Chapter Four

If a hard fought slay and a good solid workout was what Buffy had predicted for her evening's entertainment, then she wouldn't have been very far wrong - the slaying had gone hard, the workout had been solid - it was only after the events that Buffy's gift of foresight had begun to let her down. Not on the force of the feelings; they had crystallised into further clarity with each and every one of the desperate punches that had been thrown during battle, but rather the ease with which she'd expected Faith to give free reign to the feelings. That was where the letdown resided.

Buffy had somehow allowed her mind to run with the conclusion that her and Faith would first throw down with the bad guys, and they would then throw down with each other. That's how it'd always occurred in her finger spun fantasies, how it had always seemed as though it was supposed to proceed... Even during the months of deceptive death, Buffy had still often sought out the memory of Faith to bring meaning to her climaxes. Because climaxing with Faith was what she had always wanted. Always imagined.

It made it all that much harder to swallow the moment of anti- climax.

The battle had raged. Their skin had glistened slick with the sweat of fighting for their lives. Everything had been going exactly according to plan. Two Slayers, a mystic scythe, and Faith's newly favoured flamethrower, proving more than a match for any of the undead amigos who'd looked to attend the party thrown solely in their honour. It was carnage of the welcome kind. The bonding kind. Grunts that fell into easy synchronisation and smiles that spilt wide as the advantage was taken, and pushed happily home.

As close to an affirmation of life that could ever be found in the act of offering death.

That and a whole lot more in the moment that Faith had staked to dust the last and largest of the remaining vampires and brought the frantic fighting to an end; her flamethrower tossed aside to engage in hand-to-hand combat, her eyes the dark of a different kind as evil had been expunged and she'd turned to find Buffy.

And Buffy had been ready. And waiting. For everything.

Her hand already poised to reignite the memories of high slapped fives. Her mind already wandering with the clout of the first hormonal kickback. Because this was it, the moment that the last two days had been so eagerly urging her to embrace, the instant when she saw within Faith's eyes everything that she was sure was showing in her own. Lust. Desire. The need for exertion of a whole different kind.

Dropping her hand. Edging forwards instead. "I want more." Uttered with such intensity, that it sounded the same as, I want you. Meant the same. Speaking the desire to embody the exhilaration that fighting side by side had just induced.

Yet all the words produced from Faith, was silence.

Forcing Buffy to take another step forward, to put herself inside personal space, and throw all of her weight behind the depths of her stare. Desperate to connect. Honesty stripping away the last bastion of denial. "I want you, Faith."

No innuendo left to keep the words masquerading as safe ones, just a truth that brought forth the moment that Buffy had envisioned as being the one that would rip apart their lifelong façade, and have them both admitting that being together, was exactly the right place for them to be. There had been mistakes, sure - a thousand mistakes - but beneath the errors in judgments and long records of regrets, there was also the basic bond that had always drawn them back together.

Like now.

Buffy hadn't ever been one for misplaced belief in a whole greater picture and a grand scheme of things, yet she couldn't believe that fortune hadn't played its part in delivering her up now to Faith's distant doorstep. That this instead was just some cosmic mishap along life's long highway.

Not a chance. Much more than pure chance.

As if Faith's death had been the much needed catalyst to get Buffy back on the path towards destiny, and finding Faith again, alive and well and still full of the same old fire, was exactly what she had needed to remind herself of her own life and not just the ever present flight towards fighting and dying. Wanting to look up and offer a little nod of thanks in the direction of the PTB. Instead keeping her eyes trained on Faith, and on all of the emotion that was passing in what looked like pain across her face.

And Buffy understood the pain. The way that desire could tighten insides and crawl out across skin. How hard it was sometimes to deny the need that-

"Why now?"

Stunting the thoughts. Forced to forget about the sexual side of wanting, as Faith returned her mind to the moment of abandonment. "That's what I don't get, B. Spent a fucking lifetime tryin' to catch your attention, and now ya wanna get down and dirty? Said I was dead - not undead - don't go dropping your pants on my
account."

Needing a minute to process the words. To find a response other than, ouch.

"That's kinda harsh."

"Wasn't aiming for gentle. What d'ya expect - I'd be so fucking grateful to see you again, I'd roll right over and play good bitch?"

Yes. No. Everything in between.

