Title: Second Slayer

Author: The Cardboard Moon

Setting: Post BtVS Season 7, Pre-Season 8 comics. Pre- end of OotP in Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, any of the characters, settings or concepts presented in this story which originated in Joss Whedon's "Buffy" or J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter". I do hold claim to the words written here, however, though I make no profit off of it.

Author's Notes: I wrote this quite a while ago… Faith is my favorite character, and Sirius, though I love him, is often given too much credit. He honestly never really thinks of anyone but himself, and I thought that this needed to be pointed out. The story itself isn't very good, but I wrote it on a lark, and I like the idea.

Second Slayer

"It's stupid, I fuckin know that already."

Goddamn, I know it; so why does he keep telling me it's not? I know it's just how I feel, I know I can't stop that or whatever, but it's still stupid.

"I think I know my brain better than some dumb ass court appointed shrink does. …Yes, I said appointed. I'm not a complete retard; it's not that big a word."

He rolls his eyes and pulls out a book. He gives me a speech about the subconscious. I look at inkblots.

"A sun… no, not a "son," a s-u-n. Damn…"

He sighs and shows me the next one.

"A shoe... a sneaker."

"A star… like one of those Jewish star thingies.

"A match… can I smoke in here? Shit. Okay, next:

"B."

He sits, surprised. He knows by now that I mean Buffy. Oh yeah, he knows about all the Slayer shit. Took a little explaining to the officials, but G took care of all that crap. Mostly paperwork. One of the girls had to get examined by the Ministry to prove that we're human… Kennedy'd hurt Red's feelings, so a' course we picked her.

The shrink says that he's noticing a pattern here.

"What pattern?"

Light, he says. Wow, isn't that insightful. Its now my turn to roll my eyes, biting my tongue and tightening my face to keep from going on yet another tirade about B. She's always gotta fuckin be the 'light' one. Isn't it just the shit – she's blonde, I'm brunette. S'like we got cast for these damn roles or something based on our choices of hair color… cause you know she's not a natural blonde.

"And the sneaker?"

He tells me not to avoid the subject. I'm totally not avoiding the subject that I am currently, obviously avoiding.

"Whatever. We done here?"

He looks at me like I'm a kid. I'm 23, for god's sake! Damn… He's obviously not done for the day.

"Great, man – what d'you wanna talk about? Hey –how bout them Red Sox? Didn't think they'd ever win the damn series again…"

…Fucking English. I'm not even into baseball, but I know that stuff. I mean, granted I'm from Boston, but still.

"Fine, I assume it's not that. What then? Soccer… football or whatever you call it? Tchoukball? Yeah, I just learned how to play it – kick ass game, I swear –"

He says he wants to talk about Buffy.

I bite my tongue.

"Look at the time," I say before walking out the door. I ignore him while he tells me to come back. Fuckin wand wavers can't tell me what to do… bastards. G-Man's sitting outside of the office on a bench. He looks up, disgruntled that I left in the middle again.

"Faith, you know that the Ministry will never let you out on your own until you're cleared by a licensed psychiatr…"

"Know. Don't care."

He groans and stands up. "What set you off this time?"

"He wanted to talk about B."

"…And?"

I don't look at him for fear that he'll see a weakness in me and exploit it, just as people always do.

"Man, G, you just don't fuckin get it, do ya…"

I storm off into the mid-afternoon haze of downtown London, and enter the phone booth to escape from the Ministry… doesn't matter anyway, I'm just going back to the apartment. Just like he said, I'm not allowed out on my own 'cept to go home or to therapy. Giles, just like the shrink, starts calling after me. As if he cares. Hah. Just before the phone booth starts to rise from the illusion of city streets to the real ones, I see Giles taking out his phone. Prolly to call her.

Christ, it's my own damn psych session. I didn't even wanna be there. I just hafta, but I... I mean, if I'm supposed to go to these things, they should at least do their job and talk about me or my problems or whatever. I don't wanna keep... God. It's always about her.

With mom, I was second to booze.

With her boyfriends, I was second to sex.

With Wes I was second to the Council.

With

And I was always second to Buffy.

I thought I'd almost hit something with the boss… yeah… Dick really did care about me. Hell, when I woke up in the hospital, I saw myself written in as "Faith Wilkins". But I was still second to his goal. Can't blame him though: he was evil. It was in his nature.

He did care about me, though.

And now that I've finally found this world… I've finally found my dad and I see what a good guy he is… now that I actually belong somewhere where I'm not overshadowed by Buffy or liquor or beatings or ascensions or anything like that… I'm still second.

I'm just the bastard child of a one-night stand. When mom went to England after her high school graduation, she met a guy. Sirius. He's a good guy, I know he is. He gets what I've been through… or at least part of it, what with the prison stuff. And even though he's ashamed (he'll never admit it) of what I did, he understands. He knows how much I hate it and how much I'm trying to get back on the wagon. And he's all that I have left, really. But….

But after all of this… after all the talks and sympathizing and "I understands" and even after fighting side-by-side with him in this stupid little war…

…I'm still second to Harry.