All the Endings Buffy and Faith Never Had
A/N: so, this is the first of a series of unconnected Buffy/Faith ficlets. Each chapter will be a new story, and they will all be slash (or have slashy undertones.) Some will be fluffy, others funny, and some just good ol' dark and angsty. Oh, yes, and I LOVE feed back. Just thought you should know.
Disclaimer: HA. as if I owned anything. Buffy and all of her friends belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy, etc. I also don't own the title of this ficlet, which belongs to Augustana.
Chapter One: Boston
Timeline: Post Chosen
The wind slipped through her hair, the cold air flooding into her lungs as they ran together. Side by side, dark and light with laughter bouncing off the tombstones. For once they weren't running from anything, or to anything. They were just running, winter air skimming across their skin and rushing through their veins.
They weaved between and leaped over the headstones, riding the high together, post-slay adrenaline and too-expensive strawberry daiquiris still on their tongues.
And then her world spun in blonde silk and inky sky as she twirled and let her legs give away, falling to the soft earth. The sky was dotted with all those shiny, sparkly stars, and she wanted very much to share this her dark counterpart. She looked around to find Faith perched on a headstone, breathing hard with locks of deep, dark hair obscuring her dimples and laughing eyes.
Buffy felt a bubble of excitement expand in her chest with every breath of stormy, clean air, so she laughed loudly and Faith joined her, releasing the built up happiness. Buffy could taste carefree in the air, and it felt so good, to be here in green grass of a Boston cemetery, laughing and living. With Faith.
She patted the grass next to her, and soon the younger girl was falling too, closing her eyes in reverence at how the cold, wet grass felt to her flushed skin. Faith realized she was still smiling because she could feel Buffy's cool fingertips tracing the dimples in her cheek. Buffy had been doing that a lot recently. Faith used to ask why, but Buffy always shrugged her shoulders and said 'just because.' So Faith stopped questioning and enjoyed the attention.
"This is how it was supposed to be."
Faith's eyes opened and looked over at Buffy as she dropped her hand to the ground. They smiled wider into each other's eyes.
"The Chosen Two, right girlfriend?"
Buffy shook her head.
"Buffy and Faith."
Buffy rested her head in the grass again, closing her eyes and interlacing her fingers with Faith's. Faith let out another giddy laugh, staring at the pretty, infinite starlight.
Because six months ago she wasn't even sure she even had a future, but here she was wasting it away on the lawn of rainy graveyard, holding hands with Buffy.
They don't leave until the rain soaks them to the bone.
Chapter Two: The (After) Life of the Party – Fall Out Boy
Timeline: Season 4, while Faith is still in the coma.
Buffy could feel the crushed white and red petals under her feet as she padded across them in the ancient theater. She gazed at the burning candelabras, with the shredded pink banners hanging underneath. The half-eaten, candy-hearts with cheap messages of love. Sparkles and dust alike on the ripped, blood-colored stage curtains. The ground littered with broken glass and dying flowers and empty boxes of chocolate.
Tattered, decadent and tragically beautiful.
"Kinda looks like Valentine's Day threw up, huh?"
Faith was sitting on the chipped and dusty grand piano, champagne in hand, with her pretty dimples and pretty white dress, and pretty lips painted the same blood red as the curtains behind her.
Buffy knows this is a dream, so she doesn't bother to question the fluttering in her chest.
The record player in the corner starts playing of its own accord, and Faith smiles softly, cocking her head to one side before setting down the crystal glass, and moving toward Buffy.
"Dance with me, B?" She asks quietly, smile fading and stretching out her hand with its shiny, black nail polish. Buffy wordlessly slips her hand into Faith's because it's always easier in their dreams. They somehow manage to avoid all the shattered glass, and make it to the center of the dimly lit dance floor.
Faith slips her hands around Buffy's waist, and Buffy places her hands on Faith's shoulders. They begin to sway in time to the scratched record, never breaking away from each other's gaze.
"What is this Faith?"
"This is me saying I'm sorry."
It's something in Faith's eyes. Something in her tone. It makes Buffy's heart clench.
Faith smiles sadly and pulls Buffy closer.
"Because I loved you. Because I love you. But it was just so much easier to hate you."
Buffy opens her mouth in shock and shakes her head in disbelief. But Faith looks so damn sincere. It's the dimples and sad eyes. It's the complete lack of sexual come-ons and leather. It's Faith, vulnerable and stripped of her defenses.
"It…it would have been different...if I had known – "
"No, it wouldn't have. I wasn't ready…you weren't ready. I wasn't our time. We were never supposed to happen."
Buffy is not sure what Faith is referring to anymore and the dread in the pit of her stomach is growing.
"Do you forgive me, B?" Faith's smile is gone and she looks so sad, dark brown eyes shimmering with tears like the glittery glass beneath their feet. Buffy clutches tighter to Faith's shoulders.
"Maybe when you wake up we can try to…we can start over, okay? When you wake up, we can start over."
Faith doesn't say anything, she just gazes far behind Buffy at the bloody, velvet curtains.
"…Faith? When you wake up, okay?" Buffy's voice sounds desperate even to herself. Her heart pounds a little faster, and Faith refuses to look at her.
Faith finally glances at her again, grinning slightly before pressing her lips against Buffy's.
Her eyes flutter shut and she wraps her arms around Faith's neck, pulling her closer. She allows Faith to guide her across the dance floor to push her against the wall, and she whimpers when Faith sucks on her tongue and nibbles her bottom lip.
It's only later when they break for air, foreheads resting together with their eyes locked and lips swollen that Buffy knows.
She knows that there will be no 'when Faith wakes up.' She knows that Faith is not going to wake up. Faith's hair feels soft between her fingers and her throat begins constrict with all the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens she is losing.
Faith's sad, brown eyes begin to blur in her vision.
"Please don't cry, B."
"I forgive you, Faith."
"I forgive you, Buffy."
Buffy pushes her lips against Faith's again, and when the music fades and she opens her eyes, she is in her dorm room with hot tears stinging her cheeks.
She doesn't need Giles' phone call to know a new slayer has been called.
Chapter Three: Every Day is a Struggle – Senses Fail
Timeline: AU Season 4
Faith is laughing.
Here in her old apartment with all the lights out and her back against her bed, J.D. in hand.
She's laughing because last night she fucked Buffy against a crypt in a cold cemetery.
They were fighting. Punch for punch, kick for kick.
And then they were kissing. Hip to hip and heart to heart, trapping Buffy against the rough surface as hard as she could.
The alcohol tastes sour and harsh, burning her throat as it goes down. She needs that right now.
She's laughing because she dug her teeth into Buffy's neck until she tasted metal. She laughs harder because she can practically hear the girl stuttering out some lame explanation to her perfect, precious G.I. Joke of a boyfriend as to why his golden girl has a bite mark.
She's laughing because with her nails scraping and teasing the inside of Buffy's thighs, she made her beg for it. And then she knocked the princess off her fucking pedestal.
Faith's laughing and laughing until saltwater falls onto the half-moon cuts on her wrist, and she realizes that she's crying. The tears make the cuts twinge.