Buffy had maybe thought that her very presence would be enough to have Faith getting on board with the reaching out, but it wasn't as if she hadn't been reaching out herself. No matter her increased stockpile of bravery and courage, it had still taken a whole lot more than just deep breaths for Buffy to say the words. To lay herself out so bare before Faith.

Wishing she could find some cover now as the blazing eyes of brown burned into her with the hurtful accusations and unfriendly intent. Not knowing how to pacify. Quite what she could say to make it all okay.

Saying nothing as Faith simply turned her back and begun her practiced walk away.

For the next couple of days, Buffy did nothing at all in her quest to regain the connection she shared with her favourite non-dead Slayer, and instead focused her attention on the more pleasurable pastimes of sunbathing and shopping. It wasn't that she'd given up, or that she believed Faith to be honestly unwanting of her affections, it was more a case of gathering together the fraying threads of her own shattering sanity. Because really, the whole of the last few days had been nothing but one big trip to the city named Surreal, when Buffy took the time to actually sit and think about it.

She had come herself within seconds of dying, had encountered Faith living and breathing, and then, just when she had thought that destiny was starting to smile down on her, Faith had harshly informed her that even though she still had a pulse, she would in fact be choosing to remain in the redundant realms of the missing: presumed dead.

Buffy more than needed a few minutes of designated downtime. Just a couple of days to let things settle before she would again approach Faith and attempt to perform the overdue act of resurrection. To convince her that it wasn't just now, but always, and that something as lifelong as that, was surely worth living for. Was surely, at least, enough of a reason for Faith to hear her out; to quieten the persistent voices of the past, and approach their relationship from an angle that gave nod to a future.

All of the hours spent letting the sunshine caress her cheeks into smiling, convincing Buffy that there were still options open to her, that she did still have a place waiting at Faith's side. After all, it was Faith herself who had taken Buffy so easily into her arms, who had carried her with such fragility when she had fallen, and then placed her so softly upon her waiting bed. Faith who had opted for the sofa. Faith who had allowed Buffy to cradle her feet in her lap as if the laid back luxury of lovers was already known to them.

It was also Faith's lips that had pouted with promise in the kitchen. Faith's eyes that had given away all of the desires that her words were working so hard to refute. And beyond all of that and any of that, it was Faith who had given back to Buffy a renewed reason to appreciate living.

All that Buffy wanted now was a chance to return the favour.

Her two days of deep thinking, arming her with what she hoped would be the right words to finally have Faith letting down her desolate defence of death.

At least she knew now what the right words were not; knew that trying to appeal to the hankerings of hormones - no matter how heightened those hankerings were - just wasn't the way to touch bases with Faith. She had thought so at first, had imagined that offering up her body as some sought of Slayer-styled-sex-toy would've been the most perfect of ways to slide inside Faith's inner circle; yet now she knew different, now she understood that Faith needed a whole lot more than just outpourings of lustful desire to claim back the connection that had been severed between them.

She needed outpourings of a much braver kind. The most courageous kind.

Perhaps the pillow talk needing to be had, before the pillow was ever reached.

And that was fine by Buffy. It wasn't as if the words sat unpracticed, as if they weren't the catalyst behind every climax that Faith had ever orchestrated, even without her presence. Because Buffy spoke the words easily then. Had clenched her thighs tight together with tension as she'd whispered words out loud that couldn't be said in daylight, had released all of the tension with the return of words that she'd imagined from Faith. Not about fucking. Not about driving deep inside of the other and seeing who rode out on top. No... they were words for the warm-ups, the thoughts that would first encourage Buffy's fantasies to arise. The words that urged her at the pinnacle, that pushed her over the edge... Well, they were the words that needed to be said. The things that Buffy was sure would mean more to Faith than any of the other words she had offered up so far.

At least that was the theory. Buffy had no idea how it would work in practice, whether she'd even survive the situation long enough to be able to form the thoughts that had lain in wait for the moment that would sit right to speak them. She was sure as heck ready to find out though. Her legs strong enough to walk the steps by herself this time, her hand barely showing the shake of her nerves as she knocked on the door and awaited Faith's answer. Just preening. Trying to add last minute smoothness to her breeze blown blonde hair in an attempt to present the perfect appearance.

The seconds counting down. Her spirits not dampened by the not-so- happy look that graced Faith's face as the door was pulled back to open, nor by the not-so-happy words that accompanied the unwelcoming scowl: "Thought we'd squared this away already. What ya doing here, B?"

