The Diamond Sea

Disc: I. Own. Nothing.

Note: Okay, like said, this is number one in a series of Role Reversals being written. History must be changed a bit, so PLEASE READ: We shall assume that sometime during Faith's time in Los Angeles she was sired. Kay? Doesn't matter, where, when, how, or why. She was just sired. Nextly, Buffy has previously known about it. Doesn't matter how, when, where, or why. But she knows about it. We'll say there was probably a brief encounter, a draw, and that was that. Oh, and we're going to assume there are er... slight feelings for each other? Not much. Probably just a .. bond, thing. Also, Spike, since he has part in the role reversal, did not attempt to hurt Buffy in the end of Season Six, which means he did not try and go get his soul n' junk. He's just.. Spike. He's not even in this story at the moment. So, we don't need to worry about that. Confused? Me too. Let's get on with it now.

(Line Break)

--just a slight tremor beneath her feet. It was something not even a small field mouse could hear if he were sitting right next to it. Luckily though, Slayer hearing could extend past the boundaries of simple mice. Her stance, two feet frozen in place, her body turned and stuck in another, facing the dusty, though newly painted door that had stumbled upon her. She hadn't seen it during her trek around re-opened Sunnydale High, and wasn't pleased that she was seeing it now.

Buffy Summers, one normal paranoid parental figure with outrageous super powers to be completely and totally jealous of, couldn't shake the small, nagging fairy in the back of her head, pushing her onwards, onward through the school. She would find something potentially dangerous and would fix it. Though just moments ago, before the basement floor below her had gurgled and burped up at her Jimmy Choo'd feet, she had felt the familiar, all too relaxing, flooding wash of relief over her mind.

She couldn't find one thing wrong with this school, that is, until now. Now, she wasn't dressed for the occasion of vampire and hell-mouth material at the moment, but persuasion? Yes, that she could do.

No single students were roaming the halls, or that certain hall at the moment, which would seem to mean no furtive glances and actions would need to be taken, though on usual habit, Buffy secretively peered around, opened the door with the quietest breaking of the lock's inner mechanisms, and slipped inside.

Before her big toe had even set through the doorframe, a hot puff of steamed air let loose and Buffy was unobtrusively reminded of California humidity and what it did to her hair. She shut the door behind her, inhaled one long, last breath of cool air, and descended the stone, concrete steps down to the basement's floor. One single light, hanging eerily from a bulb in the middle of the cramped, covered room glowed a soft, dim slither of light. Boxes, crates, shelves, all either completely unused and forgotten, or filled to the rim with out of date technology blocked the path Buffy made with her feet.

As cliché as it goes, a small, dripping line of water fell and piled in the corner, a moist edge of wall where a few rats skittered by, on an unending hunt for food. It seemed too important not to touch anything she may see in here. The patches of what she would guess to be mold seemed to keep the walls upright, whereas the rats and bugs crawling amongst the cement floor were the peoples it treated.

Ugh, disgusting. She was definitely using all of the Germ-X at her desk when she got back. Nasty, slimy, even green demons she could handle. But dust, grime? Mold? Don't think so.

Ducking beneath what could have been a figment of her imagination, but just simply begged to be a cobweb in Buffy's mind, the Slayer followed the lengthy, switching corridors like a science experiment, headed for the cheese.

The hanging light's dim help had long since abandoned her, many twists and turns ago. Though, just of the Slayer's luck, or possibly the luck that comes in many modern horror films and television series, a flashlight had found its way onto one of the forsaken shelves.

Buffy flashed her new and only weapon, squinting into the hidden, shadowed room and felt her feet freeze into that inevitable, completely frozen posture once more. Her muscles tensed, the grip on the flashlight tightened to a metal bending force, though thankfully the handle seemed to stay in submission. Something, off towards the right wing of her peripheral vision, fluttered, shifted, and then settled again.

One step—

… Another, and another-

The shadow took shape, the shape, though completely darkened, a silhouette, and Buffy silently made out a crouched, hidden form of a person, dark against the grey cement of the walls.

Caution pooled around the Slayer's mind and hands as attack seemed to be the first and foremost option available, although approach cautiously and present with tender-loving care wasn't close behind.

"Hello?" Her voice cracked, though spread quickly throughout the basement floor, and should have easily reached the figure.

…

It stood; it trembled, crouched momentarily on all fours until rather ungracefully coming to two feet. Okay, so it should be human. Or at least, not demon. Maybe. Hopefully.