She's crying because Buffy dug her claws into Faith's wrist until warm blood bubbled up around and under her fingertips, until Buffy came hard bucking and moaning.
She's crying because she kissed her way back up Buffy's body, and buried her face in the older girl's neck, breathing in the sweat and fading perfume. Sucking on her pulse point and in that moment, ready to whisper 'I love you.'
She's crying because after catching her breath, Buffy ran her fingers softly through Faith's hair and then turned to hiss in her ear 'I hate you so much.'
They never were on the same page.
Faith is crying because Buffy smoothed out her skirt and walked away, leaving Faith on the hard, dirty ground without one glance back.
Chapter Four: Read My Mind- The Killers (pt. 1 of 2)
Timeline: Post Chosen
Your ears were ringing the first time she kissed you.
You don't really understand how she can stand to listen to that noise for any extended period of time. But it's her birthday, and they're her favorite band. In town for one night only.
So that was how you ended up walking to the hospital. Faith just had to dive into the mosh pit, and of course crowd surfing was a must. And crowd surf she did. That is until someone dropped her.
And somewhere in the deafening noise and zero breathing room of the stadium, you were pick-pocketed, leaving you cashless and phone less. Hence the three-mile hike in the freezing cold to the hospital, because Faith's wrist is definitely of the broken variety.
You are going over some of highlights of tonight's funfest (the smelly pothead hitting on you and the smelly pothead then spilling his beer on your favorite top) when Faith wraps her good arm around your waist from behind and leans over your shoulder to kiss you softly.
You think that she probably did that just to shut you up, but the inside of her mouth tastes like cotton candy and you've always liked cotton candy. So the night is no longer a total bust.
She pulls away slightly, leaving her nose grazing your cheek.
"Thanks, B. I had a wicked good time."
"We got mugged, your wrist is broken and it's cold as a bitch out here." You point out, eyes still closed and no longer shivering because Faith's body is flush to your back.
"Yeah. That kinda sucked. But you're here. With me. So, I'd say it's a pretty good birthday so far." She drops butterfly kisses along your jaw and on the corner of your mouth.
"Happy birthday, Faith."
You held her uninjured hand all the way to the hospital.
It was one week and four days of awkwardness after the night she kissed you.
She wouldn't talk about it, so naturally, neither would you. And with a house full of hyper, screaming mini-slayers, avoiding wasn't a huge issue. But Willow and the others decided you needed the day off, and so you two are alone in an empty mansion.
The house used to bother you. It was too big, too dark. Too many rooms and passages and hallways to lose yourself in. But it's grown on you. Kind of like a certain fellow slayer.
You don't really know exactly how you got here, but what you do remember is that there was sparring involved, which led to tickling, which led to kissing.
You remember warm sunshine spilling onto the cool white sheets where you tasted her hot, sweat-slicked skin. You remember fingers on your cheeks while she writhed and arched beneath you.
You also remember the cool breeze on your naked back from the open window, and how she sounded when she whispered your name and clenched the sheets. You remember how everything smelled like grass and jasmines and Faith.
You remember she wouldn't let you touch her when it was over.
Chapter Five: Let's Talk About Spaceships- Say Hi to Mom (pt. 2 of 2)
Timeline: Post Chosen
You spent two weeks and three days sleeping in Faith's bed before she would let you hold her.
You dug your nails into her shoulders and closed your eyes, falling apart beneath her. And then you are breathing hard and she is lazily kissing your neck and chin.
This is the part you hate. When the soft kisses and adoring gazes would end. When she would move away and the white chasm of sheets between you and the smooth skin of her back feels like a distance of forever. You hate when she shuts you out.
She doesn't move away tonight. She wraps her arms tentatively around your waist and kisses the top of your head. You try to hide the blissful smile and nuzzle into her neck.
"This is new." You say as you suck at her collarbone. She makes a sound of assent, running her fingers along your spine.
"I thought you didn't do the post-sex cuddle."
"I didn't. Now I do."
She shifts beneath you, refusing to meet your eyes. She looks so…uncomfortable.
"We don't have to…I mean, you don't have to – " She cuts you off with a light kiss.
"No, it's okay. I want to. If ya like this, then I want to do it." She moves her eyes back to yours and slowly relaxes her body.
Four months, two weeks, and six days later, and you've only been falling further.
It has been exactly three hours and fourteen minutes since she fell asleep sitting on your lap in the huge, cushy chair. Only God knows where Dawn and the other slayers have bounced off to.
You've been watching the whole time, every breath she takes.
You're so scared of her.
Scared of saying it. Of saying it too late.
You think it every time you see her. When she wakes up with mussed hair and a gravelly voice. When she pretends to be listening to Giles drone on about the latest Big Bad, but is really teasing the inside of your thigh, and stealing kisses when no one is looking. When she gives you that lopsided grin and winks at you over coffee.
When she slips her hand into yours wherever you are, just so she can stay in contact.
It is always on the tip of your tongue. You are so afraid it will slip out. You don't think you could stand watching her walk away.
But you are more scared that she will never even get the chance to hear it. All it takes is one mistake. You're always one careless move away from a swift death.
You run your fingers through her silk hair and swallow hard.
Her eyes flutter open and she smiles up at you, leaning up to kiss your cheek affectionately.
She moves her eyes back to yours, and her smile slowly disappears. She tucks some stray hairs behind your ear, and the way she is looking at you makes it hard to breathe.
"Yeah?" Your voice cracks. She looks down at her hands.
"Nothing…I just, I love you. That's all."
She wraps her hands around your neck and rests her cheek against yours.
You smile and kiss her shoulder, whispering your answer into her skin.
Chapter Six:The Writhing South- Say Anything
Timeline: AU Season 3
Dammit. I think this is the fifth time I've read that sentence and I haven't absorbed a thing. I guess I've never been very sponge-y.
It's not my fault, though. No siree! I mean how could anyone concentrate with Faith sitting over there acting like…like a porn star.
Okay, so fine. She's not intentionally acting like porn star, but it's Faith! She just naturally sits all porn-staresque.
Because seriously, who sucks on a pen like that? I mean, for God's sake, the way her tongue keeps circling the top, every so often nibbling gently. Jesus, her and that pen should get a room.
I wonder what it would feel like. To have those pouty lips traveling down my stomach. Her pink tongue flicks out as she continues her assault on the blue cap.
That same tongue dipping into the hollow of my neck. White teeth digging into my hipbone...my nails sliding down her spine…
Oh my god. Did I just moan out loud? I think I kinda did.
Faith's the only one who catches it. Perks of Slayer hearing, I guess. She glances up at me, and I feel the heat in my face rush south when she slowly pulls the pen from her lips. She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and sends me a shit-eating grin.
My breath hitches and I try to look busy with my Big Book of Things That Go Bump in the Night. Well, that's not really what the title is. But, me? Not so good with the pronunciation of ancient Greek text.
"Oh, Buffy, I forgot to ask, how did last night's make out go?"
Giles is gazing at me expectantly over his glasses. Panic mode? Check.
"I didn't…w-we…there wasn't…um…what?"
I'm not nervous. Nope. Nothing to hide here.