"Can I come in?"

"Figured ya would've left town by now; don't tell me Giles sends gold stars through the mail?" Her eyes saying, no, to Buffy's question. Urging, go away. The hand already pulling the door back further to let her pass through. "Makes no odds anyway. I'm getting ready to split, myself."

"You're leaving?"

"Damn right I am. Done all I needed to do here; vamps are dust, check's been paid. Just gotta roll the dice and see what comes next."

The barren walls and lack of lustre in the apartment becoming clearer to Buffy as she gained further glimpses into what Faith's un- life was like. She had assumed in her wisdom that Ensenada was home, that Faith's mercenary missions were all commandeered from the here...and she should have known a bit better. Should've understood from the outset that Faith wouldn't be likely to plant firm roots, wouldn't ever have an anywhere that she had learned to call `home'.

It added urgency to her utterings. Maybe brought the shaking of nerves to the forefront as she was forced to consider the imminent possibility of losing Faith forever. Because that was what it would be like, what it would feel like; the return to the last few months where mourning had been the only thing to have Buffy rising in the mornings and fighting through the nights. Like death. Again. And now would be the expiry date.

Only she wouldn't accept that. Couldn't accept that.

Her mouth finding form as her feet followed Faith through the rooms of the even emptier apartment. No clothes left lying around; no magazines strewn haphazardly across the coffee table; nothing except the empty spaces that Buffy was hoping to fill.

"So this is really it? You're gonna go, and I'll never see you again?"

"That's the plan. Not working so well at the moment, but I'm holding out hope for the future. Things are what they are, B, just gotta learn to let go and move the hell on."

"Right. Great plan. You think you could tell me why though, before you get with the moving?"

Because that was surely a valid question. Buffy had examined all of her own whys, it seemed only fair in that instant that she should be allowed to learn the reason behind Faith's. The reasons for the lift ups and lay downs, for the eyes that shouted things louder than words had been allowed to say.

"Told ya why. Got a price on my head and I don't want no-"

"The real reason why, Faith. I'm not dumb, I'm a long way from stupid, I'm a Slayer the same as you are; we both know there's no price tag that could keep you down if you didn't wanna be down. So why? Why so desperate to get the hell away from-"

"Un-fucking-believable!"

The lid lifting again. The statements of truth from Buffy, having Faith reaching fast for her anger. More seething. More stalking. More words which resided way too far away from the friendly. "It's still all about you, right? How `bout this, B; I want the hell away from you, cos I can't stand being near you. Is that what ya need to hear, is that what you're searching for?" A sort of menace alighting her eyes as her fingers dipped down to trace the buckle of her belt; not finished with the insults, not finished with the phrases that would look to invoke distance. "Shit, I'll even give ya a taste of my skills, if that's what it takes for you to fuck off. Howd'ya like it, B? Wait, let me guess, you ride on top and I-"

And really, Buffy hadn't envisioned that the way to Faith's heart, would be through the inflicting of violence, yet in that moment, the only thing that her instincts had urged for her to do was to lay one sweet, right upon Faith's cheek. No more shaking of nerves as her anger had taken over, as she'd reacted to the rise which Faith had thrown at her feet. Not with a punch - that would've felt too much like fighting - but a slap. A good old fashioned, shut your mouth, slap. The slap of a woman scorned. A slap that cracked open the silence for Buffy to speak.

"Sorry about that," offering placations first; seeing the shocked bout of stunned shining in Faith's eyes, and trying to repair the damage. "I didn't mean to, I just... Just sometimes, Faith, you could at least try and hear me out, before you shut me down...... Are you okay? Does it hurt much?"

"No. You slap like a girl."

"That's good, I guess." Offering honesty second, taking advantage of the non-words from Faith's reoccupation with jaw stroking, and trying to make it make some kind of sense, "all I want is for you to let me speak. Just listen to what I'm saying, and if it still sounds like you'd be better off dead, then I'm done. I'll walk away for
good."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"I'm hoping you won't need it."

Hoping for so much more. A deep breath taken as Faith signaled by her sit down that she was on board with the deal. That she was prepared to at least listen, even if it was only as the way to get Buffy to leave her alone. And Buffy could work with that; sat herself down on the sofa opposite and thought about all the ways that she could work it, as the words were waiting to be produced. The only way settled upon as she took them back to the time when it was all about death:

"Ya know, when I first heard about what happened in LA, I honestly thought it was some kind of mistake; I'm Buffy, right? Fighting apocalypses is what I do; dying for the world is what I'm all about."

