Author: Regala Electra
Rating: R Overall
Pairings: Faith/Wood, Faith/Buffy, Faith/Wes, Faith/Others
Spoilers: Set after the BtVS & AtS Series Finales
Series Summary: Faith’s seen The Muppet Movie. She likes to think of herself as a master of moving right along.
Part One Summary: Her life’s always been a mobius strip.
Author’s Notes: Series of short ficlets featuring Faith's life post-Chosen. Er, I also am using these fics to set up a context for Faith in the Other Myths That Aren’t True Faith/Dean Crossover Series of Sexy Doom. You do not need to read that series to understand these ficlets, they are mostly BtVS/AtS oriented. Titles to each section are song lyrics, all credited.
what you deserve
(Karaoke Soul; Tom McRae)
A better lie would have been I don't like anchovies. He wouldn't have stopped mid-bite, saying as he frowns deeply, —What do you mean you're not hungry?
This is domestic starvation and needs to be fed by other means. Faith’s boots are stained in Central Park mud and her jeans have grass stains on the knees. There’s no blood anywhere, demon or otherwise. She wants to start an argument, hiss out Take the fucking hint.
He hasn't ordered a pie with anchovies but that excuse would have been easier to swallow. Awareness crinkles the corners of his eyes, his tone gets sharp, going in for the kill, —You're always starving after patrol.
There's no quick joke for levity's sake, no smile for precaution, nothing to tip the scales in his favor. Wood should be showing off now, revealing how much he knows her, how close quarters and a shared bed have forged intimacy—something real.
Not just for food, she mutters, pulling a slice off the pie before dropping it unceremoniously back into the box. The grimace is as least honest; the rest of her, straight down to her bones, is a lie. If she’d spent another hour wandering around, maybe gotten a few bruises, he’d stop trying to feel her out with guesses that set her teeth on edge. He treats her like she’s some goddamn puzzle and it’s his job to solve the mystery. Time heals no wounds and understanding is not revealed by close proximity. Things change too much for it to be true and the rest (all those good parts she should be grateful for) stagnates. It’s an infection that’ll spread till it kills you.
They had started off strangers, once upon a Sunnydale, and they were gonna wind up being strangers once again—the full fucking circle. Her life’s always been a mobius strip; she just hastened the process. Returns back to familiar haunts as it’s the only thing she knows to do.
—Something’s wrong. He reaches out towards her but halts when he notices the expression on her face. —What happened to you?
She shakes her head slightly. Like you’d know. She doesn’t say that.
She doesn’t tell him because she knows she’ll start laughing because she’s out of tears. A fucking phone tree, that’s what they said, when they explained why it took so long to relay the message.
Angel’s dead. They’re all dead.
So she’d fucked her grief away because it’s what she’d figured was better. Far better that sinking to her knees at the Angel of Bethesda fountain and screaming, This isn’t fucking funny! Faith hadn’t been able to process the irony of the call coming to her when she’d been patrolling the park and that she’d been stupid enough to actually take the call as she’d stopped at the base of the fountain. Found someone who was warm and didn’t want to know who the fuck she was.
She's twisting along the path of her own personal mobius strip again. Now Faith knows she’s never gonna hit that part she figured a person’s supposed to reach: the normal part, the part where she’s more than halfway decent. She’s a fuckup through and through. Her colors have always been grey decked out in shades of red.
I need to sleep, she says and almost believes it. That will not happen, instead she will stay awake and listen to the rain and hope that the others who were saved by Angel have taken up better vigils.
Tomorrow she will wait for Wood to go off to work and she’ll start packing up what little is hers and she’ll be gone before next sundown. But that time has not come yet.
She still has a few more lies to get past before she can leave her pathetic attempts at being a real person behind.
His hand clasps over hers, it is warm and there is a bit of grease from the pizza. He stares at her, thinking he's made the right guess and tries another approach. —Hey. We don’t keep secrets. He attempts to bring her towards him in an embrace and she backs off, quipping about mud and monsters and he lets her get away with it. The best lie is that he believes he loves her.
Her worst lie is that she could have ever loved him.