Favorite Daugter

DISCLAIMER: I own them all! Joss lost them to me in a poker game. No, I’m joking. I own no one, and all of that other obligatory bullshit. Everyone belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss and whoever else. The song is "Chinese Burn" by Curve. I don’t own that, either.
RATING: R, for very bad language.
SUMMARY: Faith reflects on the Scooby Gang from a higher perspective.

The rage, it burns like Chinese torture
She’s just someone's favorite daughter
Spoiled and ugly as she willingly slaughters
Friends and enemies, they’re all the same…

They think they’re so fucking much better than me, and maybe they’re right. I see them down there, the little Scooby Gang, and they make me feel lonely. I hate feeling lonely, but I can’t seem to stop looking at them, and it makes me hate them even more. Because I want to be part of them.

They tried to make me feel like part of the group, like I wasn’t just the second Slayer, but that’s how they always thought of me. I was the skanky chick who you partied with and then forgot, not the one you went and talked to when something shitty happened. That was Buffy, friend to all, fighter of all evil, the first Slayer, the real Slayer. Not like me. I’m Faith, the enigma. When I was still "friends" with them I used to tell myself that. Every group needs a mystery, needs an enigma, and that was me. But then I realized that Oz, the little guitarist werewolf was their mystery guy, to them anyway. Like he was so hard to figure out. Enough pot and blowjobs from groupies could make anyone that mellow.

I’m looking at Buffy right now, and Little Miss Thang has her panties in a bunch over something I did. Of course. See, I told her she's like me, but her? Like she could ever live my life. She’s so damn little and cute and blond and pure. But she’s certainly not what she seems, that’s for damn sure. Someday, all that rage she has at this shitty hand life dealt her—or should I say, us—is gonna get to her. See, I let it out. I beat the crap out of whatever I can get my hands on and it goes away for a while, it leaves me alone. But I can see it in her eyes sometimes that maybe its getting to her, and she might let it all out soon, maybe on that boy toy of hers.

I hope I’m not around when she explodes. I don’t want to see that. See, no matter what I might say about B. and all her Pure-As-Snow friends, I liked them. Her especially. We had a bond. And yeah, I know it sounds like shit coming from me, especially with how I reacted to Xander telling me that. But we did. We both got to live this Slayer life, all highs and lows and no in between. It was scary and exhilarating and made me feel like I was strong, even stronger than I am. I loved it, cause when I fought, everything went away. All my mom’s "bad days" and my Watcher dying in front of me and Kakistos’ face, that awful grin when he told me what he planned to do to me—when I was poundin' some baddie, all that went away and my brain stopped thinkin’. That’s the one part of being a Slayer that I miss.

I look at Xander next, and I want to strangle him again. "We have a connection." Sure we do, buddy. If he expected me to buy that shit, he’s even stupider than he looks. Okay, this is how it is—I lied when I said that he meant nothing to me, because he did. First of all, he was the first good sex I’d had since I got to this shitty little hellhole called Sunnydale, despite the fact that I was his first piece. But beyond that, he was sweet and gentle and he…he held me afterwards. Not that that usually means jack squat to me, but with him, it did. Not that I wasn’t in control the entire time, cause, you know, I was.

God, I’m putting this badly. I should just forget about him, and I want to. He’s the Zeppo. That’s what he told me that night. It’s true, to a degree, but beyond that, he’s a fighter and he’d give up his life for any of these people. That’s something about him that I can actually respect. But I can’t look at him for too long without feeling a certain amount of guilt, so I look away from him again.

The next one I see is Cordelia. The little rich bitch who never gave it up to her little boyfriend. Probably why he cheated on her—all promise and no action can make anyone a naughty boy. And from the look on everyone’s faces, she’s taken my place as the smart mouth bitch everyone loves to hate. Good for her. Princess needs a good smack in the face, and boy, I’d love to be the one to give it to her. I didn’t really know her, but I didn’t like her. She hated me too, mostly cause Xander panted like a dog whenever he saw me. She once asked me if this was my natural hair color, the tramp. Wonder how she’d feel if she knew that Xander got to find out.

After I’m done looking at the girl who’s taken my place at the table, I look at the new Watcher and roll my eyes. What a loser. I hope I get to smack him around some. I mean, the little wimp actually thought that he could boss me around. Me! Not to mention that he tried to cart me off to fucking England like so much cargo. I’d really like to cut a few really vital arteries in that guy. Or make a casual call to the Council about his little Cordelia obsession. Some guys are just begging for some jail time, and Wesley fucking Wyndam-Price is one of them. Damn pedophile. Probably the only reason he even became a Watcher is so that he could watch ripe young Slayers jump around. Pervert.

