Smitten

And lo, Dylan sayeth, "Get thee back to True Faith", and sadly sayeth I that I knoweth not what happens next; and lo, Dylan sayeth, "Get thee back to Smitt and and truly back to Smitten goeth I.


Chapter Seven

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Solitary girl I have been
Living in a cell made of skin
Sealed inside myself, nothing gets out or gets in
I can't feel what you feel

Show me the way to my heart.
Show Me, by Bree Sharp

*


Buffy could only watch as Faith sauntered into the warehouse. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't even run away. Her entire world narrowed to that single point. Only the slamming thud of her heartbeat proved that she wasn't a ghost, she was real, but the icy wind had turned her to stone. Every action seemed to slow to a standstill and race forward at the same time, faster than light. Her body was straining, muscles trembling, as her Slayer-self raged beneath the surface, ramming the walls of her control, fighting to move and hurt and kill.

She couldn't. God, not now. She couldn't give in to that want, that aching desire. The hot, slippery fury building inside would erase her, make her forget whatever shreds of her normal life were left. It would mean forgetting Angel. As soon as she followed Faith, there would be no going back. No more pretending. And it was all happening so far away, and she couldn't do anything to stop it, and Faith was facing half a dozen armed Eliminati with only a stake and a smirk.

"The Slayer," Balthazar wheezed.

Faith nodded. To all the world, she looked calm, casual, almost bored, smiling faintly at the vampires that surrounded her and the enormous demon in the tub in front of her. It was an act. Buffy could sense it; she nearly gagged under the nauseous weight of Faith's fear. It crawled through her, like ants inside her skin, tightening in her stomach and cutting off her breath.

Giles was craning his neck, looking around the warehouse. Searching for her. He expected her to rush into the fray from some unpredictable direction. Charging to the rescue. The good slayer. Have a cookie.

Buffy closed her eyes. Balthazar screamed again, this time in triumph. The vampires growled and chuckled, their swords ringing as they drew them out of their scabbards. The easy, measured tread of Faith's boot heels continued across the cement floor. What Buffy sensed wasn't fear of death, or pain. In a perverse way, Faith welcomed pain, and some night when she came off worse in a fight she would welcome death too. Buffy knew that like she knew herself.

Wesley was begging and pleading, his whimpers and cries grating on Buffy's ears until she wanted to cringe and run, not stopping, never stopping, no matter how she hurt. No matter if she killed herself running. Deeper than the slay-lust lurked the part of her that thrived on the tiny hurts and wounds that slaying brought. That was what she feared; that was worse than death. Knowing that some day her own body would turn traitor on her.

Faith's fear, though. That was different. Buffy could nearly taste it in the air, her Slayer senses coming alive whether she willed it or not. Grease and meat scraps from the rendering plant. Sea-salt and motor oil from the docks. The tinge of rot and damp earth, the thick soupy odor of Balthazar himself, and the tang of Faith's worry.

Buffy could read Faith's concern in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, the tense muscles of her back. Faith twined her fingers together and cracked her knuckles, shrugged a kink out. She was frightened, not for herself, but for Buffy. She glanced at the vamps holding Giles and Wesley. She walked between them and grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks, yanking them away. She slammed one into the wall and the other into a clatter of metal shelves. A third vampire moved forward to guard the watchers, but Giles crunched his face with a head-butt and he fell.

Buffy turned to the wall, huddled against it, and slammed a fist into the brick. Mortar crumbled beneath her fist. She gave an angry cry, halfway between a glad shout and a denial. Faith couldn't be worried for her. She didn't want that. Didn't want this. She didn't. She'd never been truly afraid, not since being Called, but now her mind was frozen, memories and dreams ripping through her--

Faith with a knife in her gut, blood juicing slick and warm over her hand--laying pale and horribly still in the tomb of her hospital room--

Faith freed Giles and Wesley with a sword dropped by one of the Eliminati. She raised it and headed straight for the nearest vamp. She was, by no means, the swordsman that Buffy was, but she understood sharp steel better than even Giles; and, oh, God, she was beautiful to watch as she fought, smooth and free and ferocious. She whirled around, ducking the vampire's blade, getting close enough to hammer him with punches. For a moment, she had the upper hand, wild and powerful, and then the vampire struck her face with the pommel of his sword. He gashed open her cheek, and blood flowed down over her face, droplets spinning off as Faith's head whipped back. He paused to gloat, and she sliced his head from his shoulders, so fast that it hit the ground before it dusted.

