Chapter Twenty-Four.
The scene sat silent as Xander slowly pushed open the door that led out onto the roof. No sound except for the pounding force of the rain; no animation in the girl that he had come looking to find. On her knees. Head bowed. And he wondered what it was that she was praying for. Why Faith had looked as if the rain had cleansed her soul, yet Buffy only looked as though her soul was being washed away in the downpour.
And he hated it. Absolutely despised the idea that all of this mess was looking to bring such profound heartache to a woman who he loved. And respected. And admired. Because when Buffy’s heart broke, his broke a little too. Clearing the sadness which wanted to etch on his face as he took the first step towards holding her upright. His feet finding spaces between the puddles, his hand reaching out to lay soft on her shoulder:
“Hey Buffster, you gonna come inside? You stay out here in this and there’s danger of shrinkage.”
No reply. No retort to defend her size.
His gaze forced to scan the scenery to look for answers. To switch upwards toward heaven and search for a break in the clouds.
Already here once before. Except that when he had faced Faith on the roof, it had been anger and rage that he had looked hard to placate - nothing in Buffy spoke of anger and rage. That would be easier; with Faith it was easier. Almost as if the fact that they hadn’t shared so much history made it a simpler task to pass by the bad. With Buffy he shared a whole lifetime of history. He had seen her aching before, he had seen her breaking before, and every foot he placed felt like it had to be placed with meticulous care. Not able to offer simple platitudes about everything’s changed, because he knew himself that, for Buffy, nothing had changed.
She saved the world. A lot. She got hurt in the process. A whole lot more. Like a formula that always followed the rules. A formula that he wished he could find the solution to now. Easing his thoughts as she broke the monotonic rhythm of the rain to offer the monotonic rhythm of her words:
“Has she gone?”
“She’s gone.”
“Right. I guess that’s that then.”
Feeling her shift beneath his hand. Shrugging him off. Using the strength that always remained to bring herself up to standing. And he offered her the space, kept his gaze steady as she allowed him to see the depth of pain that ran steady from her eyes.
Tears.
Something he would never get used to seeing in Buffy.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m going with no. Definitely no.”
“Can I do anything?”
A useless question.
Already knowing before Buffy could answer, that there really wasn’t anything that he could do to make this better. He understood the dynamics, had been regaled with tales downstairs that told how the slayers had kissed. He knew what she needed, and he knew what he couldn’t give to her. It made his arms feel empty even as he offered the hug. It forced him to feel the slightness in her body and remember that beneath all of the strength, there was still so much that could be hurt. That could ache the same, regardless of super powers.
“Come on, let’s get you inside. I know you can’t catch your death from a cold, but even slayers can catch the sniffles.”
“I don’t care. I like it up here.”
“You do know that it’s raining?”
“Call it acclimatising - it rains a lot in England.”
“Buffy……”
And what?
Xander didn’t have the magic wand or the magic words that could change the situation, and in his mind he knew that the situation deserved the rain. Already feeling as it slicked his hair to his forehead, as it trickled in that space between collar and neck. Letting it fall. Letting his feet remain in place as he braved the storm to stand at her side.
“…They have a lot of umbrellas in England too.”
Just being there. All that he could do.
Beneath the roof where the rain fell steady, there were other storms that howled and raged and looked to place pain deep in hearts. Too many words that had flashed fast like lightning. Too many provocations that had only returned the words to make more tears.
Willow tears.
Every twisted taste of hate replaced by the battered feel of misery. A misery that Willow could no longer deny that she felt she deserved.
So much had seemed wrong since the return of Faith. Not only forced to feel the distant tingling of a feeling that she had long ago laid to rest, but also forced to remember the deeds that she had done when it was Tara that they were burying. No rest there. No matter that she had undignified her responses with a solution that begged for sense, Willow knew that evil was as evil did, and she had done a whole lot of evil.
She had flayed a man alive. She had wanted to flay the world. She had seen the hope and love in Buffy’s eyes and she had told her that it made her twisted and wrong.
So who was the wrong one now?