"Sorry I stole your thunder. Way I remember it, you were out the picture. Retired, right?"

"Yeah, that's right, Faith. Also wrong. I'm not pissed about my thunder; I don't care about losing something that doesn't mean anything to me. All I cared about was losing you," touching elbows to her knees as she leant forward to emphasize the point, "that's what I want you to understand, that's all I've been trying to say. When I lost you, it felt like I'd lost everything. It made me realise how much you mean to me."

"Enough to cut my call - to put in place my sentence?" And Faith was leaning forward too. Not touching elbows to knees in a plaintive pose, more like using her hands to demonstrate the force of feeling that she herself had been forced to endure eleven months previous. Not offered with anger, simply stated in a haunted, hollow voice that reflected the emptiness that being tossed aside had induced. "I was the one that lost shit, B, was me who got to see just how much I meant to you; what I didn't mean to you. Figured we'd passed that, figured we were working as a team again... Guess I'm the chump that always gets fooled by Buffy Summers."

"I'm sorry."

"Say it a buncha times, but it don't change nothing. You made yourself dead to me first; can't go crying now cos the shoe's sittin' on the other foot."

Only Buffy wasn't crying, wasn't in fact anywhere that could be considered close to crying. Her smile was still in place; her eyes were still sparkling as they took in the features of Faith's animated face. Even the fading red of the palm print on her cheek was encouraging Buffy to smile further still; because there was no god darn way that Faith would be walking away from her today - or tomorrow - or any other given day that had been designated for departure. No way. Buffy now understood that as easily as she understood the reasons why. So busy counting the cost of the call to herself, that she had barely paused to consider what the call may have cost Faith... attempting to put the shoe on the other foot, yet not really realising the implications of the change. To consider that it had been she herself who had died eleven long months ago and she herself who had forced Faith into the mourning that she'd believed was her own to experience. Now she understood for real. And in turn, she equally understood that Faith would never choose to willingly disappear from her again, regardless of threats and thoughts to the contrary.

It hurt too much to lose someone you loved. It felt like being dead.

Lifting herself up from her seat as she decided to declare that neither of them were in actuality dead, that neither of them had died, and that neither of them would be dying at any point in the near future. Not needing bravery anymore when it all made such perfect sense, not needing anything except the correct way to proclaim it, as she approached the bristling side of Faith and knelt down before her.

The move placing momentary panic in Faith's eyes. Making her voice shake.

"What ya doing, B?" Yet not enough to have her making any move to get away. Allowing Buffy's fingers to raise and trace the path that had been left by the slapped out finger marks. The voice clipping closer to straining, "said it was okay. You don't need to do that."

"I want to do it."

"......But... shit, can you not?"

"Why not, Faith? Would you rather I did this?" Taking her time to lean forward, giving Faith every opportunity to move away before she could make contact with lips.

And Faith did move away.

Just a fraction, just the tiniest of movements that made Buffy stop, that made her ask questions with her eyes and brought return questions from Faith's mouth. The same question... "What are you doing?" Like a pleading that only asked to receive the right response.

Offering up the only response that she could.

"I'm bringing us back to life, Faith, just bringing us back to life."

Hoping that like in a fairytale, a kiss would be the only thing needed to spark a resurrection.

Chapter Five

As fairytale kisses went, this was the kind that sparked something a whole lot more significant than simple resurrections. The secondary pause coming in the moment with lips poised on the precipice of the kiss - exhaling, inhaling - skin grazing lightly as noses nudged forward to test out the steps. And perhaps that had been the spark... perhaps that tiny exchange of life giving breath had been the catalyst. Maybe the unexpected warmth from the unexpected touch had been the thing that did the trick... Buffy didn't know. Only knew that as her heart had stilled with the fear of yet another pullback, no pulling had occurred.

Sure, Faith had frozen again; had forced Buffy to narrow her eyes in a vague attempt to decipher all of the words which still remained unspoken - yet it was if at that point the very words had seemed to change. No remnants left of the question that asked a what or a why, just an open and honest yearning that seemed to ask, why not?

And there couldn't be a why not. Not then. Not anymore.

For too many days and months and millions of moments, Buffy had sabotaged these instants with all of the answers to the big why not, and now, faced once again with Faith, she was no longer prepared to heed the warnings with worries of things that might never come to pass. This instant was real. This moment was real.

