"It Isn't Even Past"
(2/?)
Description: Post-"Chosen" Faith & Buffy girltalk piece, with substantial contributions from Spike, though he's technically not even there.. Setting is Rome, September 2003. Approximately 4 months after "Chosen" -- in other words, right before a recorporealized Spike emerges at the offices of Wolfram & Hart. Make of that what you will.
The Henry James theme continues in the chapter titles, though the title of the whole piece comes from Faulkner. Again, don't ask me to explain. . .
II. Beast in the Jungle
Sneaking up on Faith was a shitty thing to do, Buffy knew that. Turning your back on Faith was damn near suicidal. But she calculated the risk, the way she calculated everything now. Buffy was coming as a friend, and the best way she knew was to act like a friend. It was hard to think of someone as a mortal enemy when you walked in on them rooting around in your refrigerator. Goodness, pet, the words rang behind her ears, in the back of her skull, the way they always did. Wherever did you learn a thing like that?
And just in case psychology didn't work, there was the little matter of the dagger clutched in her palm. She held it tight in her hand as she rifled through the cheeses, watched the bathroom door reflected in the television. Faith eased it open without a sound, stepped out armed, dripping wet and -- yup, naked.
"B?" Just one syllable, but Faith managed to sound relieved. Even happy? Don't push it, Summers.
"Hiya!" Buffy said, going for 'chipper.' She wouldn't even mind 'slightly dense.' Faith eased back into the bathroom. "Sorry about the no-knock," called Buffy, and went on excusing, casual as she could, digging through the minibar. She trusted Faith, more or less, that wasn't what this was about. And jolly good show, preten'ing not to see the bird in 'er birthday suit. Good show? Buffy thought. Spike would say good show? Who was she channeling, here, a former Big Bad turned love-addled champion, or Wesley Wyndham-Pryce? But she knew the truth, she had for months. He was gone, no one was in there. Buffy Summers was talking to herself.
"Five by five," Faith was saying.
The knife tucked in her jacket, Buffy raised her hands and wiggled all her fingers. "Me too, I guess."
Faith frowned and looked down at her own hands. "Is that what that means?"
"I guess, what did you think?"
Faith lowered herself onto the end of the king-sized bed and stared down to count her own fingers. "Five by five," she repeated. "Damn." Then, without looking up, "Is there any chance of you explaining to me, in say, the next thirty seconds, exactly what you're doing in my room, so that I don't have to get up and knock it out of you?"
Buffy's hand went to her pocket, the knife, while her mind raced around for the words she'd planned to say. Concern. Friendship. Welcoming committee. Fruit basket -- maybe she should actually have brought a fruit basket, the plums from the market down on the piazza put California to shame and, damn, knife -- Then Faith raised her head and Buffy saw the other girl's smile, the gotcha eyes, and there was suddenly nowhere to go but the truth. "Wood," she said.
"Would what?" Faith repeated, then in dawning comprehension. "As in, Robin Wood, my partner in heroics and, for lack of a better word, fuckbuddy?"
"That's your best word?" Way to reach out to the girl, love, bang-up job Oh, shut up, you're not even there. "Robin came to me, said he was concerned about you. He said you're -- spending more time in the room by yourself, not getting out in the world. I said that didn't sound like the Faith I know and --"
This was almost the truth. Robin had found her as soon as he got to Rome, and that was what he had said. "Faith just doesn't seem to be herself lately."
"You haven't known Faith as long as I have," said Buffy, "But let me suggest that Faith not being herself has the qualities of a good thing."
Robin sighed. "Buffy, I'm sure you can't think of any reason you should want to help me. I know damn well you don't even like me that much."
"Well, Robin, you did try to dust my friend. Who, incidentally, turned out to be all world-saving champion martyr boy --" Well, it was all in a day's work, though thanks for noticing and all -- hold up, whazzall that about 'my friend'?
"But Buffy, you do need to understand where I was coming from."
"I did understand," she said, "That's why --" Tha's why his skull is still attached to his neck. But she had understood it, too well, the simplicity of Robin's drive. Vampire bad, vamp-killer good. Spike, killer of Robin's good mother, Spike bad, Spike should be dust. It was wrong-headed and destructive to the mission, but Buffy could understand it. She could remember, though she could hardly believe in, that time when "Nobody messes with my boyfriend" was all the mission statement she needed. And you were so different in the end, pet? You protected me to save the mission, or you protected me and we got lucky? Yeah, that's you and me, William. We've always been the lucky ones.
