Debts II: Eulogy by Te 6/99 Disclaimers: Lots of cool people, none of 'em are me. Spoilers: Revelations, Bad Girls, Consequences, Graduation 1. Summary: Faith does some thinking. Ratings Note: R for language, some implied f/f, may prove disturbing for some readers. Just remember, there are sequels. Author's Note: Just for the love of Faith, really. This is sort of a sequel to "Honest and Kind," though I don't think you need to read that one first. Acknowledgments: To Woodinat for fine audiencing, and to Spike for being The Spike and the other mutant pea, besides. Also to Mama Kate and Viridian for truly helpful suggestions. ****** Gwendolyn Post kept a journal, just like any other Watcher despite the fact that she'd been kicked out. She was good, real good about appearances. The first Sunnydale entry is stuffily disapproving of everything about this place, and I'm pretty sure she meant it to be a slam of America, as well. I think she'd have been happier if the Hellmouth had appeared somewhere *tasteful*, like the suburbs of London or whatever... I wonder what it's like over there sometimes. What it is about England that makes people so damned *starched*. I'm drifting. *Mrs. Post Mrs Post Mrs. Post*. There. Her second entry starts out with "Faith responds refreshingly well to proper discipline." Blah blah "nearly a textbook case of stick-and-carrot" blah "really, for all we have learned about Mr. Giles, it's really quite surprising he hasn't noticed this himself. Faith is a Watcher's *dream* of a Slayer, the likes of which probably haven't been seen for generations, while Buffy is the unfortunate reality." I'm not even going to pretend I had any deep reason for memorizing that bit after I found her fake journal. Yeah, she lied to me, used me, helped me fuck it up with Buffy and her friends *again*, but.... But Mrs. Post just wasn't the type to use anything but a quality tool. Yeah. I like the way that sounds. I think she would've gotten along with the Boss, if probably in a really freakish way. It would have to be an Evil to Evil sort of connection, since Mrs. Post wasnt the miniature golf type either and *fuck* I'm doing it again. Mommy and Daddy. I don't need a shrink to tell me that, or to raise an eyebrow at my choice of parents. And it isn't my fault about the Boss, either. I tried... I was just going to..... Fuck, I can't even *think* about what I was going to do. The Boss... he made it incest and I don't want to think about that now. Sometimes I dream time has passed, like five or ten years. I don't know what's changed with the world beyond the fact that I'm all calm and in control of my life and situation. I'm always sitting somewhere, drinking something strong and expensive, maybe with some generic classical music in the background. And in the dream I'm smiling. I'm not sure who I'm smiling at, but I know they're smiling back. And that's it. Nothing else happens in the dream at all, except maybe for me eating some sort of classy restaurant food, or maybe running my hand over the silk of my sexy clothes that no one thinks make me look like a slut. I don't kill any bad guys, I don't act as the Ultimate Sexual Conqueror. See, that's the beauty. I don't *have* to, because not only do *I* know I can do anything I want and anything they want from me, *they* all know it, too. I've never tried to stop having those dreams. It's all right, you know, 'cause I'm older. It's not like I'm trying to make up a fantasy life to take the place of my own. I'm not that weak. Nobody ever caught me sitting in my room mooning about what could never be or some shit like that. I went out and took it. Or at least I tried to. But I was talking about me and discipline. The first time I read Mrs. Post's journals I actually blushed. I didn't want her to think of me that way. Or to have thought about me that way, I guess. She was dead by then. I'm such a fucking stereotype. Worse. A... caricature of myself. Somebody says discipline and Faith's brain automatically hands out the whips and chains and candlewax. Don't have to bother with leather, 'cause chances are she's already wearing some. I've never been able to blame the nice boys and girls for not liking me, not really. Not as much as they probably think I do, anyway. But it took me a few minutes to figure out that she was just talking about the old thing on how kids need a firm hand. I always thought stuff like that was written by child abusers who wanted to be congratulated for getting their yayas, but hey, even a pervert can be right sometimes. They sure were right on about me. I think I managed to give her the teenaged asshole routine for about a minute and a half before she was proving to me in several painful ways that I was nowhere near invincible. And then she started teaching me how I *could* be, someday. It was the best workout I'd ever had that didn't involve actual killing, and it felt fucking *good* to do it for Mrs. Post, who sparred with me like she fucking meant it *and* enjoyed it, barking out commands, suggestions and praise in the same tone of voice for hours that passed like minutes. And when she announced that our time was over I was disappointed and actually *stunned*. I knew, I