Chapter Nine: Sad Salad
February 2001
Faith sits poking moodily at the salad you’d had sent ahead. You hadn’t been able to stomach the sight of ‘real’ food, as Faith sulkily complained for once you’d put the phone to your ear, her eyes still fixed to the wilting green leaves.
“Hi.” The bile that’s been coating your throat for days has left it now red and raw, perfectly matching your blood-shot eyes.
“He-” Faith’s own voice catches in her throat as she gets her first look at you. You think if you could will the energy together you might curse her. The cheap lipstick you smeared across your pale and chapped lips in the flickering light of the visitors’ bathroom hadn’t fooled even you but you wish she didn’t let it show on her face. You look like crap.
And she knows it.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, as if anything has ever been right. “Did- did something happen? Everyone’s ok, right? Dawnie? Is- is Dawn ok?”
A scoff that sounds suspiciously like a sob escapes. Is Dawn ok?
Are you ok? Is anything ever going to be damn ok? Fuck Faith and her stupid fucking-!
“It’s my mom.” You clear your dry throat loudly, making Faith jump, and repeat it again in the same dreary tone.
Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ and she says what might be some kind of vague platitude or may be some kind of insightful fantastic thing… but it’s lost over the dull roar of blood in your ears.
And you don’t much care. “Thanks.” She notices your lacklustre tone but does little more than raise an eyebrow.
“B…?” She asks, the rest getting lost somewhere in her throat.
Of course, you pretty much know that she was intending on asking if you’re alright- Faith is nothing if not selfish and you are, as always, factored in as part of that ‘self’.
You think you should be hurting more, crying every second of every day. That’s if there were any tears left in your scratchy, dry eyes. You want to scream and curse and cry and at the same time not.
Sitting here forever sounds like a good idea. The world can pass you by in this cold, bright room; chairs will scrape noisily over sticky lino floors and children will cry noisily, not noticing their snotty noses, to see their beloved mommies forcibly withheld from them by a glass jail- a temptation too far. So hard to at once see and yet not touch.
Forbidden.
Like the fruit.
She is your pinnacle of prohibition and you will sit here to watch her as the world revolves without you.
Only… Dawn. Exists.
You have Dawn to save and a world that refuses to watch itself. A fucking, fucking, useless-
She’s still staring, watching, waiting. “I’m ok, Faith.” There should be an explanation, you feel, to follow that but the two of you know each other well enough by now to not waste your time with idle talk about important things. “I have so much to do.”
For some reason that seems of great consequence.
Faith replies with a smile, something about how she wouldn’t know. It almost makes you groan out loud that she would bring her wretched mother into this but you just can’t seem to dredge up the effort or sense to care. In other plains, in other worlds- in other universes and realities- you would have minded so extremely much to see her frown. In this one you just want her to shut up.
The awfulness of not even Faith making you sit up and take notice seems muted somehow.
Not that you care much about that.
Or anything.
You think that if you might let just one- this one- a feeling slip through the tiny fracture that is ‘Faith’ the pressure of worry on the other side will slam through and you’ll be drowning again. Again.
You dreamt once that she held you under the water while you drowned.
Now you think it might be nice were she to be with you in the swirl, a body to cradle- yours of course- that she might keep you safe and be the protection you so desire, hold your head above the waves and-
God, you’re wretched!
And maudlin.
Faith is still talking, though of what you’re not sure. You nod sporadically and make the occasional ‘mm’ but it’s obvious she knows you’re not really paying any attention. You want to pay attention. Sort of. Or maybe not.
You’re getting bored of your mind’s stultifying Faith.
“B? You in there?”
“Did you cry when your mother died?”
It wasn’t intended to be so cutting or so blunt but the look she gives you makes something flutter deliciously in your chest. “Don’t do this, Buffy, you-”
“Did you cry when you woke up all alone in the hospital?”
“Stop it.” She clenches her jaw and growls.
“Did you cry when you killed those men?”
“Stop it!”
“Did you cry when he-?”
