#defconone

@destructogirlthatsme

                      It never really quiet in the Men of Letters bunker, anymore. The bickering, the research sessions, the fighting and fucking. There's always someone making noise, somewhere, and it's probably hard for the research kids to concentrate.

     Today's no different. Maybe a little worse.

                                Faith's back hits the top of one of the long Library tables, hard. She doesn't have time to do more than wince, because if she stays where she is, she's gonna get whanged on by someone just as juiced up on superpower as she is. She bends her knees up to her shoulders then kits up, uses that kicking motion to launch herself back to her feet and the momentum from that cliche move to another, rounding off on the table top and back flipping to the floor.

         In the name of honesty, Faith would have thrown a twist or a tuck in there, if she'd had the kenetic energy to do it. After all, Sam seems to dig the gymnastics portion of Slaying and she is, in fact, fighting Buffy. She'd like to be at least a little impressive.

                        So, she's vain. Big deal. You try backflipping off a table in front of your arch rival at the age of thirty-five and see if you don't feel kind of awesome about it.

         Something's off, though. If she didn't know any better, she'd say Buffy was pulling her punches but not showing off, not going for the hurt even during training, isn't like Buffy. It's not like this is their first time on the matt, together. Faith's sister Slayer is generally, to be blunt about it, an asshole to spar with. She takes her day out on you, her heartbreak. Her frustrations. Today, though? Her head's not in the game, and this isn't the first time it's happened.