P.O.V. Faith

When Ripper first told me about Buffy's latest love affair, I laughed so hard I thought the milk from my cereal was gonna burst out my nostrils. Can you picture it? Count Chocula spurting out my nose. Yea, I know. Breakfast of champs. But let's be honest, Count Chocula's really the only vamp I trust nowadays.

I don't trust too many people, to tell you the truth. I don't think I trust Ripper much either, hence the new nickname. Although I'd never call him "Ripper" to his face. It's always G-man, or Giles, and a cheeky grin behind the words. Yea, now I'm his favorite Slayer. Fucked up situation to make that happen though. You'd think I'd be thanking my stars or wishing on 'em or something…ah, fuck it; I was never good with those old sayings. You'd think that this is what I had wanted ever since I lost my first Watcher in Boston and fled to Sunnydale – acceptance – to be the Chosen One. To be needed. To be trusted. To be wanted. But I didn't want it like this.

I don't know what he did to get on B's bad side…. He still bristles if I mention her name. But apparently she kicked him outta the Scooby circle. He's not "privy" to their goings-ons anymore. So now it's just the two of us. The one-person closest to Buffy, the other her most hated enemy. We make quite the pair, really. When we travel together, people think I'm his doting daughter. Other times I'm positive they leer at us thinking it's some messed up May-December thing. But we're doing the work that needs to be done. Doing what B would never stoop so low to do. I guess that's why I got the gig. I clean up the messes B made. But I guess we all made the decision together when she suggested we use the scythe and Red's mojo to make all the Potentials everywhere into the Chosen. The PTB didn't choose them – we did.

And I guess therein lies the problem.

Not that the old Council had any say on who the next Slayer called was gonna be. Cause we all know that I, for one, would never have been chosen if they did have any kind of say. I still wonder about that…you know…when I'm trying to get sleep at night, well, usually trying to get sleep during the day since nowadays I only really get out at night. Laying there alone, wondering "why me?" Why did the PTB call some fuck-up like me to take the Slayer position after Drusilla killed Kendra? It's that kind of thinking that keeps me up. Well, that and thoughts about one tight-assed, bitchy blonde tromping around the continents like she owns 'em all.

See, the problem with us turning all the Potentials into Slayers is that not everyone "chosen" was the Buffy-Anne-Summers-type. Nope. There are a few Faith-Lehane-types causing all sorts of bad around the globe. Abusing their power, I guess you could say. And that's where Ripper and I come in. He finds 'em…. and me? Well, I do what I was always meant to do. I kill. Death is my gift, bitch.

I don't kid myself anymore. I use to give it a misnomer like, "slaying" or "cleaning up Buffy's mess." But it's not that anymore. I've come to terms with it now. I murder the girls who use their super-powers for things other than staking the undead. You either convert and get sent off to Scotland to be "reprogrammed" or…. well…. you know the alternative.

I bet Buffy doesn't even know that I'm still fighting "the good fight." I bet she thinks I spend my days and nights on my back, legs up in the air, leather pants around my ankles, or worshipping at the porcelain throne, heaving up fast food and Jack Daniels. I know what she thinks I am.

But it doesn't mean I don't love her.

I could have said goodbye to all this slayer shit a long time ago. Ripper gave me the opportunity a while back – kill some English debutante and I would be free. He even offered to clear my police record and help me disappear. So I did the deed. Won't lie and say it was easy. But I killed her. And I should be free. But I can't leave. I didn't choose to be a Slayer. It chose me.

I'm not sure how Ripper gets his information now that he's been ostracized from Central-central. It seems kinda out there though – I mean, Dawn's a giant? Xander's bff with Dracula? And now B got down and dirty with some Asian chick? It's enough to make your head-spin. But I believe it all. You gotta in this field of work.

Sure I laughed. Sure I almost spit up my breakfast all over the kitchen table. But hell if it didn't sting. Hell if my heart didn't literally break in two. I always knew Buffy could swing that way – I think it comes with the Calling…something about female empowerment leading to Sapphic bedroom activities. But I guess even though I know she hates me with every fiber of her being, I always thought I would be the one to break her in. That I would be the first chick to taste between those strong, tan, muscular thighs. That I would be the first one to…Oh hell, don't get me started. So yea. I'm heart broken.

Even after all these years, after all this drama, and with all the distance between us – Buffy Summers still found a way to crush me.

+++++

Giles stormed into the apartment with a grim, tight smile on his face. "Faith?" he called, searching for the dark slayer. He looked around the living room and muttered about twenty-something girls who should be able to pick up after themselves by now. "Bloody Americans," he grumbled.

Faith sauntered out of the back bedroom, yawning and stretching like a cat. Her eyes were painted with smoky-tinted eye shadow and dark mascara. Her dark hair was tussled from fitful, tortured sleep. "Yea?" she questioned, her voice raspy. When she saw the figure standing before her, the usual cocky grin appeared, making her deep dimples show. "What's the news, Suga' Daddy?"