“SHUT UP!” A guttural roar erupts from her as she slams her hands up to smack against the glass. Before she makes it two guards latch on to her shoulders and drag her back down into the chair. The fight to resist or submit rages in her eyes until she shrugs them off and sinks back into the seat. They nod respectfully at her and move back to stand against the bars.
Margie, the guard who checks your food and calls your girl ‘Faithy’, steps forward to cuff her to the chair. You know they rarely restrain her- it’s that working denial thing that happens so much in Sunnydale- they’re perfectly aware thin metal can’t hold her but it gives them peace of mind.
And stops the other prisoners complaining.
She’s still glaring and you almost say you’re sorry but you think it might just make her snap again. “Faith, I… I just feel so…” ‘Useless’ and ‘ashamed’ and ‘angry’. “God, my mom died and I wanted you there but you… fucked everything up.”
“Excuse me?” She snorts and swings her legs round so they hang over the side of her chair and are crossed away from you, taking special care not to snap the new handcuffs. “I wasn’t the only one who fucked up.”
“I didn’t side with the mayor!” A valid point and the best you’re capable of making while ignoring hers altogether.
Faith rolls her eyes then gives one of the guards an ‘is she kidding me?’ look. He shrugs in reply. “I was jealous! You chose Angel over me.”
Though of course your eyes don’t light up every time you hear his name. And you don’t have him listed as ‘family’ on your medical records.
And you don’t tell him your deepest darkest secrets rather than telling you!... or something.
“Oh yeah?! Well you chose fucking Angel over me too!” You so didn’t mean that, “uh… ‘fucking Angel’ not ‘fucking’ Angel.” Though she did that too.
It’s obviously hard for her to not smile as struggles to keep the angry look on her face. “Yeah, well, at least I had the decency to tell you about it.” She mutters under her breath.
“You wrote me a note Faith, it’s hardly the same as ‘telling’ me.”
Another snort is the only reply.
It was an awfully written note too- her handwriting is truly appalling and the spelling makes even you cringe.
Once, back when you saw her every day and she pissed you off a whole lot more (and at the same time, ‘less’) than she does now, you volunteered her to help Giles catalogue the library with her copious free time. It backfired hideously as he nearly had a breakdown from having to recite the alphabet to her a thousand times and then was so angry he made you rewrite every piece of paper she’d scribbled on.
“But thank you for going a hundred percent further in telling me.”
“Why, how far did he go?” No one said slayers had to be bright.
She almost makes you laugh, “Not that far.”
But who are you to be laughing?
You were an awful daughter when your mother was alive and you’re a worse one now. This visit was just supposed to be about telling Faith- not flirting with her, not checking her out in that ‘for some reason much tighter than normal’ jumpsuit and definitely not being nice to the girl who tied up your mother and held her hostage.
It might almost be better just to yell at her or something… and if not then to hurt her just as much as you should be.
A few well-placed insults and a scathing character assassination has her on her feet and shouting again in less than five minutes; “You don’t fucking define me Buffy Summers! I have my own life; it doesn’t stop as soon as you walk out that door. Not every thought I have is of you. Not everything I feel is because of you! I ain’t one of your little pals who stops breathing the second you walk out the room!
She holds a hand up to cut you off and continues as if you’d enver tried to speak, “There was a ‘me’ before you and there will be one after! If you died tomorrow I would be upset- probably even cry- but then I would get up and get on with it. Not for you, for me.
“You’re fucking selfish, you know that? When my mom died I cried tears of joy because it was the best damn day of my life and now you’re moping because you don’t get to spend yet another twenty years with your Perfect Mom? Grow up and… and…” She struggles to find a suitable insult but ironically ends up with the only thing she can think of being supremely immature, “Just die!”
So of course you start getting angry too, which makes her get even angrier and the guards back off.
It isn’t until the bell rings that you both finally stop bawling.
She gets pulled off looking pissed- but mainly at herself, you know she tried hard to stay calm.
As she leaves you almost want to apologise. Again. But again you don’t. And then you remember how your mother had loved Faith and went on loving her- even after finding out everything she’d done. Yet she had thrown you out of the house for trying to save the world. So you don’t feel bad. You feel right.