A reality that was at last confirmed as Buffy crossed those final few millimetres of safety to plunge lips-first into the great unknown...... And really, great didn't even come close to describing just what it was that Buffy felt as the unknown had finally begun caressing her lips. So subtle at first. So wary. So many different words that she never would have thought could be attributed to Faith.

Delicate. Restrained. Cautious.

Afraid?

Just a taste of it... just a little flicker of fear woven in with the whimpers from the kiss. Just enough to convince Buffy to apply brakes to her hormones, and take one more stretched out second of the steady inhaling and exhaling. Her words spoken on the exhale. Barely above a whisper, "You okay, Faith?", her gaze raising to penetrate when the question brought only silence.

And Faith didn't look okay, as if just the bare whisper of a kiss from Buffy had been enough to erode the decaying defences that were straining to keep life at arms length. Her eyes darkening; seeming desperate with confusion.

There was all of the fear that Buffy had felt flowing through the uneasy kiss; but there was also a whole heap of uncertainty that could surely only herald a reluctant return to life. Because it was sure as hell an uncertain moment. A billion possibilities where before there were none, a billion opportunities when you'd already decided that there were none worth taking.

Faith had told Buffy that she was dead to her, and in Faith's gaze at that exact moment, Buffy could see her terror at the opposite truth......

And she understood.

It was in that humungous ‘why not?' that she herself had taken so long to silence. It was in the million mistakes that had mapped out and governed the shared misery of their past. The very reason that they had hidden everything of themselves inside of the unanswered innuendos. And if Faith wasn't now dead, if she really was alive and able to see, to touch and to feel, then she would have to deal with those feelings... to deal with what it was she felt for Buffy; and nobody had ever died for a mild case of like. No one surrendered everything on the whim of a crush.

Faith's eyes were saying all of that to Buffy. Faith's terror though, that was telling her that love......... well, love was definitely something worth dying for.

Buffy believed it was something worth living for.

Her fingers moving with slow deliberation as she sought out Faith's hand and moved it close to her chest; swallowing the quirky remark about cheap feels and thrills, and focusing instead on what words she could say to accompany the steady beating of her heart. Still keeping her volume close to a whisper. Not asking this time if Faith was okay, but telling her. Letting her know that she felt it all too.

"I know what you're feeling, Faith, a-and I'm scared too. I already told you: it's you that scares me. This feeling scares me." Another breath. Another moment of bravery. "But, ya know, what with us being Slayers and all big with the powerful, I've been thinking: maybe we've got nothing to be afraid of, maybe we've got nothing to fear exce-"

"You leaving me high an' dry again?"

And Faith wasn't whispering. Wasn't shouting either. She hadn't pulled back, hadn't taken her lips too far out of Buffy's range, "Thing about bein' dead, B, is that there's nothing left to fear; I have nothing, I lose nothing. Everything's good."

Except there were very definite flaws in that argument. Buffy considered herself the number one authority when it came to coveting death, and she more than knew the flaws that were there to be exposed.

Holding a little tighter to Faith's imprisoned hand, pulling her in a little bit closer to emphasise the point, "Sure, there's a few minor benefits, a certain cold comfort that comes with having nothing; lots of pesky feelings that you can pretend have gone away." Tighter still. Closer still. "Thing about pretending though, is that it isn't really real. You can keep telling the world you're dead, but the world won't listen, won't care what you want. You'll still get the pain, the hurt... all of the things you were hoping you could hide from. And ya know what's the worst, Faith - the total downer to living like you're dead?"

And maybe Faith already knew. Her grip holding just as tight as Buffy's, her eyes no longer looking to find the easy distance as they searched instead for the confirmation that Buffy was now waiting to deliver. That she felt completely qualified to deliver. Her words resounding with the inherent authority of someone who knows exactly what it is that they're talking about, as she began to relay to Faith the wisdom gained in the months that had followed her own more than reluctant return from the grave.

Impassioned words about hiding from pain and pain seeking you out. How deeper everything cut when you knew you were responsible for inflicting your own wounds. Because Buffy did know, and Buffy remembered. And it wasn't the bad things that hurt the worst - that of course would be too easy - it was instead the good things, the good feelings... all and everything that made life worth living. The things that didn't disappear just because you chose to play a game of let's pretend.

