It's almost enchanting, Buffy Summers thinks, because she's so scared to dance in the shadows. Faith thrives on the dark, lives in it; like the vampires she slays, the demons she devours in flashes of splintering wood and pure, sheer flesh. Buffy doesn't quite know how to dance as Faith does.

It's like she's the waltz and Faith is the Tango. Buffy is structured, elegant though well put together; Faith is passion set ablaze, fire kindled aflame.

Buffy can't help but remember that standing too close to the fire gets one burned. Buffy is cautious. Faith is a monster.

"Hey, B!" Faith calls, out of breath and excited. A grin spreads across her lips, rips her dimples into visible existence, and her dark eyes glimmer like onyx malice, "Ya gonna stand there all day, or are ya gonna kick some vampire ass?!"

Buffy realizes, in embarrassment, that she's musing in real-time about the nature of Faith's actions. The Slayer with the vividly red lips only relentlessly pounds a deformed creature in the chest, and neglects the use of her stake entirely. Buffy plants a solid foot in a less solid chest and drives her stake through an undead heart. Little particles of grain fall around her like fairy dust and the sounds of Faith's raw, bloody knuckles landing in perfect THUNK THUNK THUNK! blows against deceased skin.

Faith, Buffy thinks, and plants another stake, is just like poetry in motion.

They fall around her easy, even when her mind isn't all there. It drifts around, here and there, but it's so easy and so true. Buffy works in fast-motion, like a robot programmed to the hunt. When it's done there's a silence. The deafening sound blankets them, and the over-eager, younger Slayer offers a sly grin. It's cancerous, Buffy thinks, like the cigarettes Faith smokes, like the air Faith breathes.

"Real five-by-five, hah, B? You oughta take a page outta my book." Her hands triumphantly slip to her hips, and on her toes Faith even still fails to reach Buffy's full height. Her chest sticks out proudly, but her face reads only a convergence of need for approval. Buffy doesn't answer right away, and Faith's expression falters. For a second, Buffy sees the dimples briefly slink back into the contours of Faith's skin.

"That was definitely good work, Faith. But I'm not very partial to blind rage, myself."

Faith just laughs, and Buffy listens. Faith is the fire and Buffy's the ice. Buffy is safe where Faith is exotic; like the comparison of a daisy to a thorny red rose. Faith is wrapped in barbed wire, and Buffy is swaddled in warm pillows.

Buffy stares at her a little too long, but Faith only says, "Maybe you should learn that control isn't everythin', hah? Walk on the wild side—ya know, laugh in the face of danger, ha, ha, ha, ha—"

And Buffy kisses Faith.