the view?"
Will jerks to attention on the seat beside her. "What? I was, um, just checkin' out the side panel thingy."
"Uh-huh." Faith grins.
She settles back, feels strangely pleased with herself; like it's good to be here, now, no matter where they end up. Deceptively strong fingers interlock with her own and when Willow squeezes, Faith squeezes back.