--the fading bruises on Faith's cheekbone, the cold alley last night--The Eliminati came at her from all sides now, but Giles beheaded the one he'd knocked down, and Wesley tripped another as he stumbled out of the way. Faith battered her sword against a third vampire's, trying to break through by strength instead of finesse. There was a clash of metal, shrieking, and suddenly Faith's sword went flying. Not pausing even for a breath, she smashed through the vamp's guard and burst his ribcage with a stake. He shattered into dust, the remnants swirling around Faith as she turned to the others. They were wary, now, only four of them left, but Balthazar's shouts drove them forward, and Faith was panting, her eyes wide and desperate, and still Buffy couldn't move. This was wrong, all wrong. She was the Slayer. Her blood was pounding, her eyes hot, and she stuttered on the edge of action. She wouldn't let her bs des desires to overwhelm her mind. She was too close to the edge, too close.

--Faith's frantic kiss, teeth and lips and pain and pleasure--Faith's fingers buried inside her, her body melting on the verge of orgasm--

Three Eliminati attacked Faith together, the fourth dueling with Giles, and she nearly went down under the strength of their charge. She yelled, the pained cry forced out of her. Buffy bit down on a scream until her lip bled. Please God she wouldn't lose Faith, or elf.elf. Please God, not the way she'd lost Angel, please God...

--ashes and lust and dark eyes dying, faded roses and gravedust, Angel bursting into nothingness at the end of her stake--her lover, dying--

Dying--

Faith was dying.

The madness came.

Buffy flung herself through the window, smashing the glass, shards raining down on the fers ers below. She landed full on an Eliminati's back, and her stake found the perfect spot between the ribs, sliding through muscle and meat. She knew the instant the wood splintered his heart; the knowledge came to her through senses that weren't her own, that she had never known. Satisfaction flooded through her, more primal than anything she'd ever felt.

She was up before he even dusted, and suddenly she and Faith were back to back, both facing vampires, both breathing hard with fear and adrenaline and exertion. Buffy could feel every twitch of Faith's muscles pressed against her, telegraphing her plans. They attacked as one, fighting heedless of any pain. Buffy felt the vampire's blows, but they only goaded her forward. Bruised and bleeding, Faith struggled behind her. The Eliminati were growing bolder, sensing weakness; the salty tang of blood was in the air, and they slavered as they approached. Only two left, Giles's sword bringing down his opponent, but Faith was fading and Buffy was trembling, high on the slaying, careless, leaving herself open if only it meant one more kick connecting--one more fist smashing open the vampire's face--anything for the pain, the thrill, the kill. Then her vamp was dusted and Faith's disappeared a moment later and Buffy was clawing her control back.

Balthazar lifted one hideously puffed and and pointed at Faith. The air between them shimmered, and suddenly Faith was flying towards the pool.

"Faith!"

The scream didn't even sound like her own voice, but Buffy's throat was raw with it as she sprinted across the warehouse. Balthazar was laughing, his hand connecting with Faith's throat and squeezing. Faith struggled, bringing up her hands to knock Balthazar's arm aside, but she was too weak. Buffy bent over as she ran and grabbed up another loose sword, hurling it like a javelin straight towards Balthazar's chest. He lifted his other arm and telekinetically knocked it aside. Buffy used his distraction to reach the tub and break his hold on Faith. She jabbed her stake deep into his hand, feeling the loose give of his flesh. Faith fell to the floor. Buffy broke the line holding up the lighting rig. It fell into the water, and suddenly the room was full of the stink of frying meat. Balthazar shrieked, the sound of it going on for an entire minute before his body stopped sizzling and he lay still and smouldering in the remains of his pool.

