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How Hard It Rains
Summary: Takes place on two nights in season 3, somewhere between "Consequences" and "Enemies."
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She’s gonna get us killed.
That’s really all I can think as I dodge yet another swing of the long arm of whatever the hell this demon is. She shot it in its side. Its side! What the hell is that going to do, other than piss it off?
The thing lumbers over to where she’s crouched behind a tombstone. I take a moment to regroup, searching the graveyard for Giles and Wesley. Before I can even see a patch of tweed behind a tree, the thing shrieks bloody murder. I instinctively duck down, covering my ears with my hands.
It’s got Faith’s sword sticking out of its belly now, and God, is it ever pissed.
She’s gonna get us killed.
Or maybe it will.
I couldn’t get a good look at it until now, what with all the ducking and dodging. It’s at least ten feet tall, and I can now see a mouthful of several rows of teeth. It’s got long arms and short legs, with a body like an oversized gorilla.
It swings its arms like clubs, just as Faith stands from her spot behind the tombstone. Six inch long claws catch her in the shoulder and she goes flying across my line of vision. I can only watch as she crashes hard into a tree.
Before I can even react, it’s turned on me. I raise my own sword up, actively looking for an out.
I told Faith that fighting this thing was a bad idea, but no. She just had to ignore me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Now that the Council is letting her out on supervised patrols, she’s all action and no talk. Not like that’s any different than before.
it's hard to listen to a hard hard heart beating close to mine
I risk a glance in her general direction to see her stumbling my way, blood pouring from her face and her shoulder. It’s all the distraction the demon needs, wrapping those claws around my wrist and yanking, hard. I hear the snap before I feel it, knowing immediately that my wrist is broken. Searing pain rips up my arm as the demon’s claws tear up my forearm. It grips me again, pulling at my ruined wrist.
Panic seizes my chest: It’s gonna rip my whole arm off.
I hear yelling, screaming, and at first I think it’s me. I see a flash of silver and suddenly the demon lets go. Its head rolls off its shoulders, tumbling to the ground right along with me.
Faith stands over me, sword in hand, looking every bit like a conquering hero.
Her eyes are dark and flashing with violence. Her chest is heaving, blood dripping from her wounds. All over her. And then she’s falling down next to me.
I feel hands on me, but they aren’t hers. I wonder briefly why I’d even think they would be. Wesley hurries into view, barely sparing me a glance as he kneels at Faith’s side.
Giles’ hands are soft, always softer than I think they’ll be, as he checks my injured arm.
“Good Lord, Faith, are you alright?”
Duh, Wes, of course she’s not alright. Neither of us is. But we might be.
Faith smirks up at him, blood from her split lip smearing over her teeth. “Kicked his ass,” she replies, barely able to hold her head up, before promptly passing out.
There’s a lot of fuss in getting us out of the cemetery, into Wesley’s van. Faith called it his child-molester van the other day to see if she could make me laugh. I don’t think I’m ready to laugh at her jokes again.
I look over at her as Wes speeds to the library. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is even, but she’s not peaceful.
I wonder if she has nightmares like I do. Of a stake, and blood, and a man in an alley. I shake my head and turn away.
I don’t look at her for the rest of the ride to the library.
pounding up against the stone and steel walls that I won’t climb
Giles cleans my arm and sets my wrist, clucking his tongue in concern. I just want to go home and go to sleep. This’ll be healed in a few days.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
Faith wakes up swinging, catching Wes in the neck as he attempts to suture the claw marks in her shoulder. Her eyes are wild, searching the room, searching all of us. Her eyes land on mine, and I can’t hold her gaze.
I haven’t been able to for more than a second since that night. There’s too much there that I’m not ready to see. But I told her I’d try. I told her I’d help.
“Faith, it’s alright.” I hate the way Wesley talks to her. Like he’s talking her away from the ledge of a building. I guess if that analogy holds, though, she’d push him right over. I know I would after what he’s done.
She tries to shrug away from him, but I guess it hurts her shoulder. She lets him continue to treat her wounds. The library is quiet, but every word that’s being left unsaid is making my stomach churn.
Giles offers to drive us home, but we both know it’s not an offer we have any say in. We leave Wesley behind and pile into Giles’ car.
“I’ll try not to bleed on the upholstery,” Faith mumbles from the front seat. Giles just ignores her. I close my eyes, listening to the swish swish of the windshield wipers and the pattering of rain on the roof of the car.
sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
Faith has to get out of the car to let me out when we get to my house. I watch her wiggle out of the seatbelt, trying not to jar her shoulder. Giles has to help her pull the seat forward since the door won’t stay open on its own.
