BtVS B/F-ish (subtext) PG-13 (for a couple words of the four-letter variety)
WARNING : There be angst ahead.
DISCLAIMER : Being of only moderate intelligence and possessing only a fraction of the creativity that Joss Whedon does, I must tearfully confess that the characters of Buffy and Faith are not my creations, nor is anything else from the Buffy-verse. Please don't sue.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS : You can thank the 'Winter Blues' for this one. (I wrote it in February)
SPOILERS : Anything pertaining to Faith from BtVS season 3-4 is fair game. Mild spoilers for A: TS, Sanctuary and 5x5.
So, here we are, eh B? And you, all stony-silent and wicked disapproving again. Shucks girlfriend, the more things change… Aren't you going to say something? I would've thought you could forget if not forgive by now, but no, all you can do is throw that cold, cold shoulder my way. Still 'Better-than-Thou Buffy', even after all this time. Only now, somebody's finally gotten around to knocking you off your high horse.
Shit, girl. I wish I coulda done that. I would've paid plenty just for Front Row Center.
Y'know, for the longest time I was angry with you, guess I still am, maybe I always will be now. Anyway, it started out as something small, like most things do. Sunnyhell was supposed to my town, demons, Scoobies, the whole whack shoulda been mine, except the resident tight ass and Number-One, All-American Slayer wasn't dead like she was supposed to be. Saint Buffy, mistress of all she surveyed, and I was just supposed to be another member of the fawning masses, well, "Fuck this." I said… and I did. I gave it my all, well and truly fucked this town over, except I didn't really, not for lack of trying, but the White Knighters came riding in at the last minute with Her Royal Buffy-ness leading the charge, "Here I come, to save the day…"
Man, I watch too many cartoons…
And you, you stabbed me, B. Turns out you had the cajones after all. I still can't believe you stabbed me. Guess I shouldn't have messed with Dead Boy. But can ya blame me? Even though Sunnydale hadn't turned out to be what I was expecting, I was warming up to it, the Synchronized Slaying, the Chosen Two, the little flecks of gold in your eyes. I was warming up to it. And I could deal with the disappointment of playing second fiddle, but what I couldn't stand was being ignored.
I've kinda always had a little red button inside me labeled 'Push This For Psycho Bitch Mode', and you always did know how to push my buttons, B. Even if you didn't know you were doing it. Like when I finally came out of that way bad coma you dumped me into. I mean, I don't think I can over-emphasize just how un-fun being unconscious for 8 months was. Through it all, having you chase me, and hunt me, and stab me, over and over again. And managing to make me feel bad about it at the same time, cuz it was all my fault anyhow. And it wasn't good enough for you to torment me in my sleep, was it? You had to come up to LA, when I was finally getting my shit together, thanks to Angel and his tortured soul and 'basic-black-is-where-it's-at' wardrobe. You came up there and twisted the knife in a little deeper, the one you left inside me it seemed for your own personal pleasure, the one you're twisting right now.
Not too many people have the privilege of knowing that you're not really Ms. Sweetness and Light. Not sure if I should feel all warm and fuzzy 'bout that.
But now, somebody's finally knocked you down a peg, haven't they, B? Not just a peg though, hmmm…? You've pretty much had the ladder yanked out from under you and a hole dug all the way to Hell, special delivery. How's the weather down there, B? Hot enough for ya?
Y'know I lied, B, it doesn't fade, the scar tissue stays with you forever. A great, big, ugly tear that never quite heals properly. And we all get what we deserve in the end, don't we, B? Our 'just desserts'? Me, I got three years in max detention, a cakewalk for a bad ass Slayer like myself, wouldn't ya think? Three easy years. And you… you got a punch you never saw coming, a pair of teeth sinking into you, draining the life outta ya, a pretty corpse, a funeral with requisite friends and family bawling their eyes out, and lest we forget, this pretty little gravemarker I'm talking to right now.
We all get what we deserve in the end, don't we, B … you must've deserved this… Did you deserve this?
There's no place like home