And in the end, she had promised Robin to drop in on Faith. Buffy knew that Robin and Faith had acquired a reputation as a formidable team, doing freelance work where they were needed. Some people grumbled that Faith had gone all Diva Slayer, conditioning her services on posh accommodations and gourmet food, Council-subsidized shopping sprees and long vacations. Nobody ever said she didn't get the job done, though, and so far no one had questioned her loyalties. But if Robin was right, if Faith's head wasn't in her work, could that be a sign of something else? Could you ever really trust someone's motives after they'd switched sides? Thanks for the vote of confidence, then. Oh, not you too.
"Robin's worried --" Faith's words jerked her back to the present. "Robin's worried that I'm not getting out, so he sent you to check on me? Like maybe, what, he goes out in the day and I become a secret double agent for -- who the hell ever we're even fighting these days. The First hasn't dared to show its lack-of-a-face since Sunnydale. Wolfram & Hart's even being run by the good guys." Faith laughed and shook her head. "B, do you have any idea what Robin Wood is like when you give him a guide book? It's all the piazzas, the sculptures, the Vatican -- big frigging crosses, given, but not the kind of thing that drags me out in the hot to get bumped into and squeezed around in these countries where nobody's ever heard the word deodorant."
"And that's all?" Buffy leaned her head to the side, tried to figure what she could make out from Faith's eyes. "Just nothing to get out for in the day? Actually, there's a whole lot to see in Rome. It's like they say. When in Rome . . ."
"And I look like a tourist?" Buffy had to admit that Faith looked pretty much the same as she always had, although her hair was cropped short and dyed another shade -- maybe dark red, it was hard to tell when it was still wet.
"Point taken," said Buffy. "Incidentally, is there a reason that you two are registered as 'Robin Locksley and Bianca Savage'?"
"The Robin Hood thing is all him," Faith answered. "But Bianca --" She leaned over the night stand, picked up a wallet, which she flipped open and tossed it to Buffy. The Canadian passport had a picture of Faith with short dark red hair, and the name, "Bianca Diana Savage."
"Did you pick that name?" Buffy demanded.
"You like?" Faith asked. "It's not like I made it up. I guess it belonged to some dead girl from British Columbia. They made me learn where that is, too. Sir Roger had a lot of names to choose from but -- Bianca means white, Diana was the goddess of the moon. And Savage, well," she shrugged. "Am I or ain't I? And as secret identities go, I'd say it's pretty damn cool.
"Yeah, um -- does your secret identity happen to be a porn star?"
"Excuse me, Buffy. Anyway, it was a better thing to put on a passport than --"
"Faith?"
"Seeing as Faith's an international fugitive, yeah. And also? Not so much your put-it-on-a-passport kind of name."
Buffy frowned, caught offguard. She couldn't believe she'd never thought about this before, never thought much of anything about Faith's identity before she showed up in Sunnydale. "And your real name?"
"You can learn when you pry it off my cold dead tongue. Meaning, you know. Never." Faith smiled and rolled over on her stomach. "You should try this bed, B, it's wicked soft. Courtesy of the Council, like the passports. You can write a thank-you note to Sir Roger."
"You keep saying that. Tell me, slayer sense, what kind of vibe did you get off him?"
"Do you mean was he angry because I subjected his firstborn to the not-quite-death of a thousand cuts?" She shrugged. "Didn't seem to bug him."
"Well, you know." Buffy forced a smile. "That's all past."
Faith laughed. "Sure, B. But that's not exactly what I mean. It's not like he forgot what happened with me and Wes. It's like he didn't care. He even seemed to think it was kinda funny. I know that it's not like I'm the one to be judging family dynamics, but those Wyndham-Pryces make the crew at Wuthering Heights look functional."
Buffy froze and leaned down to look deeper into Faith's eyes. "Willow? That's not you in there, is it?
"Because I can't have read a book?" Faith demanded.
"Well --" Buffy stammered. Well, maybe they have pictures. Maybe she sounded it out. "Sure, but, my first instinct. Body-switches? I mean, there is a history. "
"A history," Faith laughed, "It's all past, but there's a history. That's all this damn city is, Buffy, it's history. How do you stand it?"
Buffy felt a snappy reply rise to her lips before she even knew what it was, and then. Two birds with bad attitudes cooped up in a hotel room. This either leads somewhere bad or somewhere. . . She jumped to her feet, suddenly decisive. "Come with me and I'll show you."
Faith ran a hand over her scalp. "Hair's stilll wet, B, and nowhere in my job description am I required to move my ass from this bed while the sun is out." Seeing Buffy's determined face, she groaned. "Right, you don't have to say it. When in Rome."