They were the words that fell from Buffy's lips, and they were also the words that prompted Faith to pull at her imprisonment, to flex her fingers in an attempt to break free. Yet minimum contact was not what Buffy wanted, was nowhere close to what she was sure they both needed. Her strength offering resistance, her own flexing fingers seeming to pry reluctant words from Faith.

"What the hell do you want from me, Buffy?", the tone pleading, the eyes pleading, "Cos from where I'm sitting, the only time I get any pain is when you're fucking up the equation. I was doing fine... everything was going-"

"You were dead, Faith. Dead is definitely not of the fine."

"Fine. Whatever. Shit..." And Buffy did let her hands go this time. Allowed her the ability to twist her fingers through her hair and stretch out her sigh. Not giving up, just giving space. Waiting for more words that she would surely have to refute. "...You just don't get it, B, I was doing fine without you. I might not be living large, but at least it isn't living hell. I thought for a moment there, maybe... But Christ, are you insane? This doesn't work. ‘We' don't work."

And it was hard to refute. Maybe Faith's brand of unlife really did provide her with an idyllic respite from interacting with Buffy... maybe it really was all picnic and flowers without a blonde and bossy Slayer thrown into the mix.

Leaning slowly forward again, Buffy could only hope that her one and only argument would be enough to sway the case, "We've never tried, Faith. You can't say we don't work, when we've never even given it a shot. I say it's worth a shot."

"Yeah. I got that already."

"I don't think you did. If you'd got what I was saying, we'd be past this already and moved onto the good stuff. I'm not asking for things to be back the way they were - God knows I made a huge mess out of that whole scenario - I'm asking you to give me a chance at something different. Give us both a chance at something different. I'm done dating the dead, Faith, I've moved on to the living, and all I want now... All I need now, is for you to move with me."

There. Done.

Because there were no more words that Buffy could think of to say, nothing left that she felt would make any difference to what Faith would conclude as being their outcome. She had covered the past, had accepted responsibility for mistakes, had even thrown in references to indicate that she was over her unusual and unhealthy predilection for dating the dead. If Faith still chose to knock her back, then there was nothing else to say, no other words to fight a cause that she would have to accept as over.

And Faith did knock her back.

And over. Possibly with the proverbial feather. Her simple utterance of "Kiss me again", so totally unexpected in amongst all of the harsher words, that it was Buffy who found herself held frozen. Buffy who sat compliant this time, as Faith's hand was the one to reach out and touch. Still delicate, still cautious. A slight shake to the fingers as they tilted Buffy's chin to bring eyes into focus.

"How come you never do what I say, B? You tell me to live, and my pulse won't stop racing; I ask you to kiss me an'-"

And even blonde could only stretch so far.

The first time could be excused through shock, but if Buffy had stalled the second time that Faith had uttered ‘kiss me', then even the Stupid Club would've been excused for passing her over. Buffy though, was not stupid. She was a Slayer, the same as Faith, and she was now kissing the Slayer whose name was Faith.

Maybe more than kissing.

Only a moment's composure needed before she realised that restraint had been replaced with something a hell of a lot more urgent in its insistency. Her mouth slowly opening, her tongue lavishing approval as she felt herself surrendering to the intensity in the offering. Eyes shining. Lips smiling. Not stopping for more speeches or pointless accusations of who had done what, just losing all of the hard beneath the softness which stayed constant, no matter the passion the kisses were steeped in.

Slow-burning passion. The kind of passion that traps tenderness within each fervent touch. That makes each and every caress hover somewhere close to holy. And that was good, that was great. Buffy's express-train of a pulse could attest to just how perfect slow-burn could be...... and yet.

There was something coiling tight within her belly that strained harder with each passing moment beneath the self-control needed to keep things moving quite so softly. At such a long-winded pace. Because deep down, Buffy was yearning for Slayer hard. That undeniable part of her which fed the warrior, that fed the fire which flowed through her veins, that part was howling loud with desire for things to stray towards the hard. Like an assurance was needed that all of her fantasies involving Faith were not of her own mind's making. That here was someone who would touch her exactly how she needed to be touched, would fuck her exactly as she needed to be fucked... and more than that, maybe, that here was someone who would love her exactly as she had always longed to be loved.