Giles was a much better Watcher. He was tough and sexy and a damn good Watcher. Still is. I mean, he’s kept Buffy alive for three years, through all the shit that they’ve been through. They’re a good team, and that’s another thing I miss about Slayerism. See, my Watcher was like a mother to me. Not like my mother, thank God, because a drunk-off-her-ass Watcher is the last thing anyone needs. I mean that she was the way other people’s mothers are, like Mrs. Summers is to Buffy. Giles is like a father to her, right down to the fucking her mother part.

A little voice in my head says that if I had stayed long enough, he’d be like that to me, too. But that same voice also reminds me that I’d still be number two, the second Slayer. That Buffy’d be the favorite daughter, and I’d be the disappointment. The Zeppo, like Xander. God, that’s pathetic.

Scanning the room, I see the little werewolf is sitting next to his I’m-So-Pure girlfriend, and surprise surprise, he has absolutely no expression on his face. I swear, boy is so fucking whipped. I mean, she fucked around on him with Xander, her best friend. They’ve probably been fucking around for years and just now got found out. But he still crawls back to her like the little puppy that he is. Although by now she’s probably "walking" the dog, so that’s something. I mean, no way in hell is Willow anywhere as pure as she seems.

See, the thing with Red is that I’m so torn between liking her and hating her that it makes my head spin. I mean, she’s an annoying little bitch, so damn innocent and pure and earnest. The little virgin who’s dating the werewolf. But she stood up to me, even when I hit her in a way that would have crippled a vamp. Even when I held a knife to her throat and really honestly meant it when I said I’d kill her. And unlike everyone else, she told me the truth—that it was too late to go back, that I was worthless. It was a truth my mom told me when I was eight. But even then I could tell that sweet little Willow hated saying that to me, hated telling me the truth that had to be told. I want to hate her, and I can’t.

Across from her at the table is someone I can hate quite easily, and I tell you, it’s a relief to have feelings that aren’t confused towards him. Angel. So in love with Buffy that it makes me fucking sick. That bastard played me, fucked with my feelings and made me think that I had a chance with him. Not that anyone else has a chance with Soul Boy, either. He’s too fucking good for anyone but the likes of Buffy. I don’t really want him, anyway. I mean, please. Who wants a pathetic little angst-ridden shit like him, anyway? I bet he just sits around at home and writes sappy poetry. That is, when he isn’t thinking about Buffy.

Buffy. I’m back to her already. Again, it’s a love-hate thing, but it’s even worse than it is about Xander and Willow and Giles. Because me and Buffy, we’re Slayers. Even now that we’re enemies, people who play on two different teams, we still have that thing in common that makes us the same. We have a connection. We’re Slayers, we’re warriors, we were built to fight and kill and die. No one else can know what we’ve had to live through, not even the Slayerettes.

No one can know what it’s like to be the fallen Slayer, either.

See, I pretend that being the baddie is so fun in this scenario, that I don’t regret joining Mayor Wilkins at all. But late at night, sometimes its hard gettin’ to sleep with all this, you know? Because I have to wonder what Marisa, my Watcher, would say if she knew that I defied my calling. I have to see Willow’s face at night, right when I punched her. I have to see Xander turning purple underneath me.

I have to see Buffy looking so shocked and horrified when I told her she was like me, and Giles looking on like the father who’s lost a daughter.

I have to wonder if I could have been his daughter.

But then that voice speaks up again, and I think about the Boss, who always looks so proud of me. Who showers me with praise and presents and says things to me like a father would. That I should drink my milk and not stay up so late. Things that I act annoyed about that secretly really please me.

I know with him, I’m always the favorite daughter, and I think that’s why I stay on his side.

So I slip out of the stacks quietly, without letting them know I’m here. No witty parting remark this time. No cutting observation that will force them to examine themselves and each other, the way Willow made me examine myself. Just some dirty boot prints on the library carpet and a stick I found outside that I wanted to pick up. It just looked so lonely lying there on the ground, I couldn’t bear to leave it. It reminded me far too much of myself. I mean, how damn stupid is that? "I’m a stick."

As I leave, I can hear their laughter echoing after me, and I wonder what was so damn funny. Willow probably said something all cute and quirky, or Xander made one of his dumb jokes, or Giles got too British and everybody laughed as they tried to decipher what the hell he said.

When they laugh, it’s all together, like a big happy family. And I really really want to join them.

But more than that, I don’t want to be the second best. I can’t be second best, not anymore. So all I do is quietly close the door behind me as I leave.

THE END