Willow didn’t need to look far to find the answer to her burning question; she only had to look inside of herself and feel the discomfort from all of her recent actions. Nearly all. No discomfort from hating Faith - that was something that had always come easy - but for the way that she had turned her back on Buffy. Had spat on her feelings as if they were there to be ridiculed. Even tonight, when all she had wanted to do was to tend to Buffy’s wounds, she had only managed to make the wounds cut deeper. Slicing through friendship. Inviting the misery. No tub of ice cream big enough to soothe the issues that had risen to the top when the past had gate-crashed the present. To the soothe the sighs that kept falling on rapid repeat to drop solid to the floor.
Someone else left feeling like everything had been lost.
Kennedy had switched rooms to bunk in with Rona; looking for space, for sanity away from the uber-bitch. Xander was staying behind when they all left for England. Dawn was more interested in talking about what came next, as opposed to what came then. And Buffy…
…Buffy couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.
It made the lips wobble. It almost made Willow wish that she lived in that time where everything could be solved by the wave of a wand and a few magic words. But more than that, it reached down deep - the core characteristics - gracing her face with a look that was everything Willow.
Because things could be solved when she found her resolve.
Shoving aside thoughts of sleep that would never come, to stand instead and take stock of what lay broken before her. The things that she could salvage, the things that she could fix. The jealousy of a memory nothing in comparison to the bond of friendship that existed between herself and Buffy.
And she could work with that. She would work with that.
No time for hindsight; to take back all of the things that had been said beneath clouds of rejection. Just time to say sorry. To finally shift aside the selfish and look for the sunshine.
Because Buffy Summers needed a friend. Willow had first filled out the application form years ago, and all that was left to do now was to reapply and hope, that Buffy still needed and wanted her friendship.
No matter how soft the tap at the door, it still sounded nothing but intrusive to Xander. He had tempted Buffy away from the rain, had stood soldier-like outside of the bathroom as she had taken a shower, and now, like before, he was offering all that he had in a safe pair of arms.
Tears stopped. No more room for crying. Yet still allowing him to hold on tight. To hold her close. At least until the tapping came. Until she shifted.
“Will you see who it is?”
No sound of strength left.
“We could just ignore it. I’m enjoying the snuggly time with my most favourite slayer.”
“What if it’s……”
And she didn’t need to finish. His thoughts already travelling the same path - already wondering if fate hadn’t caught a bad case of the hiccups and they were the ones left paying the price. Untangling his limbs as he crossed his fingers and hoped for a better alternative: Faith had not lost it somewhere on the way home. She hadn’t dusted Angel in a fit of mindless madness. She hadn’t wiped out half of LA in an attack on all of the same old crap. He really, really hoped.
Wanting to close that one remaining eye as he drew back the door to await the news. Left spreading the eye as he saw just who the messenger would be.
“Willow. Uh… hey.”
“Hey. Is Buffy in there?”
And should he lie?
Not sure of how to proceed. Xander was well aware of all of the shit that had hit the fan as fallout from Willow’s spell, and he knew absolutely that Buffy did not need anymore of the fallout tonight. This morning. Whatever hour it was. She had been through enough - again - and he would stand as her soldier for as long as she needed him…
“I take it by the long and increasingly uncomfortable silence, that she is?”
“Look Will, she’s really not up for more of this tonight.”
“Hey, not here for fighting.”
And he felt Buffy behind him even before she’d pulled hard on the door - whipping it from his grasp - slayer strength rendering the soldier in him useless.
“What exactly are you here for?”
The ice in her tone rendering everything useless.
“Buffy, I…”
“What? Heard I was down and wanted to come kick me?”
“No! This isn’t that, I’m not here for kicking - wait, unless you wanted to kick me? Which with the way I’ve been acting lately, not gonna be a great big shocker.”
“Will?”
And Xander wanted to second that motion. Because who exactly had removed the bitch and put Willow back in her place? All of the sharp edges smoothing again. That unsure smile that had stayed the same since kindergarten, tugging softly at her lips. And…
“Will?”
Motion seconded.
“You’re both wondering why I’m not acting all mean with the bitchy, right?”
“Actually, I’m still kinda wondering what you’re doing here. I thought I warned you to stay away from me, do you really need me to prove the point.”