Buffy backed away, shaking, then knelt beside Faith. Balthazar lifted his head and hissed, "Slayers...you think you've won...when he arises, you'll wish I'd killed you all." Again, he slumped, and stopped moving.

"Faith..." Buffy could feel herself shivering, as if she was feverish. Fear and lust. She crouched over Faith, forcing her shoulders not to tremble--she could feel Wesley and Giles approaching, their heartbeats resounding in the echoing space. The human-smell of them was strong in her nostrils. Wesley still stinking of fear. Faith was alive--her heartbeat was slow and regular--but Buffy needed her to wake up, to reassure her that everything would be all right. To kiss her and hold her, skin on skin, heat and sweat mixing to prove that she was alive, she was real, she was Buffy. Not lost.

Slowly Faith opened her eyes and Buffy helped her to her feet, but she had no idea which of them was supporting the other. Faith was cut in a dozen places, her jeans ripped and bloodstained, her shirt hanging open across her ribs. Buffy could feel the deep tiredness in her muscles that spoke of strains and sprains.

Giles reached out to her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and Buffy flinched away from his touch. She saw the look of surprise and sadness cross his face, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't stand his touch--she still wanted to slay--only Faith's arm around her was holding her together. The feel of her body warmed Buffy in the freezing air of the warehouse, making her feel human once more.

"Buffy." Giles' voice was calm and soothing. She looked up at him, and now there was understanding in his eyes. He knew. He'd known all along that this could happen to her--that her control could break. "Do you have the amulet?"

She nodded, and reached in her pocket to draw it out. She handed it to Giles quickly, trying not to cringe when their hands brushed together. Wesley looked like he was about to say something, but Giles' glare, for once, shut him up before he got started.

"We've discovered how to destroy it," Giles said, still speaking slowly and gently, as if she would startle if he made the slightest wrong move. "Like Mynhegon's glove, it can be destroyed with the Living Flame. Wesley and I can do that tonight. The Eliminati will not rise again."

Buffy nodded again, once, sharply. She couldn't meet his eyes, or look at Wesley at all. Faith's breath was hot against her shoulder, and their sweat made their skin slide together where their arms were bare. Buffy had to move, to escape, something. The coldness was fading from the warehouse, and Faith's body growing hotter. Buffy knew what she wanted now. It seemed like forever since she'd known, and since she'd denied herself. This had to end, the molten flow of want easing like lava inside her veins. Let Giles and Wesley leave; she wanted, she needed Faith. Now, please now.

Faith stood straighter for a moment. "Take the weasel with you," she muttered.

"Who?" Giles asked.

"The guy. Some snitch found us. Alan Finch."

Buffy waved an arm towards the door. "I left him outside."

They found Alan Finch hunching behind a pile of trash, trying to blend in with the alley. Giles put a vise grip on his shoulder. "You'll come with us."

Alan nodded his acceptance.

"And, Faith," Giles said. He glanced at Buffy, then continued. "I trust you two to get yourselves home and see to whatever ails you."

He wasn't talking about their injuries. Buffy looked at her hands. Her fingers were still trembling, and she made fists to hide it. She didn't want Giles to . S. She didn't want anyone to know. She wanted, but only on her terms.

Faith waited for Giles to drag Wesley and Finch along the alley back to the main streets, heading for the library, and then she collapsed once more against Buffy's side. Showing weakness. Something she would never have done a week ago, two days ago. Vulnerable. Open, ready, waiting.

Buffy gave a shuddering sigh and pulled Faith close, holding her up as she led the way to the motel.


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Aw, y'all know what happens next, don'tcha? Well, to be continued, anyway.