(End Chapter 2)
(2/?)
Description: Post-"Chosen" Faith & Buffy girltalk piece, with substantial contributions from Spike, though he's technically not even there.. Setting is Rome, September 2003. Approximately 4 months after "Chosen" -- in other words, right before a recorporealized Spike emerges at the offices of Wolfram & Hart. Make of that what you will.
The Henry James theme continues in the chapter titles, though the title of the whole piece comes from Faulkner. Again, don't ask me to explain. . .
II. Beast in the Jungle
Sneaking up on Faith was a shitty thing to do, Buffy knew that. Turning your back on Faith was damn near suicidal. But she calculated the risk, the way she calculated everything now. Buffy was coming as a friend, and the best way she knew was to act like a friend. It was hard to think of someone as a mortal enemy when you walked in on them rooting around in your refrigerator. Goodness, pet, the words rang behind her ears, in the back of her skull, the way they always did. Wherever did you learn a thing like that?
And just in case psychology didn't work, there was the little matter of the dagger clutched in her palm. She held it tight in her hand as she rifled through the cheeses, watched the bathroom door reflected in the television. Faith eased it open without a sound, stepped out armed, dripping wet and -- yup, naked.
"B?" Just one syllable, but Faith managed to sound relieved. Even happy? Don't push it, Summers.
"Hiya!" Buffy said, going for 'chipper.' She wouldn't even mind 'slightly dense.' Faith eased back into the bathroom. "Sorry about the no-knock," called Buffy, and went on excusing, casual as she could, digging through the minibar. She trusted Faith, more or less, that wasn't what this was about. And jolly good show, preten'ing not to see the bird in 'er birthday suit. Good show? Buffy thought. Spike would say good show? Who was she channeling, here, a former Big Bad turned love-addled champion, or Wesley Wyndham-Pryce? But she knew the truth, she had for months. He was gone, no one was in there. Buffy Summers was talking to herself.
"Five by five," Faith was saying.
The knife tucked in her jacket, Buffy raised her hands and wiggled all her fingers. "Me too, I guess."
Faith frowned and looked down at her own hands. "Is that what that means?"
"I guess, what did you think?"
Faith lowered herself onto the end of the king-sized bed and stared down to count her own fingers. "Five by five," she repeated. "Damn." Then, without looking up, "Is there any chance of you explaining to me, in say, the next thirty seconds, exactly what you're doing in my room, so that I don't have to get up and knock it out of you?"
Buffy's hand went to her pocket, the knife, while her mind raced around for the words she'd planned to say. Concern. Friendship. Welcoming committee. Fruit basket -- maybe she should actually have brought a fruit basket, the plums from the market down on the piazza put California to shame and, damn, knife -- Then Faith raised her head and Buffy saw the other girl's smile, the gotcha eyes, and there was suddenly nowhere to go but the truth. "Wood," she said.
"Would what?" Faith repeated, then in dawning comprehension. "As in, Robin Wood, my partner in heroics and, for lack of a better word, fuckbuddy?"
"That's your best word?" Way to reach out to the girl, love, bang-up job Oh, shut up, you're not even there. "Robin came to me, said he was concerned about you. He said you're -- spending more time in the room by yourself, not getting out in the world. I said that didn't sound like the Faith I know and --"
This was almost the truth. Robin had found her as soon as he got to Rome, and that was what he had said. "Faith just doesn't seem to be herself lately."
"You haven't known Faith as long as I have," said Buffy, "But let me suggest that Faith not being herself has the qualities of a good thing."
Robin sighed. "Buffy, I'm sure you can't think of any reason you should want to help me. I know damn well you don't even like me that much."
"Well, Robin, you did try to dust my friend. Who, incidentally, turned out to be all world-saving champion martyr boy --" Well, it was all in a day's work, though thanks for noticing and all -- hold up, whazzall that about 'my friend'?
"But Buffy, you do need to understand where I was coming from."
"I did understand," she said, "That's why --" Tha's why his skull is still attached to his neck. But she had understood it, too well, the simplicity of Robin's drive. Vampire bad, vamp-killer good. Spike, killer of Robin's good mother, Spike bad, Spike should be dust. It was wrong-headed and destructive to the mission, but Buffy could understand it. She could remember, though she could hardly believe in, that time when "Nobody messes with my boyfriend" was all the mission statement she needed. And you were so different in the end, pet? You protected me to save the mission, or you protected me and we got lucky? Yeah, that's you and me, William. We've always been the lucky ones.