Just watching as Buffy folded her arms tight across her chest. Not in the same way she’d been doing for the last hour; trying to bring comfort, more the: you’ve pissed me off and now you’re going to get hurt, classic kind of style. Making him want to be everyone’s protector. The builder in him wanting to steady the foundations.
“Hey Buff, ease off a little on the aggression, okay. Maybe we can invite Willow in, see what she wants to say?”
“You think I haven’t heard enough of what she wants to say? How’s it go Will - I’m sick and I’m twisted and I’m completely in love with a murdering psycho bitch?”
Oh.
It oh’d Xander and he had heard the confession before. Looking directly at Willow, he could see that she was in a whole big world of OH, of her own now. Eyes stunned. Mouth hanging. Words caught somewhere inside of a stutter.
“Y-you… what?”
“You heard what I said. Why the sudden silence - isn’t this the part where you threaten to fry my insides? Maybe rip out my still beating heart and toss it to the wolves. Hey, maybe you could get really creative…”
Still room for crying.
“…maybe you could figure out a way to make me hurt more than I’m hurting right now. Is that what you want, Will? Is that why you’re here?”
“Oh Goddess…”
Xander had already steadied his arms to take the fall, but he was beaten in the moment by Willow. Stepping forward across the threshold to offer Buffy the comfort that she had been longing for since Faith’s return to consciousness. Soothing all of the cries with words of sorry, with promises to ensure that everything would be okay. No more accusations, and no more recriminations - just there. For now. Back where she should be. The best friend at Buffy’s side.
By the time that Faith had returned home and eaten enough to satisfy the hunger that raged from all that had happened, it was almost the hour for the sun to start splitting the sky. Angel twisting the cord to dim the blinds - not needing to shade himself - just offering her a light less bright to sleep to. Asking if maybe, she wanted to talk?
And did she?
It was a question that had bugged Faith the whole time that they had been returning from Buffy’s. Keeping her eyes on the road that stretched out before them, not able to keep her mind from the places she had just left behind:
Had Xander done as she’d asked?
Was Bu… was everything okay?
All of it fizzing along under the passing glow of the dimly lit streetlamps. Illuminating all of the dark places, making Faith wonder at all of the things that she didn’t want to be anymore. The person that she didn’t want to be. Not sure if she could lay it all down in words though - if she could look at Angel now and explain all of the things that had affected her that night. The only thing that affected her.
Really and truly, the same old shit.
“What do ya wanna talk about, Big Guy - how those slayers served up your ass on a plate tonight?”
Avoidance in place to buy some time for thinking. An idea that almost had her avoiding with laughter. She knew herself that she had changed when she started thinking about - well, thinking.
“They didn’t serve up anything.”
“No? Sure I heard B dishing out the marching orders. That’s gotta sting a little: being kept in line by a bunch of girls… Can admire their balls though. Sure is nice to see the chicks carrying the power for a change.”
“You’d admire anything to change the point of focus, Faith. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, I can wait. But I’m not staying here to give you a target to ease the tension. I can call Spike if you wanna trade insults.”
“Ooh, is someone feeling a little bit tetchy? Should I perhaps call The Englishman to open up the gym?”
The accent that she couldn’t help but slaughter as she sought to mimic something like Wes, was enough to have even the broodiest of vampires reaching for a smile. Just a small one. Just a vague curve of that somewhere soft around the edges.
“Do you realise how bad that sounds?”
“No way, man! Spike’s been giving me lessons - taught me a wicked version of God Save The Queen. Kept going on about his Sex Pistol too though, which is just kinda gross when you get right down to it…”
Her non-stop sudden love for babbling having Angel’s lips lifting even higher. His body leaning back against the side to settle in for the show - her mouth not able to stop. As if all of the words that wanted to come out, were pushing aside all of the crap that sat in the way.
“…but then the dude’s still stuck as a ghost, so it’s not like I’m gonna go all sexual harassment on his ass. That idiot in accounting though - what’s his name? Kevin? - that’s someone that needs to watch where his hands wanna go. Nearly had to tear him a new hole last week…”
“Faith?”
