Fearless
They are both young girls, yet (and therefore as a result) not afraid to die. They are both human, yet not afraid to kill.
Twenty Four Hours Before:
It was the battle of a lifetime. Fighting vamps was kickass, but fighting a Slayer, that was the ultimate. Faith flung herself into the fight like she was three girls, not just one, and damn, Buffy had moves like she had tits; you weren't expecting them till they took you by surprise and left you staring. Till she regained her cool, 'cos she always did that. Damn, the battle of a lifetime. Who'da known?
Also, she was losing. On her turf, on her terms, she'd brought the battle to her and she was losing. Not that it mattered, 'cos win or lose, it's all in how you move, and she was giving Buffy all she had. Not that Buffy deserved any less.
Still, she hated to lose. It hurt her, like it wasn't supposed to happen. Another Slayer thing, like those freaky dreams. She'd never liked losing, natch, but she'd never felt the horrible clench of pain like she did when Buffy kneed her and she bent over double. Pain like Buffy'd slammed her with a double dose of conscience. Pain like Buffy's cynical laugh as she got Faith in a headlock. Dammit, Faith hated this losing thing. If she ever talked to the sugar daddy again, she was telling him losing on purpose sucked. Only, he'd correct her language.
"Come on home, Faith. You've got mouths to feed."
"Wanna start now?" Faith managed to gasp. "Whatcha hungry for: tongue, or cunt?"
Now
They move like they choreographed it, fight like they planned it, slide around each other more like ballerinas than like the warriors they are.
Twenty Hours Earlier
"You didn't think I wouldn't spike the blood, did you B? The Mayor doesn't leave anything to chance."
"You... you..." Buffy, who always had words on her side, didn't have any for Faith.
"Me what? Me, you, nice tropical island somewhere, lots of sunlight? Don't have to worry about loverboy turning to dust anymore."
"He wasn't my lover," Buffy said through gritted teeth. "You can't understand -- you could never understand -- what we were together."
"Whatever you say, B." Faith flounced out of the warehouse.
Buffy hadn't expected it to end like that. She'd wanted there to be a corpse, something to hold onto, lips to kiss for one last time like in the movies. Not dust. She hadn't expected him to dust without being staked, or set on fire, or... the litany turned her stomach. The litany was her birthright. Stake through the heart, cut off its head, set it on fire.
Her fingers itched for a stake, and whose heart she wanted to plunge it into, well, that was the question.
She could go patrolling, find a nest of vamps, turn them all to dust with a single sharp maneuver. She could make soup out of demons' hearts, devour them from the inside out. She felt that if she found the Mayor now, if the power of her rage guided her stake arm, she could take him out, invulnerability be damned.
Or she could just kill Faith. Preferably slowly.
Now
Inch, inch, pounce. Faith is a wildcat, but Buffy isn't prey, but a cat herself, sleek and prepared. She ducks and plunges at Faith, knocks her off balance. Faith is out of breath for a moment and Buffy uses her advantage to draw Faith further away from the crowd.
Twelve Hours Earlier
Giles had mastered the art of looking sympathetic while being, well, not. It was damned annoying. Buffy glared at him. She could cry, but this was not really the time. If they survived this, then she could cry. Hell, she could throw in the towel, through in her stake, throw in everything. Two years in a row losing Angel? No.
Giles peered at her over his glasses, as if he understood (as if he could understand) that she was strictly business until the Mayor and Faith were dead, dust, burnt to ashes and scattered to the wind.
"Faith is alive?"
"Alive and skipping," said Buffy, a hardness in her voice that she wasn't expecting, even though she felt it in the very bottom of her stomach.
"Then we must use her."
"Giles, she won't fight for us," Buffy said, and for a minute all she could see was Faith, head thrown back with laughter, as she watched Buffy stake two vamps at once. Good one, B. Next two're mine. "She's seriously evil. She -- she killed Angel and laughed."
Giles explained, then. Kill Faith to get at the Mayor. Use their strategy against them. They thought killing Angel would break her.
Buffy was unbreakable.
Now
They fight like girls who've fought their way from hell. They fight like hell fiends, like monsters. The girlishness is stripped away and the demon laid bare, their hands in each others' stomachs are demon claw to demon belly, demons digging for demon guts. They scratch and claw and Faith's long fingernails draw blood. Buffy's blood tastes like summertime and yesterday, and Faith's blood is poison.
Buffy slams a fist into Faith's face, blackening her eye. A quip rises in her throat but dies before it reaches her lips. Faith recoils and punches back, and Buffy, off her guard, stumbles backwards. Somewhere far away, her friends are waging war.
Buffy reaches the thin razorblade out of her back pocket quickly, hoping that Faith's reflexes will be a second behind hers. She cannot hope for more than a second to do what has to be done. It has to be done, she reminds herself, because otherwise, it's something she wants to do.
Buffy's not a killer. That's Faith's job. Buffy is a Slayer, and there is a world of difference.
The world collapses into a pinprick of pain when the razor slides gently across Faith's throat.
She runs. She hasn't got a choice, even if this weren't the plan. The Mayor, or what once was the Mayor, the demon, the beast, the huge fucking snake has seen her and chases her, so she runs blindly, dodging graduates and vampires, not even bothering to throw a stake in their direction. They're beneath her.
It doesn't even occur to her that she's won until she collapses onto the lawn and Giles rests a hand on her shoulder. He looks like he wants to say something but realizes that if he wants her to Slay, if he wants to keep her, he needs to keep silent now. It's strange that he knows that, but he does.
Her eyes are closed when Faith's voice pops the peaceful bubble of exhausted grief with an almost cheery "Hey."
Buffy opens her eyes, and Faith, apparently none the worse for having her throat slit (yippee for Slayer healing), offers her an arm up. She wears a look Buffy's never seen on her before, blank and hurt, empty.
"Guess we're even, huh?"
"Never," Buffy says. "Nothing can make things right between us."
Faith sort of gasps, as if the Mayor's death has just seeped beneath the surface of her skin, penetrating her. Buffy wants to feel sorry for her, she really does, but that well is dry. She hasn't cried and she can't feel pity and the only woman who could possibly understand is her mortal enemy.
Faith, gaze still numb, grabs Buffy's hands. Buffy glances at her friends. They're subdued, but triumph glows on them. They've won the day. It's the Slayers who've lost. The Slayers will never win. Their calling is rooted in defeat. One dies...
She looks down at Faith's hands resting in hers, up at Faith's empty face, and knows what this dance is called. She stumbles towards a kiss, shivering and cold, frightening in its bleakness.
They are both girls, and they are not afraid of anything anymore.