Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". The television show and all things related are the express legal property of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy, and a lot of other people who aren't me. Please don't sue.
Author's note: This story is my take on the "Helpless" episode. In the universe of this story, "Helpless" never happened, this is what occurred instead. What if the sadistic Watcher's Council decided that the "18th birthday" test was too outdated for the two slayers of 1999. . .and gave Buffy AND Faith a new, more suitable test?
Dark.
Sweaty.
Humid.
She struggled against her restraints, tiny shreds of hemp rope embedding themselves in wrists and ankles, itching and biting. Slowing her breathing and falling completely silent, she could hear noises, unfamiliar chirpings, buzzings, gurglings, rustlings. With a supreme effort, she threw her feet out in front of her and tried to pull herself to an upright position, fighting sore and fatigued muscles. Her head throbbed and she blinked her eyes. Nothing. Blindfolded. She grunted in frustration, trying desperately to discern her whereabouts. She was hot, so hot, sweating profusely. The humidity was cloying, an earthy, green smell invading her nostrils. Foliage, both soft and scratchy, flexible and stiff, short and tall brushed against the bare, slick skin of her legs. She faintly heard the dull roar of a large. . . river? It was impossible to tell which direction it it was in. Still unsure of her exact location, she was sure this wasn’t home. And she was suddenly, frighteningly sure that she was very far away from home. . . from anywhere that was even vaguely familiar. A small cry of disgust slipped past her lips suddenly as she felt something alive and sickeningly poly-legged skitter over her knee. The coppery taste of blood seeped in through the corner of her mouth. She spit it out with a grimace and a soft moan. Great, the head wound was still bleeding. . .
Head wound? She couldn’t remember. . .
Patrol. The last thing she remembered clearly was patrol. She had followed a fleeing vampire into the sparse woods near the graveyard. . . and heard laughing. Laughing that wouldn’t stop, the laughter of someone enjoying a darkly humorous display. And then. . . nothing. Nothing after that. Probably where the head wound comes in, she mused. She began to struggle a little harder and connected with hot, smooth skin. She inhaled sharply, pulling away on reflex. She listened carefully - nothing. Cautiously, she nudged the body with one black work boot. Still nothing. Whoever it was, they were unconscious. Not dead. . . she knew a dead body from a live one, this one was just not conscious. Moving closer and turning around, she ran her still-bound hands over loose fabric, smooth legs. . . the person was female. On instinct, she twisted around sharply and bent her head to where she thought the other girl’s neck was and inhaled deeply. Relief washed through her as she recognized the faded scent of lilacs. Somehow, the presence of that comfortable familiarity allowed fear to slice through her hunter’s calm clarity, terror sinking ragged claws into her heart.
“Buffy!” Faith half-sobbed, cuddling her now-shaking form closer to the older, smaller slayer in her fright. From the dense foliage, a low, evil chuckle sounded in delight at the scene the two slayers unwittingly presented. He almost wanted to kill them. . . but what would be the fun in that?
* * * *
“Hey, Giles!” Willow sounded cheerfully as she strode into the library. “Seen Buffy anywhere?”