Because I was in no way, shape or form making out with Faith last night.
I also did not get knocked to my ass by a newbie vamp because I was too distracted by Faith's hands under my shirt, undoing my bra strap. Didn't happen.
"I asked you how the stake out went. You two were supposed to do recon outside the Mayor's office last night."
"R-right. Stake out. Mayor's office. We did that." For a few minutes. "Very uneventful. Boring even…"
"Well, I wouldn't say boring, B…" She gives me a smoldering look, subconsciously licking her lips. I think if I blush any harder, my face will match Faith's lipstick. She flashes me those perfect, shiny white teeth."We kept ourselves… occupied." She says, grinning predatorily. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"Yup…those vamps and their…occupying techniques." I say, nodding. My voice also seems to have taken on a high, pitchy quality. That's always good.
Giles and the others are staring at us with interest. Faith is grinning at me like she's won the damn lottery, and I either look like I'm going to smack her, or jump her. I really hope it's the former.
"Yes…well, I think it would be beneficial to try again tonight." Giles says, breaking the awkward silence.
"You got it, G-man." Faith winks at me then turns her attention back to the large text in front of her.
Okay. Fine. So maybe there was some kissing last night.
…And maybe even a little gropage.
Oh, great, she's back to the pen sex, pushing the cap past full lips, where she chews idly on the end. I swear to God, if she keeps that up I'm going to rip that pen from her mouth and replace it with my –
NO! Bad thoughts, Buffy! Very bad, very hot…umm...wow. Faith's leaning back in the chair now, flipping her hair over her shoulder. My eyes drop to the exposed skin of her neck, right to her pulse point. I've always wondered what it was with vamps and all the neck biting. I can sympathize now.
I so wanna bite her.
I glance up to find her eyes on me again. Whoops. She definitely knows I was checking her out. She curls her lips into sexy grin around the cap of the pen. She sucks on the pen a little harder, and drops her head to one side, nodding subtly toward the double doors.
And then she's stretching, her too-tiny tank riding up further and further. I seem to have forgotten how to breathe. All I can think about is taut, smooth skin and how badly I wanna run my tongue along her stomach. She pushes out her chest, and her tank goes higher. I fidget, my nails digging into my palm.
She arches her neck, dragging out the stretch, and oh my god, if she just lets it ride up a little farther…
The book I was (not) reading falls to the ground and suddenly, all eyes are on me again. Fire engine red is really not a good color for my cheeks. Faith drops her arms to her sides and gives me the naughtiest smile I've ever seen.
"I have to go to the bathroom." She announces, gazing directly at me. How does she do that? Make a normal phrase like 'I have to go to the bathroom' sound like 'I really wanna fuck you right now.'
As she passes behind my chair, she lets her fingers brush along my shoulders, and I can smell her now, all leather and vanilla.
Well if she thinks that I'm just gonna go after her like…I'm some kinda…um, well she's got another…uh, goddamn her ass looks so hot in those tight, black jeans. Did she paint them on this morning?
My eyes follow her hips from side to side as she struts from the room, pushing through the doors.
She's not gone thirty seconds when I slam my book down on the table and stand abruptly.
"Bathroom! I need to go to the bathroom!"
I realize I must have shouted this, because everyone is now looking at me with raised eyebrows. I stare back expectantly. Giles clears his throat.
"Well, by all means…" He says, gesturing toward the double doors.
I spin on my heel, rushing after Faith.
I'm gonna find out first hand how tight Faith's…pants really are.
Chapter Seven: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot- Brand New
Timeline: AU Season 5.
The blood drip, drip, dripped to the muddy ground from the slash in her stomach.
(You wish you could just leave her to bleed herself dry amongst the headstones and cold grass. You want to leave her bleeding with a razor smile and a bitterly cheerful 'Have a good night, Faithy.')
Somehow you know that Faith won't take herself to the hospital, and the idea of her dying causes a dull pain in you chest.
"Thanks, B." This is what she says when you tell her to come home with you, with a soft voice and dimpled smile, and that nickname (you still hate it).
It makes your heart skip a beat.
"Yeah, well, I really don't want your death on my conscience because you let yourself bleed to death." Your words sounded like ice, and make you cringe internally as you spin on your heel and set off toward your house. She stands a second, before limping after you.
In case she's forgotten (she hasn't), you haven't forgiven.
(You wish you could have enjoyed the wounded look in her eyes, but it's hard when the words you say to break her cut you just as deep.)
She's sitting on your bathroom counter with no shirt and the blood still running, and she's trying not to look at you. She's so tired. You wear her down with all your cold indifference and rigid grudges. Even Xander tries harder to give her a second chance.
You clean the injury and she winces.
(You wish you could make it hurt more. You wish you could splash it with iodine, so it would burn and sting as you stitched it as slowly and painfully as possible.)
You can't bring yourself to stop the gentle dabbing with the warm washcloth, or the whispered apologies when the needle goes in a little too hard. You can't stop caring.
Your hands are still on her sides when you finish, fingering the soft gauze and softer skin. Her eyes are whiskey brown and you can't look away.
(You wish you didn't want this.)
Where is all your self-righteous anger and spite when you need it?
"I don't care. I don't care about you." You don't believe the words even as you say them. You just wanted to break the moment. Break the suffocating longing stuck between your heart and lungs.
It breaks you a little when she tries to leave before you can see the crestfallen look. Before you can see you've hurt her. Again.
(You wish you could still enjoy crushing her spirit.
You just wish you could have told her to get the hell out of your house.)
You grab her wrist and tug until she's close, and then closer, until your arms are around her waist and your lips are against hers.
And then you're in the hallway, and then you're in the bedroom. And then you're on the bed, kissing and moaning and feeling.
It's too slow and too fast, and you're not ready for this at all. But you want it so bad.
Faith is under you with her hands shaking, trying to unbuckle your belt. Your hands cover hers, helping her undo the clasp as you nuzzle her cheek.
(You wish it could be rough and angry and then over. You wish you blame it on the post-slay hornies and an extreme lapse in judgment.)
It's not supposed to be like this.
It's soft touching and longing gazes, whispered names and pleas in the dark. Gasps and trembling and bright colors behind closed eyes.
Faith is whimpering and you're teasing.
And then you're touching the scar (the one you made). You wonder if it still hurts and you lean down and brush your lips against it. When you look up Faith is crying (it still hurts).
(You wish you could roll off and laugh derisively, before shoving her away. Leave her vulnerable and naked and wanting.)
You kiss the tears on her cheeks and give her what she needs.
She's sleeping in your bed and in your arms and you have been watching all night.
(You wish you could just bring yourself to shake her awake and hiss that you hate her. That she was the biggest mistake you've ever made.)
Your fingers are interlaced with hers, and you can feel the heartbeat in her wrist thudding in time with yours, and all you really want to do is hold tighter.
And when she opens her eyes looking sleepy and confused, the only words that come are the ones you can't say, so you kiss her hard and say them over and over in your head.
(You wish you could hate her. You wish you couldn't see the good person she's trying desperately to become.)
You're not ready to love her.