“…course it would’ve matched the one I tore him the week before; but then I did warn him. Like, twice. You can’t go round expecting people to put up with that shit…”
“Faith! Please. If you’ve got a complaint about a member of staff, then do as you always do. I’m sure Wesley’s having the finest time dismissing every demon that looks at you funny.”
“Number Guy’s a demon? You sure? I never got that kinda vibe from him.”
“You don’t think the new assholes might have hurt more, if you were tearing them in something human?”
“Huh? Yeah, well that figures. And there was me thinking I was still being bad. Oh well - gotta remember to look in that mirror tomorrow, see who I see.”
Faith even went so far as to lay back and close her eyes. Knowing herself how close she was coming to running out of useless shit to talk about. A new skill. Or lack thereof. Able to let fly in the old days for hours about alligators, Boston Baptists, tall tales and drummers. Not so easy to avoid the issues now though… not when they were screaming out from the deep down depths to finally be released.
Like indigestion. A twisting in the gut.
Something that cut much deeper.
“I get it, Faith. This is hard stuff to talk about.”
“No, it’s cool. I look in the mirror a lot.”
“Are you going to keep avoiding? There’s nothing here to hurt you, no one here that’s gonna judge you. Why don’t we talk about what happened tonight?”
Still wanting to run.
“The Slayers served your ass. I served Buffy hers. End of. Sweet dreams. You done now?”
“You hit Buffy?”
Stopping on point as she saw the look on Angel’s face. Maybe shocked. Maybe not. Maybe angry? Faith didn’t know. She only knew what it felt like.
“That get ya pissed, Angel? You wanna throw down and protect the little lady?”
Forgetting all about feigning sleep, to throw off the covers and stand tall in her sleep wear. The roughness enough to jog the place at her side where Buffy had landed her one good hit that night. The instinctual shot that had made Faith’s blood run faster; made her lick her lips before it had led to kisses. Jogging something else. All of her momentum lost in the moment.
“Shit. Sorry, alright? I’m acting like an ass; just forget it on account of me being an ass.”
Shrugging back down again. The silk of the sheets instantly soothing where her skin had just prickled. Everything that she had felt in the kiss. Everything that she had seen in the kiss. Too much to think about. Not what she wanted to think about.
“Faith, it is okay. I told you I understood. Giles explained some of what happened tonight, he said something about-”
“What? I know I hit her bad - it’s surface shit though, she’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“You hit her with kisses?”
Oh.
As if everyone was destined to have their own OH moments before the day could end satisfied. Faith’s coming from not knowing that anyone else knew about what had happened in the cemetery. If no one else knew, then she could deny it. To herself. To everyone.
“You heard about that?”
“Giles made vague mention of Buffy kissing you.”
“I kissed her first. For the record.”
“I’ll make a note.”
Avoiding his eyes. Avoiding his understanding.
“So how do you feel?”
Not able to avoid the million dollar question. Maybe the kajillion dollar question. Faith hadn’t allowed herself to think about it long enough to form anything that felt like a feeling. She had meant what she’d said on the roof: being near Buffy made her go crazy, and she didn’t want to be crazy anymore. That she was sure of.
“I dunno. It happened. I don’t wanna talk about it - it’s not important. Me and B, that’s finished now. I’ve got nothing left to say to her, and I hope to hell that she’s run out of things to say to me.”
“You know, you might deal better if you try facing up. There are deeper issues involved here Faith, and that’s never going to be finished if you don’t-”
“I am dealing! Fuck me, how much facing up do I gotta do? Anytime I don’t wanna talk about something, you tell me I’m not facing up. That’s crap Angel, you know that’s crap! I can’t talk about this shit! Okay - is that better?! I don’t know how to talk about this stuff!”
Finally. The top blowing off. The bottom falling out. The world turned one way and then quickly the next. Admitting it. To Angel - to herself. There was a weakness. And she could at last speak words of what the weakness was. Where the issues had lied.
Bringing her knees up to rest against her chest. To smother the unfamiliar sound that was making her nervous, that was threatening to make her remember.
