Debts II: Eulogy
by Te

Disclaimers: Lots of cool people, none of 'em are

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*. 


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 

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,

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

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 

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 

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...