Chapter Eight: Our Work Of Art- Just Surrender
You say that you need her. You say you've wanted her for so long. She says, please just shut the fuck up, and kisses you like she wants to suffocate you.
You tell her she's beautiful, and say her name in reverence, whisper it like she was a saint. She growls that you're fucking hot and calls you a bitch. A whore. Her slut.
You hold her face in your hands and kiss her softly, but she pulls your hair and bites your neck.
You look at her with adoration, and she won't even look at you.
You ask her to make love to you, as cliché as it sounds. She fucks you hard and fast.
She's going to ruin this. Stain it and taint it before it can ever be something good.
Because if it's already damaged, she has nothing to lose.
Chapter Nine: All Over Me- Danger Flowers
Timeline: Post Chosen
I'm awake again. Staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks. You would think that after finally having a room all to myself I would sleep like a baby. But I can't. She's not here.
Sometimes she looks at me like I'm the only one in the room, in the world. Sometimes she smiles at me and links her pinky with mine when no one is looking. Sometimes she brings me a flower or my favorite ice cream 'just because.'
Sometimes she has nightmares and she lets me hold her until she stops shaking.
Sometimes she lets me see her cry. Sometimes she tells me why she cries. Most of the time she doesn't.
Other times she won't even talk to me. She leaves for days at a time. She gets drunk and kisses other people when she knows I can see her. Brings them home and fucks them in the room right next to mine.
She lets me get so close and then she pushes me as far away as she can. It hurts so much, but I can't stop wanting this. Wanting her. She knows she's all over me.
She's scared. And who can blame her? The first time around was so fast and intense and went to hell all too fast. Our angsty, teenage love ended like most do, with broken hearts and bittersweet memories.
Only ours had a body count.
I hear the doorknob turn slowly and the light from the hall spills onto the carpet before the door shuts quietly. She pads across the carpet and stops in the center of the room.
"B? You awake?"
She knows I am. She can feel me.
"Yeah." My voice sounds thick and scratchy.
I feel the mattress sink and I pull myself up to a sitting position. She looks over at me, the moonlight catching her eyes, and the shadows playing with her features. She opens her mouth, and closes it again.
Please say something. Anything.
She sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, closing her eyes. I feel my chest constrict as she shuts me out again.
I crawl across the bed to where she is and pull her arms away and push her knees apart gently. She lets them fall limply and stretches her legs out around me. I settle between them and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close as I can.
I feel her heartbeat thudding harder and harder, and she rests her forehead on my shoulder, her arms winding themselves around my neck.
"I'm trying to be good, B… I-I'm trying to play nice, and be your friend. And I-I can't. Do this…I'm…Just stop, okay? Please. I'm falling all over the place for ya, and I can't do this again."
"It can be different this time."
I can feel her warm breath on my shoulder and my hands slip under the hem of her shirt, my fingers running up and down the bumps of her spine. I need to feel her.
"What if isn't? What if all goes to shit like everything else in my life? Do I go all psycho-Slayer again?"
"You're not that person anymore…"
"Yeah? You think I'm so damn stable now, don't ya? But newsflash, B, I'm still fucked up in more ways than you can count! I'll screw this up…I'll hurt you like I always do."
She's angry and pulling away, but I hold her tighter, closing my eyes and clenching my jaw, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.
"Just give us chance, Faith. Please?" My voice cracks.
"Buffy…" I can feel her anger draining just as quickly as it came, and her resolve weakening.
She stops struggling in my arms and her body relaxes into mine. Her hands rest gently at my waist and she turns her head, burying her face in my neck.
I feel her lips press softly to my collarbone. The breath hitches in my throat, and my hands stop their descent just below her shoulder blades. She pushes her lips against my skin again, and she begins trailing kisses up my neck and along my jawbone. Her teeth graze my ear lobe and I begin to tug at the hem of her tank top.
She stops her assault on my ear, and lifts her arms, allowing me to pull the top over her head. Her dark locks fall messily around her flushed cheeks and onto bare shoulders. She looks so young right now.
She keeps her eyes closed and rests her cheek against mine. I feel her chest rising and falling quickly, and I turn my head, nudging her nose with mine.
"It's okay." I say, willing her to believe me.
I run my fingers through her hair and push my lips against hers for the first time.
It feels like falling.
Chapter Ten: This Could Have Been A Dance Dance Revolution, But…- Rory (pt. 1 of 2)
Timeline: AU Season 4
I'm tipsy. Ok. Fine.
Fuck that. I've never been 'tipsy' a day in my life. I'm fucking hammered. Plastered. Shitfaced. Whatever. Point is, I don't do things by halves. Everything is all or nothing with me.
I shoulda seen this coming. I shoulda skipped town the minute I saw those hazel eyes, the minute the breath caught in my throat. But I didn't. I stayed and now I'm royally fucked. Because, like I said, I don't do things by halves.
I stare into the pulsing crowd, shadows and bright lights bouncing around, moving in time with some heavy bass techno shit. The light catches her hair, all shiny and pretty. Just like her. Buffy Summers. All shiny and pretty and perfect. Dancing with her corn-fed, All-American picture perfect boyfriend. I feel my gut tighten and I drain my jack and coke.
Once, when I was little, this kid on block, he bet me I couldn't stare at the sun for more than thirty seconds. I never back down from a bet, y'know, got a rep to protect. Yeah, even then I was a little hell raiser. As you could probably guess, I couldn't even make it five seconds. I remember the hot anger in my throat and sunspots in my eyes as the kid laughed and told me I was wuss.
I don't really know why I'm thinking about this right now. What the fuck is up with me?
I hate Riley. Fucking punk. I hate the way he holds her. The way kisses her and touches her. I hate that he can look at her and tell her she's beautiful. She just is, y'know? Inside and out. I can't tell her that though. Because 'we're just friends.' We're just really good friends. Did I mention I'm pretty fucked up right now?
Buffy's kinda like the sun. I can't even look at her with out getting burned.
God, he can't even keep up with her, not like I can. She's holding back, I can tell. I've seen her cut loose for real. Right after a slay, she's wicked rowdy, movements wild and fast. Her hands run through her messy locks and over her curves, her eyes dark. My hands on her hips, on her lower back, her hot skin brushing against mine.
It means everything just to be able to touch her.
Of course, we don't do that tonight. Y'know, kinda bad for Dipshit's precious feelings and all. Oh, yeah, that's what I call Riley in my head. And to his face when B's not around.
I bite the edge of glass as a slower song starts and he pulls her closer, her hazel eyes sparkling in the white lights. She looks so happy. Happier than I'll ever make her. Which is good, y'know? I just want her to be happy.
Still doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a bitch. I watch as he leans down and pushes his lips against hers, still swaying to the music. I tear away my gaze and try to look somewhere else. Anywhere else.
I can't breathe, I wanna vomit, I wanna get the fuck out of here.
I would leave, y'know, if wasn't too damn wrecked to stand. So instead I pick up B's unfinished beer and down it in three gulps.
When I was eleven, my step dad broke my arm because I smashed a window with a baseball. But I didn't cry. I ground my teeth and bit my lip until it bled. But I didn't shed one damn tear, wouldn't give that asshole the satisfaction. I hate that Buffy can make me wanna bawl my fucking eyes out at the drop of a hat.