The British man rolled his eyes and scoffed. "That's a charming nickname, Faith. But don't flatter yourself."

The brunette tossed out a pouty lip and leaned her form against the open door frame. "Aww… you're so not fun, G-man. Luckily you took some fashion tips from Wes, though. That rogue demon-hunter thing is workin' for ya. Sure as hell beats the alternative. Cause seriously? Tweed?"

Her mouth twisted into a leer. "You know how I like my men in leather," she purred, her eyes drifting over his dark ensemble.

It was a game they played to keep the situation less serious. Faith flirted; Giles played the role of the disapproving and disbelieving father figure. It kept them from thinking about reality because he only visited when some loose handle needed to be tightened.

Giles ignored the comment. He frowned and released a deep sigh before settling down at the kitchen table. He looked tired. No, not tired; exhausted. He stared hard at his hands and then glanced up at the young slayer. Faith took it as a sign to sit down as well, so she did.

He looked into her deeply guarded eyes, searching for her humanity, looking for some emotion. Seeing nothing of the sort, however, he looked back at his hands and spoke in a voice little more than a deep whisper. "Pack a bag. You're going to Boston."

Faith felt her body stiffen at the name of the city. She knew it wasn't a vacation that Giles came to offer. This wasn't a "Welcome Home" party or reunion. It was never good news that brought Giles into her small, but adequate Cleveland apartment. It was always death.

+++++

Boston winters were no stranger to Faith. Cleveland's snowy months had proven themselves not that different, so she was well prepared for the bitter cold of her hometown when her bus pulled into the dilapidated station. "It's good to be home," she mumbled to no one but herself.

Giles had offered to pay for her airfare, but something about riding the Greyhound always centered and grounded Faith. It gave her time to mull over what she was about to do. Gave her space to tangle with her emotions about what was the right thing to do. She liked to believe it's what kept her from turning into a monster. What kept her grasping onto that last thread of humanity, An airplane trip would be far too quick. No second-guessing, no independent thoughts; just do the job and leave quickly and quietly. There was something that made what she had to do more real, dirty, and hard with the bus. And so she denied Giles' transportation offer once again. Faith suddenly smiled, ironically, "Another nice thing about the bus…" she mused to herself, "no one asks questions about the weapons in your luggage."

The girl shouldered her canvas bag and descended the bus stairs into the dark cold of the Boston night. The air smelled like a mix between diesel oil and something sweet, as though a bakery was near. Pulling her leather jacket tighter around her frame, she bent her head into the brisk wind and started off toward the familiar haunts of a former life.

Giles splurged this time and put her up in a swanky hotel – unlike the airfare, classy digs she did not oppose. It was an odd decision on Giles' part, however. She usually stayed in some clean, but unimpressive motel chain. Maybe her Watcher thought it better for her to stay away from the ghettoized neighborhoods that would have unleashed so many memories from a past she wished to leave behind. It was bad enough returning to Boston, regardless of the reason why.

Her objective was clear. Find the girl. Try to talk some sense into her. And if the girl refused…End the girl.

After wolfing down some tasteless burger and a pile of overly salted fries, Faith found herself outside the front doors of a gilded hotel. The girl let out a low whistle, and checking her confidence, walked through the glass doors. Ignoring the hostile stares from every employee and half the guests, she checked in successfully under the fake name Giles had arranged for her. Finally, feeling a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, she avoided the elevator and chugged up the 37 floors to her suite.

Maybe if she hadn't wanted to swim in the giant whirlpool tub and had instead sought out the potentially offending slayer that very night, everything would have turned out differently. But slayers don't get the privilege of hindsight.

+++++

The dark girl wiped the blood from her newly split lip. Looking at her hand and the fresh blood, she smiled sardonically. "I told you," she started, throwing a jab at her attacker's face, "it doesn't have to go down like this."

After a long soak in her massive tub and a night of restless dreams, Faith had awoken early to track down her potential target. It had been pretty easy to find the woman, even in a city the size of Boston. Apparently the woman had been living large and wasn't exactly shy about taking advantage of her new super-powers. After gaining control of the local biker gangs, she and her flunkies had been trashing rival bars and their patrons while openly defying the Boston police.

Faith had found the super-sized woman at her favorite biker bar. The younger girl managed to rub the biker chick the wrong way by stealing her beer and slamming it followed by an invite outside for a rumble.

The woman was big. Really big. And mean. Even without super-Slayage powers she was probably a formidable foe. Her not-so-feminine features turned into an angry snarl.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, girlie. But you don't know what you're dealing with here. I'll snap your body like a twig." The bulky girl thrust forward a meaty fist. Faith dodged the sledgehammer assault and watched as the large woman missed and crashed her hand into a brick wall, splintering the rock into fine powder.

