Title: Erase/Rewind (3/?)
Authors: Dolores and Faithtastic
This part: Faithtastic
Email: dolores_l@hotmail.com & inaneway@hotmail.com
Summary: Faith adjusts to life after jail and meets a familiar face.
Rating: R for strong language. There may be future slashy content/subtext, or maybe not…
Spoilers: If it happened to Faith or Oz, it’s probably here. So general season three Buffy, season four episodes up to ‘Wild At Heart’, then ‘This Year’s Girl,’ ‘Who Are You’ and ‘New Moon Rising’ plus first season Angel episodes ‘Sanctuary’ and ‘Five by Five.’
Distribution: UCSL, Dolores’s Domain. Anywhere else, ask and you shall receive.
Feedback: Good, bad, ugly we don't care, we just want it.
Disclaimer: Faith and Oz are copyright to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Productions, Warner Brothers and presumably numerous other faceless corporations. We intend to make no gain from this fic, we’re just trying to redress the balance of the fates of, in our humble opinion, the most neglected Buffy characters.
Notes: This is a joint effort, our first such project so please be kind. Set about six months after Faith’s ‘Angel’ episodes. The title is from the Cardigan’s song on the Gran Turismo album.

****

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Stupid fucker. Faith crashed and lurched through the side door beside the stage. In the corner of her vision she saw those drippy bitches from the halfway house wave to her while sipping on their pina coladas but she pretended not to notice them. She shoved her way through the dancefloor, head down, and barged into some dude and was so drunk that she lost her balance, falling to the floor with a curse. The room was swaying back and forth like she was on a fucking boat - man, she hated boats - and all she could focus on was this guy. His beer was stained down the front of his shirt and the soaked material clung to his well-developed pecs and washboard stomach. She licked her lips. Anger and horniness were almost interchangeable in Faith. In fact, one precipitated the other.

"Hey, you okay?" the guy yelled over the music, let's call him Butch 'cause he was all that. And a real tasty piece of meat too. So Butch reached down a hand to help her up. She knew how to play this game so she let him. Yeah, she could play damsel in distress. Why the fuck not? The rest of the night had gone to shit so she might as well have a little fun.

"Five by five," she shouted into his ear. "Can I get ya another drink?" She flashed a flirtatious smile at him and when he smiled back, she knew she had him wrapped around her little finger already. Guys were such pushovers. Well, most of them. She couldn't figure Oz out at all. Fuck, she didn't even dig him that much, she just thought he might like some company. She wasn't asking for a frickin' wedding ring. Guess a guy like Oz figured he was too good for the likes of her. She couldn't do the cutesy babble thing, the wrapping one leg around the other routine that Willow had perfected. Seems it worked on the babes too if that stuttering Tara chick was anything to go by.

She weaved drunkenly towards the bar and gave a wolf whistle to get the attention of the sullen barman. After ordering two beers she reached into her back pocket for her smokes. Dammit, they were all squashed from how she'd landed on her ass. Stupid, dickwad fucker. See, she'd taken up the habit soon after arriving in jail. In there cigarettes were currency and Faith had been... an accumulator of wealth. Heh. Smoking had been her only true pleasure and, well, now she was addicted. Figures, huh? The others smuggled drugs inside, to deal or to help them through their pathetic lives. Faith had never touched any of it. She'd spent too many days as a kid watching her mother get drugged up to the eyeballs before lunch. Ever since she'd promised herself she'd never be like that... she got her kicks in other ways. Jamming a cigarette between her lips, she turned to Butch. "Got a light?"

He produced a gold-plated lighter from his shirt pocket and lit the cigarette for her like guys did in old movies. That made her, what, fucking Lauren Bacall? That's another thing about her mother; the bitch would beach herself on the sofa watching black and white movies while she waited for her dealer to show up. Sometimes Faith had sat with her in silence, watching the flickering old TV set, wondering when Humphrey Bogart was gonna whisk her away from her trailer trash existence. Back then she believed in shit like that. "What's your name?" he asked as she swigged from her beer.

Faith took a long drag on her cigarette and smirked. "Lauren," she said, exhaling a plume of smoke slowly.

****

It was closing time now and Faith was completely out of her face. Hey, if Butch here was buying then she wasn't complaining. 'Course, she wasn't supposed to drink alcohol with her medication but... fuck, it made her high as kite. Her slayer metabolism meant the combo wouldn't overload her system, it just gave her an artificial happy.