I hate the way she makes me feel.
I wish I could pick my sorry ass off this couch, find some chump and get laid, and fucking forget Buffy Summers for even just a second. But I haven't able to get my rocks off like that in months.
It makes me miss Buffy even worse.
Jesus, listen to me. I'm so fucking gone, I'm not even making sense. How can I miss B when she's with me almost every night?
But I do. Every nameless screw, every person that's not her, I miss her more. I feel emptier and that much further away. I'm going crazy here, I just wanna start crying, but I can't because my cheap mascara will run, and I can't let B find me trashed and sobbing with raccoon eyes to boot.
God, I'm so pathetic. Brooding in a dark corner, drowning away my sorrows in alcohol. Just like mommy dearest. How more cliché can I get? I start to snicker, because really, this situation has gone beyond ridiculous, and I can't cry, so what the hell? My laughter sounds brittle and dry.
But then my stomach turns and I feel bile rising in my throat, so I quit laughing and close my eyes, willing the nausea to stop.
I just can't win.
When I open my eyes, she's right there in front of me smiling, and I have to remind myself to breathe again. I think she sees something in my eyes, something that makes her smile drop. Can't help it really. If you haven't noticed, I get kinda emotional when I'm hammered.
"You okay Faith?" She asks, all concern-y and sincere. I start laughing again, and I'm not so sure why. I feel so damn sad right now.
"Me? I'm five by five. I'm always five by five, y'know?" My words are slurring, and I just want to leave. "I'm just keachy peen…Wait, wait, that – that didn't come out right. Keen, I'm peachy keen…" I giggle a little bit, and she gives me that stern, disapproving look I've been on the receiving end of too many times to count.
"Okay…You realize that you, Faith, Queen of All That is Badass and Cool, just said 'peachy keen'? I think you've had one or three too many drinks tonight, F. Let's go." She starts to pull me off the couch and I tug away roughly, feeling anger flush my face. Fuck her. She can't just tell me what to do. If I wanna get wrecked and have a pity party, then I damn well will.
"Lemme go, B. I said I was fucking fine." I snap, stumbling backwards. Bad move on my part, as my motor function's not so good right now. The room spins and my knees begin to buckle. B's arms are at my waist in a second, steadying me. I close my eyes, feeling her fingers touching the exposed skin of my lower back, my arms holding onto hers.
"You don't look 'fucking fine' to me." She says angrily, and I begin to struggle, but my limbs feel like they're made of lead. She sighs, and pins my arms to my side, and I start to go limp. I'm feeling so tired all of a sudden.
"Hey, c'mon, Faith, you can't even stand up right." She says, her tone gentler. I'm too tired to argue, and I let her slip my arm around her shoulders, keeping her grip around my waist.
The walk home was a blur of cold night air and the warmth of B's body next to mine, and I think I musta passed out, because the next thing I know, I'm staring up at the heart shaped water stain on the ceiling of my motel room. Which means that B carried me the rest of the way, and that's just damn embarrassing.
With great effort, I pull myself up, and lean against the headboard just as B comes striding out of bathroom with a glass of water and some aspirin. She smiles at me when she realizes I'm awake. I feel my chest ache.
That smile gets me every damn time.
"How're we feeling?" She says, looking at me like she gives a shit. Which she does, the only one who has ever cared.
"Fucking shitty." I reply, my throat dry and scratchy. She gives me a knowing smirk and hands over the water and aspirin, and starts to talk as I down the water and capsules. Only, for some reason, I can't really hear anything she's saying. I'm just watching her lips moving up and down. That cute scrunchy thing she does with her nose. She's so pretty. I'm really close, and she has these flecks of green in her eyes.
"Faith? Faith? Helloooo, anyone there? Faith…um, you're kinda freaking me out- "
I reach up and cup her cheek, feeling her soft skin against my palm. She doesn't pull away, just looks at me with confusion etched in her features. I should stop, I need to stop, because I know, I know this can only end badly.
But instead I lean in slowly, and kiss her once, and then again, and then I'm pressing my lips against hers, my heart racing. This is such a bad idea, but it feels so good when she begins to move her lips gently against mine. Her fingers slowly tangle in my hair, and my hands slide up her arms and over her shoulders to wrap around her neck. She's so soft.
I begin to suck and nibble on her lower lip, and she whimpers. I feel nervous heat rush through me, settling in the pit of my stomach as she parts her lips and I slip my tongue inside. I begin to move my hands across her shoulders, over her collarbones, up and down her arms, along the flatness of her stomach.
I let one hand slowly stroke the taut muscle, and move lower, playing with the edge of her top as I suck on her tongue. I feel her tremble under my touch. But as soon my fingers slip under her tank, I feel her freeze up and she pulls away abruptly.
She stares at me with wide eyes, lips still parted and cheeks flushed. I lean in to capture her lips again, but she turns her head, and my lips make contact with her jaw instead.
"I-I should go." She says standing abruptly. I catch her hand and pull her back.
"Wait, what'd I do? What's wrong?" Shit, shit shit. She's panicking.
"Wrong? What's wrong?! Faith, you're drunk. And – and I have a boyfriend! And, I'm n-not a – I don't…Look, that shouldn't have happened, okay? I have to go. I'll check on you tomorrow." She says, turning on her heel and practically running for the door. I feel frustration and misery gripping my throat. She can't do that, I'm not a fucking toy! She can't just turn me off when it's not all fun and games anymore.
"Yeah well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine, princess!" I shout at her retreating back. She stops with her hand on the doorknob, her shoulders tense.
"Goodnight, Faith." She opens the door, and closes it quietly behind her.
I punch the wall, and kick the lamp of the nightstand, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces, plunging the room into darkness.
I fall back onto the bed, and close my eyes. I won't fucking cry.
There's this hole of loneliness eating away at my chest.
I don't think I can do this anymore. I know I can't do this anymore. Tomorrow, I'm gonna hightail it the fuck outta this shithole, and get as far away as I can.
I'm not gonna wait around to get my heart stomped on.
Chapter Eleven: Nineteen Stars – Meg and Dia (pt 2 of 2)
She doesn't knock. She never fucking knocks. And of course, I just had to give her a spare key to my place. And now she's standing here, watching me with those sad, puppy eyes as I hastily pack my shit, trying not to feel guilty.
What the fuck do I have to be sorry for anyway? I'm Faith, for fuck's sake!
Since when do I miss anyone? Since when do I care if I'm missed? I come and go as I please. I'm done with fucking Sunnyhell.
I'm done getting my heart handed to me on a plate.
Maybe if I just don't look at her, I can get away. If she doesn't cry, maybe I can make a clean break. Right.
"Are you going somewhere?" Shit, her voice is all full of emotion. Cracking and wavering and if I see her eyes, it's all over. I'll give in and do whatever the fuck she wants me to.
"Guess so. Been in Sunnyhell way too long. Gotta see the world, y'know?" I refuse to look at her, zipping up my bag as I sling it over my shoulder, keeping my voice as apathetic as I can.