She looks embarrassed to need the help. She looks just like a little kid, with the rain wetting her hair and pelting her cheeks.
I take her hand, not bothering to thank Giles for the ride, and pull her up the front walk.
“Don’t argue.” I command, before she can even say a word. “You’re staying here tonight.”
you think that you're gonna drown
I can’t explain why I want her with me tonight, but I just couldn’t let her go back to that rat trap motel room after a night like we’ve had. If I really thought about it, I’d know that it goes deeper than that. Faith doesn’t argue with me, so I don’t think about it.
She follows me up the stairs to my room. I hand her some sweatpants and a t-shirt, and move across the room to change into my own pajamas.
The distance does nothing for us. I can feel her watching me.
My stomach churns again, but this time it’s not an unpleasant feeling. I look over my shoulder at her before pulling my tank top on. Her eyes are black in the dim light of my bedside lamp, and she’s breathing heavily again. Shame burns my cheeks as desire colors hers, and I turn away.
We crawl into bed on opposite sides, consciously staying as far apart as possible. We lay side by side, not touching, not speaking, just listening to the other breathe. In and out. In and out.
sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
I wake up slowly, warm and heavy. I open my eyes on a mess of dark hair and the most peaceful face I’ve ever seen. Faith is sprawled on top of me, our arms and legs in an impossible tangle. It’s not quite light out yet, and the rain has subsided to a soft drizzle tickling my window.
Her dark eyes open on mine long minutes later. They’re lazy with sleep, smiling up at me, until she figures out where she is. I watch the panic spread, her eyes turning from a deep dark brown to a golden green in less than a second. Her arms twitch and her legs move, but I hold her steady.
with all this rain falling down
“Don’t, Faith. Please.”
I hate the way my voice sounds. Vulnerable and weak. But that’s how she makes me feel. Especially now, settling back against me, holding in a sob that I can feel shudder down the length of her back. I hold her and let her cry until we fall back to sleep.
It’s kinda nice havin’ my own personal vampires at my beck and call. Ok, no, that’s not true. Not entirely.
I hate it. I hate them.
But they did buy me this very expensive tequila, so I like ‘em tonight. I like ‘em just fine. Especially when they bring me booze and don’t expect anything to come of it.
The bottles keep getting empty. Kinda how I feel. Fuck.
Why did I decide to stay here tonight? The boss got me all hooked up with a sweet pad, big screen TV, Playstation, the works, but I’m spendin’ my nights here.
Fuck, I know why. I don’t wanna know, but I do. I know she’ll come around here eventually. She’ll come sniffin’ at my door, with that stupid look on her face that says she’s better than me ‘cause she never killed anybody. Pretending she cares so she can feel better about herself.
I stopped going to their stupid meetings. Now that they all know, they all look at me like that. I thought I could do ‘em a favor. I thought I could grab some intel, pretend to play for the other team. I didn’t know the other team could make me feel somethin’ the fucking Super Friends never did, though. Something she sure as shit never made me feel.
it’s hard to know when to give up the fight
Tears drip drip drip onto my hands, into my hair, down my chin. I wonder why these bottles keep getting so empty as I pull the last one from my lips. It falls to the floor with a soft clunk and that expensive tequila glugs out onto the floor.
My hands are wet now. My vision is blurry and my hands are wet. They’re not dark, though. No blood. Not his. Not this time.
There’s a knocking. A knocking at my chamber door. Heh. I used to have that in a book. I wonder where it went.
My legs make me stand up, my feet squish in the tequila-wet carpet. I wobble and weave to the door, tripping over my feet and the bottles on the floor. I try to open the door, but the knob keeps moving all around.
The knocking is louder now, here. The door opens: my hand found the knob, and my eyes find Buffy. She looks worried. Maybe she’s worried I’m gonna puke on her shoes. I know I am.
“Can I come in?”
I’m pretty sure she can’t. She does anyway. I must’ve looked like the ‘come on in’ type to her. She still looks worried. I look at the room she’s standing in and I hate myself. Her feet in her expensive designer shoes sidestep tequila and dodge bottles. She’s always been better than me like that. She never killed anybody like I did.
She’s about to say something when I finally let myself look at her. She doesn’t turn away like she’s been doin’. I hold her gaze and I feel sick. I feel everything she’s been tryin’ to tell me these last two weeks and worse, and tears fill my eyes again.
“Am I evil?”
I hate how that sounds.