Buffy moved one more step, scooting one more inch—

Another rat made its debut—

The figure jumped, clawed, roared at the sprinting rodent and flew from the crouched position to hands outstretched, grabbing, fishing until getting a hold of the animal and, on its knees now, back turned to Buffy, dug into the feast with one primal howl.

The primate animal Slayer inside of Buffy jumped to life at the attack and she lurched forward, almost letting out a snarl herself. Her free hand, one still holding the flashlight high above the both of them, grabbed at an opposing shoulder and whipped the creature around. A flash of unruly, chocolate colored locks flew with the head. A matching pair of doe eyes, empty, silent in their home, and a mouthful of blood turned to look at the Slayer. A wrinkled forehead, flared nostrils, and a set of protruding canines marked the hell mouth's most famous monster.

Buffy was ready to strike, ready to hit, but her mind came to from a film of shock around her head, rather than her fists. The flashlight dropped to the ground.

"Faith?"

(Maybe a commercial or potty break could go in here. Or they could just fix the goddamn line break button.)

Her chest tightened beneath her shirt, beneath her skin her organs clashed and brewed in rejection. No, Faith. No, not her. Not, no. The same level of shock radiated from the vampire. Tumbling over her own feet, discarding the meal she had previously been locked on, the vampire fumbled until standing, reaching inches over the Slayer in height. The demonic mask disappeared and returned a more familiar image. Faith, a Slayer. The Slayer. Her sleeves quickly wiped away the excess red mess and her eyes wildly skipped away.

Buffy picked up her flashlight, never letting her gaze falter once. Faith.

Dead—

Or, undead. Sired. Whatever….

This was something she couldn't slay. Well, technically she could, but … why? Destroy a once friend, more enemy, now fated foe for starving on rats beneath her little sister's high school?

"What… what are you doing here, Faith? You're supposed to be in L.A, in jail, what happened? Why are you…" No need to finish. The vampire had secluded herself a few feet back, cautious towards Buffy, though showing strangely some sort of wanting, need. Her hands were wrung together, clasped, unclasped, trembling, and falling to her sides. She couldn't decide what to do with herself.

"They… they were asking for you."

…

Buffy blinked. It wasn't exactly the response she was searching for, but never the less, she prodded. "Who? Who was asking for me?"

"I told them you'd be here soon! You… you were just… late. Maybe you'd lost your way. I… I didn't know. I didn't know!" Agitated, frowning upon herself and beginning to pace the floor, Faith kept her gaze lowered, keeping it close to the ground and letting it remain there, only every few moments staring towards the real Slayer. "They gave me a trophy. It's gold and… i-it has my name on it. Mother put it on the mantle this evening and…" Another bout of frustration seemed to cloud Faith's mind as her hands raced towards her chest, both thumbs digging their fleshy skin into the exact spot where her heart would be.

Where her fingers landed were already growing holes in the fabric of her shirt, blotches of red, torn, and slashed skin appearing, instead of the typical olive, toned colour. Frowning, taking one more cautious step forward so that they both stood near eye to eye, Buffy reached her own controlled hand out, gently gripping the twitchy hands and pulling them away from the raw spot.

"Don't…" Allowing the touch, though obviously not approving, Faith reached up to bat Buffy's hands away, which in turn lightly pushed the vampire up against the wall, and continued examining. She pulled the neck of the shirt down, revealing the full extent of claw marks against the pale, still chest. "It wouldn't come out. It's stuck, still there. Stuck inside." Buffy listened to the momentarily lucid minute of conversation, found no meaning in Faith's words, and stepped back once more. The brief sentences crumbled into a strange squeak escaping the vampire's lips and slowly disappeared into the air. She started sinking against the wall.

"What, Faith? What's still inside? What're you …" Buffy blinked, crouching down cautiously next to her sister Slayer. "Your soul." She whispered, "You've got your soul."

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity, of sympathy for the vampire. Faith, it seemed, had always been so free, so careless, and now, confined to the misfortune of her mind and a soul beneath her cold, dead, walking body couldn't have been easy. The moment lasted longer than it should have, and Buffy was pulling Faith to her feet. "You can't stay here alone."

Prolly' not the end. However, I don't know. It all sorta' depends. Role Reversal number two (involving two totally different characters and plot changes) shall arrive soon.