"So, that's it? You're just gonna run away without even saying goodbye? Look Faith, if this is about last night, we can just forget it okay?" She's going to cry. I have to get out of here. "We can just forget, and –"
"I can't! I can't just fucking forget!" I shout, finally looking at her. God, she's so beautiful, staring at me with wide eyes, tears shining. She opens her mouth and then shuts it again, trying to come up with a response. I feel the tears of anger and frustration burning my eyes as I look away, shaking my head. This is just too hard.
"Whatever. Doesn't matter. I'll catch ya later, B." I say, my voice cracking. I start for the door and feel her hand wrap around my wrist.
"Wait, wait. You – you can't just leave like that! You can't just pick up and leave whenever you feel like it!"
"Really? Cuz last time I checked, I was a free woman, and I can go wherever the fuck I want!" I yank my hand from her grasp and whip around to face her. My anger fades as I see the glittery tears tracking down her cheeks. I feel my heart breaking just a little bit more.
"Don't cry, B. I'll – I'll call you, y'know? Check in now and then… I'll visit, okay? I promise." She shakes her head in exasperation. We both know I'm a fucking liar.
"You c-can't leave, Faith! What about everything w-we've been through together? What about us?" She yells, sobbing harder. God, I gonna breakdown any minute. I just wanna hold her.
"There is no 'us', B." I remind her gently. She cries harder, and I can't stop myself. I cup her cheek and wipe away the falling drops with my thumb, my throat burning with sadness. This is why I never say goodbye.
"Please, Faith, please just stay." Maybe. Maybe just for a few more days. Just stop crying, B. Please stop crying.
"Tell me why. Tell why I should stay." I look at her, imploring her with my eyes. Please, B. Give me a reason to stay. Please, just give me reason.
"I- I…Sunnydale needs you! You're a slayer, and there's lots Hellmouthy nasties and evil for you to beat down! You have to stay, it's your destiny!" I pull my hand away, tearing my gaze from hers. I feel disappointment eating away at my gut, my jaw aching and that sour taste you get right before a good cry in my mouth.
"You did fine before I was called. I'm just the second string slayer, B. Besides, it can't hurt to have a traveling slayer, taking care non-Hellmouthy badies. I gotta go, Buffy. I'll see ya later, yeah?"
I'll never see her again. I'll make sure of it.
"Wait, wait! What – What about the Scoobs? You can't leave without saying goodbye! They'll miss you! I- I'll miss you! You can't go…please don't leave, Faith." She whispers.
With my hand on the doorknob, feeling the cold metal in my fingers, I smile sadly.
"Later, B." It takes every ounce of strength I possess to leave her like that. I swing the door open and walk outside, and I don't look back once.
"How far will this get me?"
I push the wadded up bills across the counter. The lady behind the glass gives me an annoyed glare, and looks down at the cash like I just passed her a bucket of snot. She picks it up grudgingly and begins counting it.
I pull my leather jacket closer and hug myself, gazing warily around the bus station. Why is it so damn cold? I'm in California for fuck's sake! False advertising, that's what it is. It's not always sunshine and flowers here.
Still got nothing on Boston, though.
I smile momentarily, remembering something Xander told me the other day, about the weather here. 'Don't like the weather in California? Wait five minutes.'
And then I stop smiling because I'm never gonna see Xander again. I guess I won't get to mock G-man and his tweedy glory anymore, either.
I hug myself tighter. This station smells like piss.
I'll miss Tara too, man that chick is nice. And Christ, Anya, she's wicked weird, but I can't say she's ever boring. Hell, I'm even starting to miss Red and her god damned babbling.
And Buffy…Jesus, I can't even go there.
Maybe…Maybe I should have stayed to say goodbye. One more day wouldn't kill me, would it?
I shake my head and blink away those thoughts. No. I gotta make it outta here. Gotta make a clean break.
I glance up at the ticket lady.
Nevada huh? Not exactly the cross continental escape I had in mind, but when life hands you lemons…
Prostitutes and gambling. Sounds like my kinda town.
"I'll take it."
With ticket in hand, I plop my shit down and sink into a bench. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. And I wait.
When the bus finally pulls up, I'm still not ready. I stand up and sling my pack over my shoulder and I just stand there. C'mon, move feet! MOVE!
And then I'm walking, every step making my chest constrict more. I feel like I'm suffocating here. What the hell did I do to deserve this? The bus doors hiss and creak open and I'm having trouble breathing. Leaving has never hurt like this before.
I stop with my foot on the first step. The bus driver looks down at me and raises an eyebrow.
"You comin'?" He grunts.
I shake my head and pull myself up the stairs, regret coursing through my entire body.
I stop and close my eyes. Maybe I'm hearing things.
Guess not. I'd know her voice any day. I shouldn't turn around. I know I should just take that last step and get the fuck away from here. But I can't. I just stop, paralyzed by her voice.
And then she's tugging me down the stairs, and then I'm facing her.
Her eyes are red from crying and shining with determination, her cheeks glowing with anger. Her jaw is clenched and before I can say a word, her arms slip around my waist and pull me flush to her body.
I let out a surprised squeak (which, by the way, is not a very dignified noise) and my bag slides off my shoulder and falls to the ground.
"Lemme try this again, okay?"
Before I can respond, her lips are glued to mine, kissing me hard as she pushes me against the bus, her arms pinning mine above my head. After getting over the initial shock, I kiss her back just as hungrily, my tongue sliding over hers as she releases my wrists and wraps her arms around my lower back. My heart is bouncing around my chest like a hummingbird on crack, and I cup her face with one hand, letting the other run through the softness of her hair.
She growls and moans as I bite and suck her lower lip, and I don't think I've ever been so fucking turned on.
She breaks away, leaving me gasping for air and my head spinning. She drops butterfly kisses all over my face and neck as I recover, her hands moving up and down my back. When I catch my breath and come back to Earth, she pulls away slightly, gazing into my eyes as she tucks some stray locks of hair behind my ear.
"Stay, Faith. Stay because I need you. Not Sunnydale, not the Scoobs, I need you, okay?"
"Okay." My voice comes out strained and shaky, but right now I couldn't give a fuck.
She smiles brilliantly, and the fluttering in my chest nearly causes me to pass out with happiness. She leans in and brushes her lips against mine, nuzzling against my cheek before kissing me again. I smile against her lips and pull her close.
"So…you comin' or not?" The driver grunts, having been privileged to the entire show. Buffy pulls away, smirking at me.
"Not. We're going home." She says and slips her hand into mine, tugging me away from the bus and towards…home.
Yeah. That sounds just fine to me.
Chapter Twelve: Zero -Smashing Pumpkins
Timeline: Graduation Day Pt.1
I'm standing here on this cold rooftop and I'm just wondering how I got here, y'know? How the fuck did I fall so fucking far?
This is how it ends when you lose your grip on reality. This is how it ends.
On this cold rooftop with the sharp aching of betrayal in my gut. My betrayal or hers? Fuck if I know. Maybe both. Maybe it isn't the betrayal that hurts so damn bad. Maybe it's the gaping hole in my stomach. Maybe. God, I'm so fucking dizzy. How the hell did I let this happen?