just fucking *knew* she'd be gone and I know it showed on my face. I hate that. I hate when I can't hide. Just because I usually don't want to doesn't mean I shouldn't ever be able to but nothing ever works that way. No free hiding places... She smiled at me -- really smiled without any condescenscion at all and said, "tomorrow, two o'clock sharp." And I said "yes, Mrs. Post," but I really said thank you. And then she had to go and make herself the tool of some demon's fucking *accessory* and even when I knew I still fought against the knowledge, against Buffy. I guess I've always had at least some idea of what I really needed and who could give it to me. And I actually surrendered as soon as Mrs. Post had me a bruised lump on the floor. See, she wouldn't have even had to give me all that *skill*, 'cause I knew I could learn just by... well, just by watching her. Some people just have *it*, that something that tells you to give up no matter what, 'cause he or she is going to make it better. Make *you* better. Like a neon tattoo from God, maybe arrows pointing at them where an aura would be, but it's there. And I know the reason I've lasted all these years -- even when I wasn't a Slayer -- is that I have no compunctions about... apprenticing myself out to the... to the worthy. It certainly wasn't hard to join up with the Boss, and he just kept making it easier. Part of me likes to think that I went to him in some sort of last-ditch attempt at redemption, that I thought I could just infiltrate his defenses and get Buffy everything she needed to take the bastard down. But he *isn't* a bastard, and I know I knew even then that I wasn't doing this for Buffy. Though I guess it was probably at least somewhat *to* her. Fuck, she's beautiful, and she's a Slayer, and that didn't have a thing to do with anything. Not, really. It was the look in her eyes. It was the way she craved my way of life. It was the feel of her body -- much too hot -- on the dance floor. Sure, I would've hit on her anyway, but her eyes... Her little normal life, her moralizing friends... It didn't matter that it was stupid of her to wish for more, because I just thought it would make it easier in the long run to have her, all of her. She wants more, she wants to be a bad girl, fine... I'd be right there for her, waiting with open arms and some weaponry. Just for her. Anything for her. To touch her, to hold her, to kiss away the stains whenever she felt dirty, to lick away the shine whenever she felt too clean. My mouth remembers exactly what her nipple felt like, the weight, the heat, the tiny hardness... But the fucking Deputy Mayor. God, if I'd only weighted him down more, hacked him up... something. Christ the thought makes me sick but maybe it would've worked out somehow... Sometimes I wonder if I could've gotten her just by doing what she asked and going to Giles *with* her immediately. Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I was thinking when I lied to Giles. And then... and then, fuck. I can't say I know what I was doing, but I can't say I didn't know either. I wanted her separate from her friends, by any means necessary. I wanted to be the one she went to first, 'cause she knew I would always be there. Always for her... whether or not she was the person I wanted her to be, because she *could* be, one day, and fuck wasn't it time for me to have someone anyway? And I fucked up all over the place, and now it's too late for anything but the Boss' last solution for me. Too late, well before motherfucking *Willow's* little speech. I should've controlled myself with Xander that time. If I'd just fucked him it might have still been... Fuck, is this what they mean by seeing your life flash before your eyes? I'm done, I'm fucking *done*. And if I have to die with nothing but a big black velvet wall in my head, that's just fucking fine with me. No, no...I'll die with the image of Buffy wearing my clothes and swinging my knife. That's how I'll go. Nice and easy and if she really doesn't know what she's doing, who she's trying to be, who she *will* be if she isn't careful.... Then maybe she was just too stupid for me, after all, and I can cut my losses right here, just the way I want to and I'll be the baddest fucker in the brimstone. Or maybe I'll just find whatever exit Angel used. Yeah... exit -- The Boss is shaking me, yelling. His eyes... his eyes are so dark and solid, and his hand is cool and sweet on my forehead. I try to tell him I'm sorry, I never wanted to fuck up again and I want to cry and this fucking *breath* comes in and hurts so bad... And suddenly I can see myself rolling off that truck at the sight of City Hall... rolling off and landing with a fucking *crunch* and all I saw was the stars then but I guess the Boss found me. But he's gone, and instead there's that vampire who'd been tagging along with me the past few times the Mayor sent me out. I'm pretty sure he wanted me to try the guy as a boyfriend. I bet the Boss would call him my beau and fuck oh fuck he's biting he's biting Boss it hurts can feel him draining me oh I don't have that much left Boss please it hurts it hurts -- Oh... oh please God I swear I never wanted this... End.