Checking For Life by Amberina

Faith has a knife. She's good with knives, she's always been -- knives are bad things, daddy used to tell her.

Daddy, oh he cut her up inside. She cut him up outside. It worked out well, didn't it? Blood, oh the blood, it flowed -- between her legs, from his throat, it flowed like wine.

Like wine, it flowed from Buffy's skin.

Faith has a knife. She's good with knives, she's always been -- knives are bad things. Knives can slam into your gut and tear your soul in two.

Buffy moans. She likes her sex rough. She's the kinkiest bitch Faith has ever had the pleasure of fucking with, and Faith wonders what would happen if she sunk that knife into Buffy's gut.

Fred sits in the corner, her eyes unfocused. She's stoned out of her mind, and that's good. That's the only way she'd be okay with this.

Faith's okay with that.

A lick of Buffy's clit, and a stroke of the knife and Buffy's muscles shudder under Faith's tongue.

Yeah, she comes so easily.

Buffy's half out of it. Maybe it's the blood loss. Maybe it's the drugs floating through her veins. Maybe it doesn't matter.

Faith's alert. She's never been more alert.

Her hand grips the knife and she walks over to the corner, where Little Miss Muffet -- Fred, darling, oh she's so pretty -- sits twidling her thumbs and looking like her mind's on another plane. Her mind probably is on another plane.

Faith considers that.

Fred holds out her palm, and Faith tilts her head, watching Fred. Fred's eyes are blank, lifeless. Faith carefully draws the knife across that palm, and bright red blood rises to the surface (oh, it always does . . . they all bleed -- even vampires bleed. Faith's not sure if she bleeds anymore.)

Fred's eyes are completely unfocused as she begins to giggle. The sound is unsettling, and Faith nearly drops the knife. It echoes, oh how it echoes -- within the space where Faith's soul is supposed to be, it echoes.

Faith shakes her head, trying to get a grip on the world again. Her head is spinning -- oh, she's a top on a table, fingertips gripping her head, twirling her until she falls over. Until she spins right off the edge of the world.

Fred's laughter rings in her ears.

Suddenly, Fred stops. Her face is deadly serious, but her eyes are glazed over. "Faith," she says and her voice isn't sweet and she's not precious or innocent, and Faith realizes something, but she forgets as soon as she figures it out.

Faith just looks at Fred. Her voice is caught in her throat, and she somehow knows that she doesn't have to speak. That words aren't really needed. Fred smiles, her grin maniacally stretching across her face and Faith swears she looks like a serial killer.

Serial killer smile. She's guessing that's what she'd see when she looked in the mirror -- if she ever smiled, that is.

Fred takes the knife. Something inside Faith tells her this is a bad thing, but Faith can't stop her -- even if she had the desire to reach out and grab it back she can't force her hands to move. Or her mind to work.

Shit. This could end badly.

Faith nearly jumps out of her skin when Buffy wraps her arms around her from behind. Buffy's arms drip blood -- it nearly looks like she got the stigmata. Or at least that had been what Faith had been going for. Saviour, sacrifice, everything reduced to nothing -- bloody and broken and that's good.

Buffy laughs in her ear, but Buffy's laugh is nothing like Fred's. Buffy's laugh is like crystal -- clear, and musical and so fucking fragile.

Buffy takes a step back, or maybe stumbles back, and the places where Buffy's arms rested are stained red with blood -- with Buffy's blood, oh it's like wine.

"Can it be my turn?" Fred asks softly. "I want it to be my turn. I haven't got a turn yet, and I think I deserve one."

Faith looks at Fred and she nods slowly. Buffy falls back on the bed, and Faith hears the bedsprings squeak slightly under her weight.

Faith watches Fred's hand carefully. A deep intake of breath, and she knows this isn't a good idea, but then again, does she even bleed anymore? Does she? Faith's not sure that she does, and this is one way (the only way) to find out.

Fred's hand moves slowly, but once it presses the blade to Faith's skin, the pressure is determined. Hard, and sharp, and Faith lets her eyes flutter closed as the feeling envelopes her.

She swallows hard and just lets it wash over it, lets it drown her.

She doesn't fight it. What's the point in fighting it? She wants this, wants -- this is just a game when she runs the blade along Buffy's body, but it feels so real when Fred traces patterns around her breasts.

Her eyes open -- and oh, the blood, it's all over her.

I bleed.

Faith stares in wonder. In surprise. In appreciation.

She lets her eyes go closed again, and then she feels Fred's tongue on her skin. Flicking over her nipples with a firm stroke, the knife still carving along her body. Faith faintly hears Buffy moaning on the bed, but it sounds so far away.

Somehow she ends up on the floor, with Fred leaning over her.

Fred smiles brightly, and it sends chills up Faith's spine. Oh, this really really was not a good idea (it was the best she'd ever had.)

Faith lets out a breath she's been holding in for fifteen years. She realizes that this was never a game. Oh, no, not a game. It's real -- and she's won.

Game over.

.End