I hate the way she’s looking at me. She can’t even say anything, just gapes at me like a landed fish. Figures.
She probably just can’t figure out a polite way to say it: ‘Why yes, Faith, you’re the evilest thing I’ve ever seen.’
My hands are shaking. I need a drink, but it’s all on the floor now. Empty bottles. Empty promises.
My hands are trembling and I lash out with them. She catches them easily and pushes me away.
two things you want will just never be right
“Fuck you!” I shout, choking on a sob. I land a punch on her jaw, but she doesn’t leave like I want her to. She barely flinches. Before I can react, she’s got my hands in hers, still looking so fucking worried and concerned.
“Faith, no! No, of course you’re not!”
What? I’m not what, B? It’s hard to focus on you when you’re swimmin’ around in front of me. Your eyes are so green right now.
“Faith, of course you’re not evil! How could you – you can’t think that!” Anger rises inside me at her words. It might be bile. Whatever it is, I’ll use it. She can’t tell me what I can or can’t think.
I’m right in her face and she still doesn’t flinch. I don’t even know what I’m saying to her, but my words are sprayin’ out of my mouth like venom. I can’t focus on her eyes. They’re too green. They know too much. Her mouth, though, her mouth has never known me.
No. That’s not right.
Her mouth is never right, and I know just the way to make it stop.
it’s never rained like it has tonight before
Her lips taste like cherries, her words taste like fire. Like hate. I pull them in and give her a little hate of my own. My teeth and her lips and her blood. Her tongue in my mouth and my hands in her hair.
Her coat is on my tequila-soaked floor with the empty bottles. My hands are on her skin, so warm and so soft. My tongue is in her mouth, rough and hard, and she moans. ‘Course she does.
Our clothes are in a heap of tequila and we’re in a heap on the bed, face to face and chest to chest. Her nipples are hard, scraping against mine, and I feel sick again.
My eyes squeeze shut, shutting out those eyes so green, that mouth so full of lies. I know it now. I know why she came here tonight.
She can tell me that I’m not all she likes, but I know it: I am evil.
She wouldn’t want me any other way.
Her nails dig into my ass, making me bite down on the soft skin of her shoulder. It’s not scarred like mine is. Memories of the last night I saw her pound against my brain, and I pull away from her. Her hand reaches up to my face, no splint anymore, barely any evidence of scratches on that wrist.
Her eyes watch me, but I can’t. I can’t let her see me. I find her flesh, hot and wet and wanting, and I give her what she needs. What she could never give me. She gasps and swims in front of me and my arm aches as my hand is engulfed by her pussy.
I smirk down at her, avoiding those fucking eyes that know too much. I want her to come apart. I want her to feel as torn apart as I do, and if this is the only way, I’ll take it. She’s screamin’ and cryin’ out for me.
Anger rises in me again, and I know it for what it is. I slow down. She whimpers.
I find her eyes with mine and I don’t let go. Not when I can hear the rain pick up again, drumming against my window. Not when her fingers begin to explore me. I never let anybody get a piece of me. But she already has it.
She slicks her fingers in me and I can barely feel it. She circles my clit with one finger, brushing the hair out of my face with her other hand, and I come undone. I feel myself pulled in close to her, hear her words whispered into my hair.
“Shh, Faith, you’re alright. We’re gonna get through this, ok? Shh, I’m right here.”
Tears pour out of my eyes and wet her shoulder. I pick up the pace of my hand, trapped between her legs, and she tries to hold in a moan. I don’t want to hear her lies, though. I don’t want to feel her all around me, and me around her. I just want to be loved.
I just want what I’ll never have.
now I don't wanna beg you baby for something maybe you could never give
Her hips thrust into my hand and she moans like she’s done this a million times. She’s squeezin’ my fingers. If she broke them like this, I don’t think I’d even feel it, but I’d have a hell of a story to tell.
She finally comes, long and hard and loud, but I don’t feel any satisfaction. I just feel sick.
She’s breathin’ hard next to me as I roll onto my back. Her head comes to rest on my shoulder and her hand plays with the ends of my hair. I close my eyes and hope she stays the night.
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
Light hits my eyes as they open, blinding me and burning me. My head is poundin’ and I barely make it out of the bed before I’m losing anything and everything that was in my stomach all over the floor. Even when I’m done, I feel sick.
Empty bottles on my floor. An empty bed. Empty fuckin’ promises.
I don’t have to look to know she’s not here. I don’t have to think about it to know where my loyalties now lie.
I just want another chance to live.
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