A big ask, definitely, yet not unreasonable. Not when Buffy was more than willing and wanting, to provide the same service in return; was practically straining at the bit to provide the same service in return. Her moans leaving tender to dip down towards feral, hasty explanations that sounded vaguely like ‘I want you now', the only warning offered before she executed a move so quick that one without a Slayer's speed would have been left lagging far behind.

Faith though was not left lagging, she was down on the floor exactly where Buffy had wanted her. Definite surprise showing on her face, definite desire replacing surprise as Buffy let her know with the straddling of hips that they were in this for real. This wouldn't be some half-hearted glimpse at what they could feel like together, this would be the raw honest truth of how they had always meant to be with the other.

The point grinding home.

The reverence in Faith's touch being replaced by the years of wasted wanting that had finally found the right outlet for all of the pent up passion. Buttons torn apart. Panties ripped aside. As close to insane as Buffy had ever had the pleasure of feeling. No longer in control of her mind, no idea at all what words fell from her lips as Faith began to remind her that you couldn't surprise a Slayer and suffer no consequence, you couldn't turn soft into hard and not expect to have something even harder thrust straight back at you. And honestly, who knew? Who knew that those fingers that had been built to provide such death and destruction could feel nothing but fucking sublime as they slid so deep inside her. That lips which could curse and snarl with such savage intent, would one day tease and taunt her lips with such delight that she felt as though every inch of her being was at the mercy of Faith's instruction.

Happily shedding her own top. Baring her own skin. The desperation to feel that mouth wrapping tight around straining nipples, having Buffy leaning forward into each thrust and pressing down ever tighter. Her clit finding the friction in Faith's palm. The intensity cranking. Until the insane of moments ago was lost beneath the new insanity... the place where Buffy forgot where was up and where was down, what was in and what was out. Because everything was everything.

She knew that she'd just been straddling Faith, yet she also knew that she was now writhing on the floor beneath her... that lips which had teased too far away for kisses, were now at her pulse point, at her collarbone... Her lungs almost exploding with the air that had gasped inwards in the moment those kisses fell faint between thighs. And what was sanity? Because all that Buffy had left were the incoherent words which signalled her first climax, the moans which rose to screams, which twisted tight into strangled cries as every obvious erogenous zone came under the assault of Faith's expert ministrations. Then there came the unobvious. And then what came where and how and why and why not and every other anything in between was lost beneath the very fact that everything just kept on coming.

Unsure of when exactly she'd lost the last of her clothes, completely unaware of the moment that had seen positions change from the floor, to the sofa, to the bed, to that point when it wasn't Faith's fingers that were sliding deep inside, it was her own hands which were doing the tormenting and the teasing. Her own lips that travelled with eager anticipation across skin that glistened slick in the fading rays of daylight. Exhausting the hours. Exhausting each other. Until both bodies lay bare and sated, and the only energy left, was the energy that drew them close enough for more of the kisses. Soft and sedate. Like lazy confirmations of the words they hadn't spoke.

Not that the lack of words was bothering Buffy, far from it, she was too busy smiling through the thoughts that kept encouraging her lips to lock onto Faith's, to be bothered about speaking. Speech was for the ill informed. Speech was for the mere mortals who would never understand the intensity of emotion that she and Faith had just shared. Except...

"I haven't had a workout that good, since...... Damn, I've ‘never' had a workout that good."

Except Faith was speaking, eyes all aglow, and no matter how much Buffy wished to believe they had transcended mere mortals with their extreme-sports style of exertion, she couldn't deny her need to speak back. To glow back. Stealing another soft kiss before finding her words, "That was the best workout ever," raising her eyebrows in appreciation, letting Faith know just much she approved of her performance, "Like best of the best. I'm even wondering if a gold star's not in order."

"You're kidding me? I get a gold star?"

"Well, I'll have to speak to Giles first, he's ever so cautious when it comes to the handing out of gold stars. They'll be reports, transcripts, possible diagrams of-"

And she had tried to keep it serious, had honestly attempted to banish the smile that wouldn't stop tickling at her lips. It was one of those futile moments though, finding herself unable to tease when Faith looked like she was sliding somewhere close to abject terror. Her eyes spreading wide. Her smile slowly dipping. "No way, B. You can't think Giles is gonna be pleased about this."

"Well, he'll be pretty surprised... He still thinks you're dead."

A reminder that sucked all of the smiles from the room. As if an instant chill had descended down to push the warmth from their bodies. Both instinctively reaching for the sheet, pulling it tight in a vain attempt to seclude themselves away from that other reality; the world where Buffy lived and Faith had died.

