We don't want your kind here... Bitch
Batman, Gotham City, and all DC characters and situations belong to DC comics. Faith, Willow and Buffy belong to Whedon and Fox.
Willow hung up the phone, and fell back into her pillows with a scowl. Buffy had sounded... bad. Exhausted, sure, that was understandable after all that had happened, but there had been so much bitterness in her voice too. Bitterness, sullen anger, and maybe even a tiny bit of defeat. Given how Faith had acted around Willow and Tara, doing her best to inflict as much pain as possible with her Buffybody disguise, the Wiccan girl couldn't even imagine what she'd done to Riley and Buffy.
"Ack," she said suddenly, scrunching her eyes shut tight against the image that had popped into her mind. "Okay, maybe I can
imagine what she did to Riley and Buffy. Or to Riley as
Buffy." No wonder her friend had sounded so hurt, and so helpless. After all, it had already happened, and nothing they did could undo what little miss psychogirl had done.
Willow's eyes opened, and she glared at the ceiling.
"Maybe nobody can undo what she did, but one thing I can do is make sure she never has the chance to do it again."
Scrambling up out of bed, the Witch hurried back and forth around the apartment, gathering the materials she would need. Tara wouldn't be back from her late classes for another couple of hours, which was plenty of time for what Willow had in mind.
"Buffy says you're gone for good," she whispered, settling cross-legged before her altar. "Only thing is, we thought that before, too, with the coma deal, and you still came back." Setting up the various spell components, she took particular care as she unwrapped a bit of undyed silk from around a small object. The device was heavier than it looked, and even though the metallic casing was crushed and misshappen, she set it within the small pentagram with exquisite care.
"So," she said to the empty room as she surveyed her preparations. With a nod of satisfaction she raised both hands and centered herself.
"Let's see if we can make 'Gone for good' really and truly stick this time, okay?"
The soul-transfer device answered her words with a flare of brilliant light.
Faith was fully concious, she was completely aware and alert... and somehow she still had no idea where she was, or what she was doing.
A train, sure, she was on a train, sitting in a dusty freight car with her back against the wall, staring off into space. All of that, however, seemed much less real to her than the memories of the last two days.
Waking up in the hospital... and discovering that Mayor Wilkins was dead, killed while she slept, because she'd been weak. Because she'd been beaten, and left to rot in a coma for most of a year.
Finding his last message to her, and his last gift to her; the device that would let her excape the trap her life had become, and maybe even deliver some sweet payback along the way.
Having that sweetness turn to shit, just like everything she touched always turned to shit. Buffy, finding her, beating her again
, because Faith had been weak again
, and had tried to make herself into a hero at the last minute.
Being cast out of Buffy's body and back into her own. The body that was filthy beyond any hope of ever being clean. The body that had been degraded and defiled since she was eleven, long before she had any kind of choice about what she did, or what was done to her. Of course, once she did
get to a place where she could make her own choices, she kept right on with the filth and degradation. Because, well, by then there really wasn't any point in pretending she was anything besides a whore and a loser, right?
And now, with her last possible escape gone, with the one person who'd ever truly cared for her gone....
All that was left was her, sitting in the dark, on a train going nowhere in particular.
When she was eleven, and horrifying things happened to her, she'd often cried. Eventually she'd stopped, because it was really obvious that crying did nothing. In dusty, noisy darkness of the freight car, Faith's blank, staring eyes remained stubbornly dry, but she thought she could hear a little girl crying, somewhere, even as light blossomed all around her.
" Her voice was rougher than usual, rusty and choked with old regret and fresh surprise. She lunged to her feet with superhuman speed that accomplished exactly nothing. The glare became blinding, then abruptly faded and was gone, leaving nothing but an empty railcar behind.
TBC, obviously. Gotham and Batman and Crazy!Faith ahead, oh my!