So, I'm on this cold rooftop, and all this warm blood's pouring out of my gut, and I'm looking down into the shocked hazel eyes of my greatest enemy. The love of my life. I'm thinking this just can't get any worse. I'm thinking that maybe taking a swan dive into that cement might be the only way to make it stop hurting.
My greatest enemy. The love of my life. The one in the same. She looks wicked scared. Just look at all that blood on your hands, B. Look what a mess I have made of this. Maybe this is what regret feels like. Maybe this is sanity.
I'm smiling. I always smile. Doesn't mean I'm happy. Not that you'd know. You never bothered to ask. I'm smiling, and swallowing all this blood. Look what I made you do, B. I made you just like me.
Remember when I killed that guy? Remember when I told you I didn't care?
I did. I did, I did okay? I really did.
Remember when I lost my fucking mind?
Remember when I tried to torture you?
Good times, right?
I fucking hate you, B.
I love you, B. I love, I love you, I always loved you.
I couldn't bear it, B. Haven't you heard? I'm not so sane.
Falling was easier. Falling is so much easier. Slipping into dark is wicked easy, B. Look at all that blood. On my knife. That's my knife.
It's so easy when you have nothing to lose.
But staring down at you, maybe I was wrong. Maybe. But maybe I was right. Maybe I lost you the minute my hands were stained with innocent blood. I can't live without your love, B.
Maybe that's what this is all about. This was a suicide mission all along, B. I can't have your love, but I have your attention don't I? Better than indifference.
Ya see, ya have to understand here. Mommy never loved me and Daddy liked violence more than hugs and kisses. I don't know where love ends and hate begins. It's all just passion to me.
I don't know how to love.
I just didn't know how to love you.
I still don't.
"Still won't help your boy, though. Shoulda been there, B, quite a ride."
I hope he dies. I hope you cry until you can't breathe. I hope you're never happy again.
I just don't know how to love you.
I take the plunge and let myself fall from the edge, and I almost laugh at the irony of the imagery as I fall.
Chapter Thirteen: Love You To Death- Kill Hannah
"Well this is…new."
Black and white squares line the floor, the white checks eerily aglow in the ultraviolet black light that illuminates the room. Crooked walls rise on all sides of you and the neon furniture is warped and out of proportion. Everything too big or too small.
Your silky blue dress and white apron. It feels familiar doesn't?
You remember this story.
A hole. In the center of the room, pitch black and no telling how deep it goes. How far you would fall. Rabbit hole. It's getting bigger, you can tell. Slowly but surely, the diameter expanding, tiles slipping away into the darkness. This room getting smaller by the moment, walls enclosing and twisted chairs and tables are creeping up on you. It's suffocating.
You spin around to find your dark friend leaning casually against the wall.
Her body surrounded by the amethyst glow of the ultraviolet paint on the wall behind her. Cherry lips curled into a wolfish grin. Kohl-rimmed, dirty eyes keep you glued to your spot, breath hitching. Intense.
Warm buzzing making everything cloudy. You shake your head. Keep focused.
"Where are we Faith?" You cross your arms. Vulnerability under her gaze. She always makes me nervous. The first things you notice are the bunny ears attached to the headband in her hair. It would look ridiculous on her normally, but the twisted Playboy bunny look sort of goes with the scenery.
"Looks like we're in Wonderland, 'Alice'." She pushes off the wall.
Fuck-me heels echo across checkered tiles, a feral smile bright in the black light. You can't move.
Rushing, buzzing, dizzy hot. Hazy, dazy heat. It feels intoxicating. It feels so good.
Your eyes drift down her slinky black cut-off top to her flat stomach. Dark ink stains alabaster, just below her navel. It says "Drink me." Want to.
The fuzziness settles in, a heartbeat sounding unusually slow in the surreal glow of the room. My heartbeat. This heat, this exhilarating heat. It fits you like a second skin. You didn't even realize how close Faith had gotten, so caught up in this blissful buzz, this adrenaline. Too caught up in the pitch black letters in her skin. And then you're no longer seeing a tattoo. You're running your eyes up her taut body, you're seeing whiskey eyes. So. Close.
She smiles wider, eyes shining and white teeth, her canines almost too sharp. Like a hunter.
She uncrosses your arms for you and at this point, you vaguely think you should take a step back. But you don't.
Instead, your eyes lock to hers. Skin flushing. Sparks skittering up your spine as her arms snake around your waist and pull you against her tight body. So. Close.
Shivering when silky locks tickle your collarbones as she buries her nose in crook of your neck. Breathing in your pulse.
Bite me. I want to feel it…
Your eyes close, a rush like no other tearing through your veins as soft lips press to your shoulder. Making you dizzy, making you shake. Making you want. She's kissing your neck, she's burning your skin. It feels so good it almost hurts. Sucking, biting, kissing. So good.
Currently, your mind is still playing catch up.
"Faith...? What, w-what are you…uh…" You trail off, voice shaky, so not in control. You feel her stop and chuckle huskily into the column of your neck, lips curling into a smirk in your skin. You shudder, hands moving to grip her wrists where they rest on your hips. Needing to hold onto something as the assault continues. Up and down your throat where the blood races. Teeth dig into your collarbone and you dig your nails into her wrists. When she reaches that oh-so-sensitive spot under your ear and licks it, you can't choke back the quiet mewl. Oh god, oh god, oh god.
"So, you ready to fall down the rabbit hole, Buffy?" She whispers in your ear, with her cigarette/sex voice, extending your name in a way that makes your head spin. It sounds so raw.
It's that rawness that shakes you from the lust haze. The rawness. So real. Can't…
You pull away sharply, dropping Faith's wrists and taking a step back. Breathing. Finally.
"What the hell are we doing here?" You demand, hating how shaky your voice still sounds. You need all the control you can get right now.
Faith pouts, disappointed you don't want to play anymore, but her eyes don't lose the impish gleam. She walks away and runs a finger along a glowing and contorted table.
"Well...seems to me I was just givin' ya a wicked nice hickey, and you were lettin' me."
"I-I didn't mean…The room Faith, why are we in this room. Where are we?" You say, flustered and annoyed. Funny how fast she can take you from horny to aggravated.
"Dunno, B. It's your dream. You tell me." Her voice fakes indifference, but her eyes can't.
"It feels real." You say, sounding unsure. Anything is possible in Sunnydale. You know this for a fact. This could be a dream. Or this could be just another way for the newest Big Bad to fuck with you. Your life could be in peril at this very moment. Just another day on the Hellmouth.
Faith turns to face you, cocking her head to the side and studying you intently, the mischievous glow gone from her eyes for a short moment. You suddenly find yourself missing the feeling of her lithe body against your own, the safety/danger of the contact. The warm buzz. Faith.
"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." She says, apathy dripping from her tone as she reaches into her back pocket and pulls a shiny gold watch from it, releasing the catch and gazing at its face. Her brows furrow and her features cloud over, eyes somber as she shuts it again. She begins to swing it so that the chain wraps itself around her fingers, before swinging it in the opposite direction, unwinding.