And she couldn't help but ask. Because beyond the fear and the dread, and the quiet yet annoyingly persistent voice that was telling her the fantasy was over, Buffy had to know, "Is he right, Faith? Are you still dead?"

The ultimate question. The only question.

No answer being offered by eyes that drifted away to study bare walls. No assurance in the shoulders that rippled tight with the returning tension. And if Buffy had thought that she'd said goodbye to all forms of sanity during all of the sex, then she knew now that she was wrong. That somehow she was closer to madness in this moment then she'd ever been before. Her heart thumping... her throat constricting with the effort of producing more words, "Faith?", maybe just one word. One tiny word to carry the hurt and the hope, just five tiny letters that spoke every emotion still available to Buffy.

And there may not have been more pep talks, no more impassioned pleas for resurrection, yet Buffy was still a warrior, still brave enough and resilient enough to not give in. To raise her hand, no matter how much it was shaking, and encourage Faith's eyes to come back to her.

Regaining a connection. Receiving an answer.

"Do I look dead to you?"

Unable to provide one in return.

Buffy could only do the slow shake of head, could only bite her lip as the pinprick feel of a thousand tears rose up behind her eyes. And she would not cry. Mighty warriors did not cry. They gave kisses; thankful and relieved, salt flavoured kisses.

The air in the airport tasted stale and reconditioned on the day that Buffy Summers left Ensenada. Her skin still glowing healthily from the days spent lazing in the sun, her smile still fixed in place no matter that she was preparing now to leave it all behind. Her passport glanced at. The aeroplane boarded...

And to the casual observer, she would have looked as though she was travelling all alone. In fact, the casual observer would've been forgiven for offering her a glance of sympathy, for wondering why such a beautiful young woman was flying halfway around the world on her own.

Buffy wasn't affected though by the well meaning gazes. She had stored her handbag in the overhead locker, had cast her eyes briefly over the in-flight entertainment magazine, and all she cared about now was a certain other beautiful young woman who was striding down the aeroplane aisle in an attempt to find her seat. Or his seat, depending on whose perception you believed in.

Because sure, Buffy could see Faith, but no one else could. They could only see an elderly man of indeterminable age, who looked as though every shuffle of his feet brought him intense pain. Maybe they even sympathised with the beautiful young blonde, when that old man shuffled to a stop and took the seat beside her. Mostly they all forgot, and even those that remembered weren't really sure what it was they had remembered. The perfect little cross between a glamour and confusion spell, exactly what Willow had ordered when Buffy had phoned to say that she was bringing Faith home.

And that had caused a few moments disbelief.

Had even, Buffy suspected, been the main catalyst behind Willow disguising the fugitive Faith as a decrepit old man. The very thing that Faith was now bemoaning: "I don't get it, B, I coulda got a better glamour from some backstreet mojo-making hack... What's Red's deal? Thought you said she was happy to help."

"She is. She's ecstatic at having you back in the fold."

"So why the fuck do I look like I've escaped from a damn retirement home? Jesus, B, I'm like a thousand years old. And I'm a man!"

And it was kind of funny. In a Willow kind of way.

"I said she was ecstatic to have you back; she's also mighty pissed you went away. You think this is bad, just wait till you see what Dawn has planned for you......"

"She pissed too?"

"I think there's a theme."

Which there was, kind of. Because whether Faith knew it or not, Buffy wasn't the only one who had mourned her demise, and Buffy wasn't the only one who was celebrating her return. Faith had friends, and those friends were happy, ecstatic, and maybe, also, still just a little bit pissed.

"I doubt you'll have to worry though; soon as they hear what we've been getting up to, they'll lose the ability to speak. To form thoughts. To stay pissed."

"You're still set on telling them, then?"

And how was that one still a question?

"You know I am, I already told you: I want to try, and I want to make it work. If you're gonna live in this world, Faith, I wanna be right by your side and living there with you."

And there may have been more words, possibly a quick remark from Faith that asked if it was too late to reconsider... Yet quick remarks were lost beneath the kisses that accompanied them as they rose above the clouds. Kisses which to every watching passenger on the plane looked gross and unholy, yet which to them felt only sublime with perfection.

Proof of their feelings. Proof of their new reality. And beyond everything, proof that love, as Buffy had insisted, was definitely something worth living for.

The End