“It was fucked up. She was fucked up. I never meant to do it… the kiss… I thought - I wanted to kill her. Had myself freaking all over the place… seeing it like it was before. Feeling like I’d landed back in Sunnydale…”
Even now the memory was close enough to make her cling tighter to her knees. Her voice going somewhere far away… her eyes quickly following. Offering Angel the closest look he’d ever had at the girl who lived inside.
“…She even smelled the same. And how fucked up is that? Why do I even remember that stuff? She killed me Angel, she fucking killed me.”
“You’re not dead, Faith. Buffy didn’t kill you.”
“That’s just technicalities. She did it in spirit… you weren’t there, she loved it. Never saw her look as free as she did that night… coming to kill me, no hint of regrets.”
So many regrets.
“She can’t just kiss me after that. She wants to stick a knife in my gut, then fine; she has to play the game. Always woulda played it different if she’d been looking for the down and dirty. Fuck - the cage coulda been a lot more fun if she was looking for down and dirty…”
“Stop Faith.”
Not knowing if she could. Her mouth running away again - new things to talk about, old things to talk about - nothing that she wanted to say and everything that she needed to say. Like an avalanche of emotion, an invitation to bear witness to her annihilation of the past.
“Why? Thought this shit was good to get out. Isn’t that what you keep saying - isn’t this facing up?”
“No. This is about making yourself hurt more. Destroying a feeling that you don’t know how to deal with…”
Wondering if the gym was still empty as Angel looked to find a place beside her. Not touching - he knew how she felt about touching for comfort - but just enough to whisper. To add resonance to the words by dropping his voice.
“…What Buffy feels for you now, is something that’s always been there. Maybe for the both of you. Just because it’s mixed in with all of the bad times, that doesn’t make it a bad thing to feel… It’s never a bad thing to feel, Faith. That’s what reminds us of who we are, what we live for. You have enough things to pay for, enough crimes to make right - don’t add extra to the minus column. Don’t punish yourself for falling in love.”
Resonating deeply.
Aching deeper.
Words that she never wanted to hear.
Not now. Not then. Not here. Not ever.
“No such disease, Angel. Can we change the subject now - like how I wanna sleep for a week and wake up next century, forget that any of this stuff ever happened.”
“You know you can’t forget. You can’t outrun how you feel.”
“Gotta feel it first, and all I’m feeling is tired. Little rough around the ribs - girl’s still got a mean ass kick…”
And she was tired. Exhausted. All of the rocks of redemption digging into her feet as she tried so hard to change her path. To walk the way that led to the good times.
“…Can we just be done now? No shit Angel, I’m ready to drop.”
Everything about her saying the same.
Smiling just once as he bade her good night. Good morning. Whatever the fuck time of day it was. It really didn’t mean anything to Faith - she was ready to drop.
Still not ready to deal with the falling.
Back across town where the storm clouds had gathered, Xander Harris was also bidding his own soft good night, good morning, or whatever the heck time of day it was. Not so loud though. Not so anything that featured words. Just bending slightly to pull up the cover; a kiss to his finger deposited gently on two separate heads.
Not so separate entities anymore though.
Not enemies anymore.
Too many tears for Xander to keep count of, had fallen across Buffy’s bed tonight. Mostly the girls; once or twice himself. Sorrow, pain; all of the mistakes that the years could bring. Yet somewhere above the river of tears, they had managed to re-find the place that they liked to call home. That bridge that sometimes buckled, but never truly broke. None of the issues laid to rest, but all of them pushed aside to remember the strength they all gained from the unbreakable bonds of their friendship. From arms that held a familiar feel and from lips that had at last remembered how to find the right smiles. How to make the right words.
It made Xander feel a sadness that couldn’t be shifted as he took one last look before closing the door - the two women that meant the most to him in all of the world - the two women that would be leaving him in just about over a day. A sorrow that threatened to buckle him where he stood.
For Xander may have found Faith for himself, may have found distractions that were teaching him all of the memories of finding the fun; but nothing would be able to take away the loss he would suffer when his two favourite birds finally flew from the nest.
Only able to find a final smile, because at least he knew now, that they would be spreading their wings together…
…and also…
…when they woke up later, all full of the Scooby snuggles?
He wondered who would colour most red.