She doesn't look at you anymore. It feels cold.
"Look, Faith, we need to get out of here, that thing is getting bigger by the moment." You say, glancing over at the expanding hole warily.
"C'mon B, y'know how this story goes. We're late, we're late." She holds up the shiny pocket watch.
She wavers a moment, before pushing the watch back into her pocket, chain hanging out.
"The tea party." She looks at you, eyes no longer dancing with danger, but serious, almost forlorn. You blink in confusion, confused by her abrupt shift in mood.
"We're never gonna make it if you don't take the plunge, B."
"We're never gonna make what?"
Faith shakes her head in frustration, looking into your eyes, trying to make you understand.
"Do you trust me?" She asks, ignoring your question.
She smiles slightly, and then glances at the spreading abyss. From the moment her lips curl into that tiny grin, you feel a shift. The haze lifting and nothing but clarity is left in its wake. The rabbit hole.
Faith takes a step back, and holds out her hand, as it gets bigger and bigger behind her. Swallowing the room.
You don't hesitate, slipping your hand into Faith's. Safety/danger.
She leads you to the edge. You should be scared…but you're not. It feels right.
"On the count of three?" You ask. It all makes perfect sense now. This is the way it's supposed to go. The Chosen Two.
She smiles at you, all dimples and honesty. She counts down, eyes never leaving yours, and when she hits one, you close your eyes and jump.
Your hand still holding tightly to hers. Falling.
And then you're waking, heart hammering and blinking in the warm sunshine spilling from the window onto your bed. A bed you happen to be sharing with a still very much asleep Faith.
Which means that the dream was probably not of the shared variety, and in this moment, you're not really sure if you're relieved or disappointed.
You wonder for a split second why she is here, in your bed, before recalling your suggestion that she stay over last night after the slayage. For pizza and slayer bonding, of course. Right.
As you study the younger girl sleeping next to you, so unguarded, so vulnerable, the lingering feelings of hot desire and nervous energy come back tenfold. Remnants of your trip to 'Wonderland.'
Before you can stop yourself, your hand is reaching out and you are ghosting fingertips across her pale cheek, along the curve of her neck. Over her shoulder and down the smooth skin of her arm, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in your wake. Faith's eyebrows knit together and she mumbles something incoherent in her sleep. It makes your chest clench and breath catch. Uh oh.
You reach over again and shake the girl gently, suddenly wanting to hear her voice. Wanting normality, somewhere away from these heart-racing, heart-aching feelings.
"Faith…Faith, wake up."
She groans and turns over. You roll your eyes and shake her again.
"Lemme alone…" She grumbles, curling into herself. You smile slightly, and dammnit, there are those flutters in full swing.
"C'mon, wake up sleepyhead, I need to talk to you." You shake her harder and she finally rolls over, opening her eyes.
"Huh, whu?" She asks, blinking in the light, throaty voice thick with sleep and looking adorably confused.
She gazes at you expectantly, the sunlight from the open window highlighting her russet locks and catching the gold flecks in her eyes. It's in this moment that you realize you haven't really thought of anything to say.
"I, uh, I had an…odd dream…and I just thought you should know that. Because, well, I wanted to tell you…which is why I woke you up. Hence the conversation we're having right now. Well, I mean I'm the only one talking, so I suppose it's not technically a conversation…yet. So I should probably shut up soon, because um, then you can start talking and, uh, share your thoughts. And, you know…commence the conversation. A-and I'm also running out of air…So, um…the end?" You finish awkwardly, wondering just when the hell you started channeling Willow.
Faith, still blinking owlishly in the morning light, quirks an eyebrow and runs her fingers through mussed hair.
"Funny ya should mention that B, cuz I was havin' some hella weird dreams myself. I'm talkin' acid trip freaky. Ya ever read Alice in Wonderland?"
Chapter Fourteen: Unsafe Safe- Hush Sound
Timeline: AU Season 4
Buffy once asked her if she believed in God.
Faith didn't have an answer then, and as much as she would like to have, well, faith in a good and ever loving God, there were too many times in her life when she prayed and prayed and prayed and life still fucked her over.
Faith shifts in her seat and absentmindedly touches a small scar just under her chin. She was a good little Catholic girl when she was younger, but no matter how hard she prayed, it didn't stop her mother from busting open her chin with a beer bottle. Faith stopped praying that day.
Faith believes in hell.
Faith also believes in cold hard facts. She never did well in school, but on the days she did show up, she always enjoyed her science classes. Not that she did well in them, but she liked that everything there was black and white. An explanation to her every how or why, and even if she didn't necessarily understand the explanation, it still gave her comfort.
Faith lifts the beer to her lips, taking a slow drink from it as she lets her gaze fall on the two witches on the couch across from hers. Tara leans in and whispers something in Red's ear, making the girl giggle and blush a little. Faith takes another sip and watches as Red smiles softly, taking the blonde's hand and leaning in to press a chaste kiss on her smiling lips.
It all looks so happy and perfect and right, but all Faith can see is a ticking time bomb.
She remembers one of her biology teachers telling her that everything eventually breaks down.
Disintegrates. Falls apart.
Everything good will die, because in the large scheme of things, nothing lasts forever. Nothing.
And love? Love is just a bunch of chemicals in your brain meant to fuck fuck fuck with you, a rollercoaster of pain and pleasure and painful pleasure.
Some might call her cynical. Faith, as she sits sipping her drink in the shadows and thudding bass, likes to think of herself as a scientist. Sure, they look so stable now, so happy, so in love. But it's only a matter of time until the cracks appear, until they collapse. It's inevitable; it's a pattern she can't ignore.
Faith blinks and moves her gaze to the blonde standing in front of her, giving her that adorable, quirky half smile that never fails make Faith's chest ache pleasantly. She pulls her lips into a cocky smile, unable to bring herself to upset the older girl with her numerous and persistent insecurities.
Buffy pulls the beer from Faith's hand and sinks into the seat next to her, pulling the dark slayer's arm around her shoulders. Buffy rests her head on Faith's chest, wrapping her own arms around the brunette's waist, her thumb slipping under Faith's black tank to draw patterns on her hipbone.
Faith swallows, feeling so sad and so happy all at once. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of the blonde's head.
"They make one cute couple, huh? I mean, not as cute as us, obviously, but still, I think Tara's good for her."
Faith chuckles softly, giving her girlfriend's shoulder a soft squeeze.
"I dunno about cute, but we definitely win the hot-as-fuck contest." She drawls, trying to squash her ever-present worries, the voice that hisses you're never good enough in the back of her head.
Buffy smiles and whacks Faith's arm lightly, before turning her head to playfully nip at the brunette's neck.
Faith believes in science.
She catches Buffy's chin and tilts her head upward, unable to keep the sadness from her smile. Before Buffy can question the melancholy in her eyes, Faith's lips are on hers, soft and needy.
It's times like these, when the older slayer's hands are tangling in Faith's silky locks, her teeth nibbling gently on her lower lip, that Faith can almost believe in God, in good things, in heaven.
As she moves her lips to the hollow of Buffy's neck, she hopes that science is wrong this time.