And in the end, she had promised Robin to drop in on Faith. Buffy knew that Robin and Faith had acquired a reputation as a formidable team, doing freelance work where they were needed. Some people grumbled that Faith had gone all Diva Slayer, conditioning her services on posh accommodations and gourmet food, Council-subsidized shopping sprees and long vacations. Nobody ever said she didn't get the job done, though, and so far no one had questioned her loyalties. But if Robin was right, if Faith's head wasn't in her work, could that be a sign of something else? Could you ever really trust someone's motives after they'd switched sides? Thanks for the vote of confidence, then. Oh, not you too.
"Robin's worried --" Faith's words jerked her back to the present. "Robin's worried that I'm not getting out, so he sent you to check on me? Like maybe, what, he goes out in the day and I become a secret double agent for -- who the hell ever we're even fighting these days. The First hasn't dared to show its lack-of-a-face since Sunnydale. Wolfram & Hart's even being run by the good guys." Faith laughed and shook her head. "B, do you have any idea what Robin Wood is like when you give him a guide book? It's all the piazzas, the sculptures, the Vatican -- big frigging crosses, given, but not the kind of thing that drags me out in the hot to get bumped into and squeezed around in these countries where nobody's ever heard the word deodorant."
"And that's all?" Buffy leaned her head to the side, tried to figure what she could make out from Faith's eyes. "Just nothing to get out for in the day? Actually, there's a whole lot to see in Rome. It's like they say. When in Rome . . ."
"And I look like a tourist?" Buffy had to admit that Faith looked pretty much the same as she always had, although her hair was cropped short and dyed another shade -- maybe dark red, it was hard to tell when it was still wet.
"Point taken," said Buffy. "Incidentally, is there a reason that you two are registered as 'Robin Locksley and Bianca Savage'?"
"The Robin Hood thing is all him," Faith answered. "But Bianca --" She leaned over the night stand, picked up a wallet, which she flipped open and tossed it to Buffy. The Canadian passport had a picture of Faith with short dark red hair, and the name, "Bianca Diana Savage."
"Did you pick that name?" Buffy demanded.
"You like?" Faith asked. "It's not like I made it up. I guess it belonged to some dead girl from British Columbia. They made me learn where that is, too. Sir Roger had a lot of names to choose from but -- Bianca means white, Diana was the goddess of the moon. And Savage, well," she shrugged. "Am I or ain't I? And as secret identities go, I'd say it's pretty damn cool.
"Yeah, um -- does your secret identity happen to be a porn star?"
"Excuse me, Buffy. Anyway, it was a better thing to put on a passport than --"
"Faith?"
"Seeing as Faith's an international fugitive, yeah. And also? Not so much your put-it-on-a-passport kind of name."
Buffy frowned, caught offguard. She couldn't believe she'd never thought about this before, never thought much of anything about Faith's identity before she showed up in Sunnydale. "And your real name?"
"You can learn when you pry it off my cold dead tongue. Meaning, you know. Never." Faith smiled and rolled over on her stomach. "You should try this bed, B, it's wicked soft. Courtesy of the Council, like the passports. You can write a thank-you note to Sir Roger."
"You keep saying that. Tell me, slayer sense, what kind of vibe did you get off him?"
"Do you mean was he angry because I subjected his firstborn to the not-quite-death of a thousand cuts?" She shrugged. "Didn't seem to bug him."
"Well, you know." Buffy forced a smile. "That's all past."
Faith laughed. "Sure, B. But that's not exactly what I mean. It's not like he forgot what happened with me and Wes. It's like he didn't care. He even seemed to think it was kinda funny. I know that it's not like I'm the one to be judging family dynamics, but those Wyndham-Pryces make the crew at Wuthering Heights look functional."
Buffy froze and leaned down to look deeper into Faith's eyes. "Willow? That's not you in there, is it?
"Because I can't have read a book?" Faith demanded.
"Well --" Buffy stammered. Well, maybe they have pictures. Maybe she sounded it out. "Sure, but, my first instinct. Body-switches? I mean, there is a history. "
"A history," Faith laughed, "It's all past, but there's a history. That's all this damn city is, Buffy, it's history. How do you stand it?"
Buffy felt a snappy reply rise to her lips before she even knew what it was, and then. Two birds with bad attitudes cooped up in a hotel room. This either leads somewhere bad or somewhere. . . She jumped to her feet, suddenly decisive. "Come with me and I'll show you."
Faith ran a hand over her scalp. "Hair's stilll wet, B, and nowhere in my job description am I required to move my ass from this bed while the sun is out." Seeing Buffy's determined face, she groaned. "Right, you don't have to say it. When in Rome."
(End Chapter 2)