"Wow," Faith quipped, approvingly. "Looks like someone's been eating her Wheaties."

The biker chick growled deep in her throat and pulled a switchblade from her boot. "No one, especially not some skinny assed pretty-girl, is gonna tell me what I can and cannot do."

"Skinny assed?" Faith gasped, feigning anger and mocking the other girl. "Now you're just making me upset. But, seriously. You call that a knife?" The brunette felt behind her and pulled a long blade from seemingly out of nowhere. She tilted her head and looked lovingly at the blade's curves, letting her fingers glide over its sharpened edges. "Now this, my dear,is a knife."

The heavier woman lunged once again toward the brunette, her puny blade looking to hit its target. Faith easily knocked the weapon from her attacker's hand and quickly kicked it into a pile of garbage in the darkened ally where the two women fought.

A brief glimpse of fear passed over the woman's face upon seeing the leather clad, knife- wielding girl. But she set her jaw hard, ready to go down fighting. Faith chuckled realizing the tenacity of the other woman. "See? Now that's the kind of spirit I like to see. We could use someone like you on our side."

Faith put her blade down, as a sign of truce in order to get through to the thick-skulled woman. The killing part was only supposed to be a last resort, anyway. The ogre-sized woman took the opportunity to once again advance upon the now weaponless slayer. But before her beefy roundhouse could reach the leather-covered girl, a bolt of red lightening crashed down from the sky, zapping the larger woman.

The oaf of a woman fell back against the brick wall, stunned and alarmed, a hand clutching at her chest. Faith stood, staring hard at the woman, completely perplexed by the lightening strike. The biker woman was only momentarily motionless however and as she scrambled to her feet she uselessly punched at the brunette's head. Faith, still stunned, awaited the impending smashing of fist against her skull, but felt little more than a badly thrown jab.

Faith blinked hard and continued to stare at her opponent. The woman howled in pain and looked down at her now-broken hand. "You, bitch! Is your head filled with cement?" she screamed. "Look at my hand! My fucking hand!"

The dark slayer couldn't say a word. A Slayer-punch would have tossed her backwards against a dumpster, yet she stood unmoved and unhurt. "That…" she sputtered, "that didn't hurt me. You…you're just a normal girl." Faith's eyes filled with fear. "You're not a Slayer anymore…Oh, God."

She slowly backed away from the woman, as though she had an infectious disease. The woman stumbled backwards until she hit the brick wall behind her. Her large form slid to the grimy alley ground while she held her mangled fingers against her body, pain splayed across her face.

Faith spun on her heels and ran out of the dark alley and into the Boston night.

+++++

The brunette hustled to the nearest payphone and immediately dialed the familiar number that by now was programmed on her fingertips.

After three rings he answered, awaken from his sleep.

"Giles," she blustered, breathlessly. "We've got a problem."

+++++

"So you say that she just suddenly lost her powers?"

The brunette nodded solemnly.

"A bolt of red lightening struck her and it drained her of her powers?"

Another nod.

"But you still have your strength?"

Faith stood up abruptly, walked over to the free-weights in her home gym and bent a straight bar in half to prove her point.

"Giles," she started, annoyed, running her fingers through her dark tresses. "We've been over this before. I'm fighting this chick – she's clearly got Slayer powers – and then ZAP! Normal girl. I mean, as normal as that Big Bertha could get."

The Watcher cleaned his glasses on his sweater for perhaps the hundredth time that day. "Well I'm still waiting to hear from my sources. We can't be sure of anything until we hear if anything's happened in Scotland."

"But Giles!" Faith slammed her fist down hard. "I saw it with my own eyes. My skull felt the total lack of power. She should have crushed my head like a watermelon. If…if this could happen to that biker chick, couldn't it happen to anyone?"

A knowing frown appeared on the British man's face. "Faith, I know what you're afraid of. But until I hear otherwise, let's just consider this a freak accident. At least you didn't have to kill her." The Watcher suddenly winced, "Wait. You didn't kill her, did you?"

The dark slayer scowled. "Of course not, Giles. I might be a murderer, but I'm not into the whole killing of the innocent and weak anymore. Give me some credit."

"You're right. I apologize, Faith." A look of relief passed over his face. Perhaps this slayer wasn't too far-gone to care. "I'll be in touch as soon as I hear about anything unusual with the other slayers. Until then, try to get some sleep." He placed a hand on the slayer's shoulder and gave her a paternal look. "You look horrible."

Faith allowed herself to smile for the first time that day. "Gee thanks, G-man. You certainly know how to charm a girl."

+++++

The phone rang early the next morning. The brunette mumbled incoherently while fumbling to find the bedside phone in the darkened room. The voice on the other end came out steely and unwavering:

"Pack your bag. You're going to Tokyo. And forget about the bus; you're taking a sodding airplane."

+++++

TBC