Chapter Two: The Fear You Won't Fall
Buffy has a problem.
It's a Friday night, and much like every Friday night for the last eight months Buffy finds herself sitting on a headstone in a very empty graveyard counting down days softly under her breath. It's been exactly two hundred and sixty five days since she left. Two hundred and sixty six days since everything changed. Two hundred and sixty seven days since three simple words altered the very fabric of existence. It's not hard now for Buffy to admit that that last thought might be drenched in a very thick coating of hyperbole. Because at this point, with the way things have been going, and with how Dawn and Kennedy keep following her around with a red crushed velvet theatre curtain, Buffy is no longer able to deny that she has been abusing the privileges of dramatic effect. She's received, signed and sealed, her major in histrionics and she executes her bacheloriate rights with every opportunity.
Everyone knows that she's never handled rejection well. There is a very strong argument to be made that Buffy has written the book on exactly how not to handle rejection. And it doesn't matter if Willow keeps pointing out that it can't exactly be considered a rejection when the rejecter just kind of leaves with nothing more than an ambiguous note, that again can't really be considered a rejection note, left behind in her wake. That doesn't matter at all because Buffy has now firmly entrenched herself in the dark place. And she's been digging deeper and deeper every day. So it's no surprise that it's a Friday night and Buffy finds herself alone in a graveyard counting downs days quietly to herself.
When she's honest with herself she knows that she's living out every single heartbroken cliché that has ever been known to the world. And she hates to admit that because for someone who constantly and consistently beats the forces of evil into bloody and sticky pulps, drowning in mushy Radinesq sadness is so painfully pathetic it's almost intolerable. But right now, and in all the two hundred and sixty five days since she left, Buffy can only feel the walls closing in around her and the air getting too thin to breathe.
Buffy had a problem after they gallantly prevented the complete and utter annihilation of the world. She had a problem for a good long while. There was nowhere to settle, nowhere to feel at home again. Seven years she'd spent protecting Sunnydale. Seven years spent learning every dark place, and alternatively every bright place that warmed her body and brought her peace. Home is a thing you know intimately. It's a thing that brings out the best and the worst in you and you know that no matter what calamity is surrounding you, comforting arms will always find their way around you, to hold you until the world doesn't end. So you see, Buffy had a problem when she lost that. She had a problem. And then came Faith back from Boston and that familiar and intimate feeling of home returned in a way that was at times unexpected, but for anyone who ever paid any attention it really made perfect sense. And after that came months of falling and horrible clichés of pining after the unattainable. And of course, then inevitably came verbal diarrhea and a drunken night that was one tequila shot short of being forgettable. And now, Buffy has a problem again.
Faith has a problem.
It doesn't rain very often in L.A. In doesn't rain very often anywhere in California. She's not sure if she loves that or hates it. It's probably a case of the latter though as right now Faith finds herself standing on the roof of the Hyperion soaked right through to the bone.
"It feels like being alive." If anyone else had said it, she probably wouldn't even have batted an eye. But when she looks out the corner of her eye and sees the two hundred and some year old man standing beside her, head tilted towards the heavens like he's just experienced a revelation, she can't help but laugh a little bit when the joy in his words warms her heart. "It feels like being in love."
And the warmth is gone. "I'm not in love." Right now, she hates the rain and lying is her best defence. Without casting another glance at Angel she turns to leave, brushing sticky tendrils of hair off her face.
"What are you so afraid of Faith?" He would never let her leave that easily. A couple decades of brooding has turned him into the master of the loaded parting question.
The two dark figures stand silently for a time that seems like ages. They've done this countless times before. Always struggling with a nasty part of their roads to redemption. Faith wasn't sure if this was truly part of that. But she thought maybe it had to be. After all, this was exactly the reason why she was reforming in the first place. And in a whispered voice that is only loud enough for Angel to barely hear over the drumming of the rain, Faith experiences her own revelation just as she begins to leave the rooftop.
"I'm afraid that soon she'll be over this and she won't actually fall."
Faith has a problem you see. It's been two hundred and sixty five days since she came to the city of angels. And every single moment of every one of those days her mind has been firmly locked on a hellmouth. Or not exactly on a hellmouth, but more on a certain blonde that she's been missing in a way that she's sure is not good for her still relatively freshly obtained sanity.
Things used to be easy for Faith. She never used to have these problems. Get some get gone and never fall in love. And then came Sunnydale and four years of feeling like this. Stomach tied in knots. Fearing what could be and hating it because it could never ever be. Faith fought a long hard road to redemption and after four years of being sure that her thoughts would never be able to be voided of all things blonde and irritating, she finally, eventually, with more blood, sweat and tears than she knew she had, was able to accept that Buffy would always be that one thing she could never have. And suddenly, as if by some trick of magic, there were no more problems. They fought the big evil and the world wasn't swallowed up by the forces of hell and she could finally feel like she was some kind of a hero. But then came Cleveland and alcohol and three words that were one shot of tequila short of being drowned out by the noise in the bar. And now, Faith has a problem again.
A resolution.
It's a Friday night. And it's been two hundred and seventy two days since she left. But today doesn't really count. And as Buffy stands in a graveyard, anything but alone on this particular night, she's not really willing to believe that the girl standing in front of her is really real. But the tingly in her spine tells her that she is. And the paper held tightly against her chest feels pretty real. So it only makes sense for her to conclude that this is real.
"So are you going to say somethin B? Or are we just going to stand here all night?" Faith's nerves are acting up. She's never been good at apologies and the note that Buffy has clutched in her hands functions as much more than just an apology. And Faith is pretty sure that if Buffy doesn't say something soon she might just give in to her fear and run. "I mean, I know that's it's not my best work." She gestures nonchalantly at the creased piece of loose leaf. "But it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." As soon as the words leave her mouth she's wondering what dark and evil force made her brain think it would be a good idea to allow her mouth to say something so stupid. But Buffy has a smile on her face now, so maybe it was a good thing.
"Do you mean it?" Buffy takes a step forward as she says this and the air between the two slayers becomes as charged as it's ever been. Something will happen here. And Faith isn't about to back down but she's also too much of a smart ass to be serious even in a moment as critical as this.
"Well, I personally would prefer getting a letter over being poked in the eye, but what ever blows your hair back girlfriend." And of course this has the desired effect when Buffy reaches out to punch the brunette in the arm only to have her hand caught and held tightly to Faith's chest. No more fun and games. Now is definitely the time for meaningful stares and almost touching lips. "I mean it. I've been missing you way too much to think this isn't real." Eyes lock and hearts flutter. "I'm not afraid anymore Buffy."
"Good." Neither girl is sure that they could get much closer to one another without being in the other's skin. And even though they've done that before, it's only now that they're starting to realise that they are too much a part of one another to be much farther apart than this. But Buffy still has a problem, and it's just another thing she's got in common with Faith. And she knows it's about time they fixed this. "Because I'm more than ready to fall in love with you."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the part that isn't focusing on how good it feels to finally kiss this girl, Buffy is imagining Dawn and Kennedy closing their red crushed velvet curtain. And she smiles and laughs as Faith breaks the kiss, just to make sure they're both still in the same place. And they are. And it feels just like home.
