Choking On the Burn

Summary: Faith reacts a bit differently to the news about Buffy and Spike. Post Season 6-7ish.
A/N: Written 28.01.04 - Fuffy implied.

Out on patrol, just the three of us fools. Two slayers and a vampire with a soul. It isn't Angel, but the other one, the one who smoked cigarettes with me, in a basement full of blood and day-old laundry. The one in chains. The one she wants.

I could kill him. Set that dusty, leather coat on white-hot fire, and watch those mocking eyes burn. With just a flick of my wrist, and a misplaced cigarette, it'd be over, all of it, just.. over. The anger would stop, and her screams wouldn't pierce the night anymore, ringing in my blind, stupid head. I could kill him. And he wouldn't even know.

Staking would work best, I think. Simple and clean, with nothing but dust left to tell the morbid tale. No muss, no fuss. A quick death, and it'll spare me the trouble of having to think about it too much. The wood will plunge into him, into the heart she so claims to love, and he will fade. Right before my eyes. I can feel him crumbling already.

We're under attack, not all the vampires have left Sunnydale yet. She's charged from behind, but he's there to pull her back up. Kills the bastard. They're so fucking obvious it hurts.

Buffy will cry, I'm sure of it. When they break the news to her, nothing will be the same, for any of us. And maybe she'll run into my arms then, the arms of his killer, and she'll cry to me and tell me she loves me and he was just a mistake, and could I help her cope with the world? It'd be nice. But I seriously doubt that. Her anger will get the better of her, the need for revenge eclipsing all else, and she'll see through me. Because I won't be able to hold it in. I taught her well.

I throw the last one, a newbie, into a nearby headstone, and listen to his neck crack. Not dead yet though. Staring at yellow, feral eyes, I see only pain. No evil. Taking pity, I stake him. He vanishes, crying, and the sight of it makes me sick.

As I turn, I'm assaulted with the vision of them, together, and I can't help but wonder if he made her scream. Wrong. It's all so wrong. He got her, he's having her *right now*, and the whole fucking house is just letting it slide. I hear them talking at night, passing on their little gossips about the slayer and her vampire-turned-boyfriend. But I keep it to myself.

They stand there, lost in their awkward silence. Until she casts her eyes away, just like all those times when it was me she was talking to, me she was patrolling with, me who she was staring at. When it was me she was loving. And I know exactly how he feels.

I trail after them, on the way home. He's got his back to me, that leather coat swishing in the unforgiving moonlight. Closing my eyes, I loosen my grip on the stake. And, gently, I place it in my pocket. I would have killed him. And they'll never even know.