Buffy has always prided herself on her stealth. It’s basically a prerequisite for the whole slaying gig and always came in handy in those days when her mom didn’t know she was a slayer and she had to sneak into and out of her house without getting caught.

These days, though, her being stealthy is less about not getting into trouble and more about not getting caught in a guilty pleasure. After all, she’d always hated when people had watched her train, so why would it be okay now for her to watch Faith train?

She can’t help it though. She’d stumbled across Faith training in the back yard one day and had made it a habit since then to always find herself in the same place at the same time whenever possible.

Faith moves like a predator stalking its pray, cunning and observant until lashing out in a flurry of quick and deadly attacks. Her muscles ripple under her sweat-coated skin, drawing more attention from a strictly hetero girl like Buffy than it probably should.

But watching another girl get all sweaty and hot in the bright sunlight doesn’t mean anything, does it? Lots of girls do that, right?

Temporarily distracted in her spot just behind the back door, Buffy steps forward a few feet and onto the porch, unaware that her hiding spot is no longer a secret. Faith looks up quickly just as she strikes out at the punching bag Xander had strung up from a tree limb, sending it flying across the yard and directly into Buffy’s gut.

A loud ‘oomph!’ escapes Buffy’s throat as she stumbles back and lands flat on her ass on the old wooden slats of the porch, her stealth tossed out the window. Faith runs up and kneels at her side to make sure that she’s okay, stray strands of her long dark hair falling free from her ponytail and framing her concerned face.