Well, she and Butch had got to talking. He told her he'd done a stint in jail too for armed robbery. She could just picture him packing a sawn-off shotgun and telling cowering grocery shoppers to hit the deck. With a feral grin, Faith grabbed him by the face and kissed him, meeting his tongue immediately. She'd missed this, the coarse stubble that brushed against her lips and chin that was uniquely male. She could taste beer on his tongue, or was it her own?

"Faith," someone said behind her, distracting her from Butch's rough, overeager hands on her breasts. She ignored whoever it was. She wanted to lose herself tonight. It didn't matter who, just that it was a warm body and maybe someone who liked it a little rough. Kink or vanilla, it didn't matter which...

"Faith."

It was Butch who broke off the kiss abruptly. "Take a hike, man," he said in a warning tone over her shoulder. Mmm, he was most definitely butch. That was how she liked her men and she liked her women like... B. Soft around the edges but fierce underneath, a bad girl raring to get out. Faith herself was maybe the other way round. On the outside she was bad but inside she wanted to be good. Only thing was, the bad side still tended to win out 'cause, fuck, it was more fun that way. Mostly, she just wanted to have a blast and screw the consequences. Jail hadn't done anything to change that.

"I need to talk to her."

Butch sneered. "Who the fuck are you? Her *fairy* godmother?"

Finally, Faith turned her head to look at Oz who was standing his ground. Mostly, he looked calm but there was a tiny nervous tick in his eyes, the dope wearing off now. Faith noticed that even though she was having difficulty focusing on his funny-lookin' little face with its spiky bleach blonde hair. "Hey, Oz," she grinned, slurring the single consonant of his name, "you missed your chance, big time. I'm with Butch here now." Faith pawed Butch's chest, still damp from the beer spillage earlier.

Oz persevered manfully. "Faith, please can we talk?"

"Yeah, okay." With a sigh, Faith slid off Butch's lap, deliberately rubbing against his crotch. Leaning over, she licked the side of his cheek. "Don't go anywhere, baby." In response, Butch slapped her leather-clad ass. Definitely kink.

She staggered after Oz, backstage again. The band were packing up their gear and heading out the rear exit to where Oz's van was parked. Faith folded her arms impatiently, waiting for the werewolf to speak. "So, talk."

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you or anything," Oz shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans that were two sizes too big. "I'm just not looking for any kind of attachment right now."

Faith smiled sultrily, actually, it was more of a drunken leer, and stepped towards Oz, running a hand down his chest. "Me neither." The sly little dog... why else would he have come after her?

The bassist caught hold of her hand gently. "No."

"No?" Faith said, anger flaring as she made a fool of herself for the second time that night. She knew she was doing it but she couldn't stop herself. That's what being a total fuck-up was all about, right? She pulled her hand away. "What's up with you anyway? You turnin' into Big Gay Oz? 'Cause I'm thinkin' there must be somethin' in the water in Sunnydale, y'know? I mean, I never woulda figured Red as a rugmuncher, and if you're drivin' stick now, then maybe someone should let B know before she jumps Anya."

There was a moment of silence as Oz regarded her calmly. Most guys she knew, if you said they were homo, they'd beat the crap outta you. What the fuck did it take to make this guy lose his composure?

"Faith, you got a serious problem," Oz said, his voice and demeanour as placid as always. "When people try to help you, you see it as some attempt to get into your pants." The bassist shook his head. "I don't work that way."

"Yeah, well, sooner or later the beast comes out in every guy and you're no different," Faith said, using one hand to steady herself against the wall. Crazy how the world seemed to be tilting at a strange angle... "And, straight up, I don't need anyone's help. Me," she pointed her thumb at her chest, "I'm peachy."

Must've been one of the band members, yeah, the singer, that called out to Oz. He nodded to the purple-haired girl who glanced at Faith with mild interest and a little distrust before disappearing again.

The bassist raised an eyebrow as he backed away. "Yeah, I can see that but, if you change your mind and wanna talk, we're playing here tomorrow night," he said quietly and turned, leaving Faith in the empty corridor.

She didn't really have time to think on that because she doubled over quickly and left a small puddle of vomit on the floor. Carrots, she thought dimly, why are there always fucking carrots? Somehow the thought of Butch sticking his tongue down her throat didn't seem like such a hot prospect anymore. So she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and snuck out the rear exit into the humid night, feeling slightly better already.

****

Continued in Part 4