Chapter Ten: The Green Apple Room
Ribs
February, 2001.
So this is weird.
‘Weird’ in a not-entirely good way, too. The kind of feeling you get when your friend’s dad stares at you for a little too long. Except this is nothing like that; you’re floating… in nothing, and have apparently left your body somewhere as it’s impossible to look down and check whether or not you’re wearing the said low-cut top that would make the aforementioned father look at your…
Ok, over-thinking.
Definitely over-thinking.
And not creeped out at all. Really.
Though, as slayer dreams go this is high on the scale of weird. It felt nice at first; to float weightless in the fog of nonentity- no colour, no feel, no light, no sound. Know how many different sensory impulses a brain computes every second? Well, no, neither do you but they covered it once in biology class and it was definitely a lot. And it creeps people out to be sensory deprived. What you do know is that it’s most definitely a torture in some parts of the world.
Actually… isn’t that what prison is all about?
Five bucks says this turns out to be a stupid dream-metaphor thing from the Powers to remind you to have more patience with Faith… or Dawn… or your friends… or, thinking about it, maybe just in general.
Ok, so you might just happen to have some issues when it comes to relating to people and your ‘caring’ level isn’t exceptionally high. You’d rather pretend than face questions about what’s wrong with you. Actually, you’d prefer to feel the emotion that you’re faking.
You’re not a hollow shell though; it’s not all a lie. Sometimes you catch yourself laughing at one of Xander’s jokes (or Spike’s pitiful existence)- really laughing, not just the phoney ‘because everyone else is’ laugh but the kind that bursts up from your very core until your muscles are aching and you can’t stop.
You’d like to spend all day like that; laughing. Or, at least, you’d settle for an ‘only semi-boring’ lecture from Giles if it gets you out of this stupid cloud!
Oh.
‘Cloud’.
It’s white and fluffy and you can see!
Finally this damn dream is getting somewhere.
You imagine stretching out your hand and though you can’t see it in front of you the condensation dances across your skin. The mist swirls around as if someone had blown on it.
It smells like apples- the sweet kind rather than the rotting kind; not over-powering, just gentle. Oddly it reminds you of your mother and Faith- not that you can ever remember the former doing anything as old fashioned as baking a pie or the later touching anything with even a hint of green. You are firmly of the belief that were Faith not a slayer she would be either malnourished or obese. Still, it’s a nice smell.
Your mind wanders off to visions of sitting in an apple tree with Faith; munching fruit, giggling and making flirty eyes at each other.
If you had a therapist he’d probably tell you to stop dreaming of what might have been and concentrate instead on the here and now. He’d also most definitely try to lock you up again even if you didn’t mention things that go bump in the night. Scarily that sounds almost nice. You’d like to get away from it all… be somewhere by yourself.
The mist under your hands feels softer, smoother, laced together almost like material. Still, all you can see are the gentle whites and mellow greys that float around you. The cotton feeling spreads down your calves and you realise you’re sitting on them, sitting on a bed.
Blonde hair falls slowly into place around your face; you’re looking down. There’s something twinkling in front of you… a belt buckle. And above that a belly button.
So you’re sitting on someone.
You don’t have to look to guess whom.
She sits up as you’re straddling her, which, even though you’re higher up, makes you the same height. Damn her and her extra inches!
“Faith.”
“Buffy?” Her eyes scan you and then the entire lack of surroundings. It’s not that nothing’s there but as soon as you try to follow the floor boards to their natural end your mind fogs and you find yourself looking at something else, wondering what you were doing. “I was having a great dream, y’know.”
You mouth ‘sorry’ in a snarky way and go back to trying to clear your mind.
“Are you naked? I keep tryin’ ta look but every time I get below your shoulders my eyes go funny.” Indeed they do go slightly cross-eyed, when she tries again, then flit up to the ceiling.
Highly amusing but still not letting her off the hook for checking for nudity before hello. “We’re arguing Faith, arguing. Remember that mean letter you sent me?”
She pouts, “Only cos you sent one first! And gave me…” She trails off, thinking you’re hurting too badly right now to hear about salad.
“I was going to write something horrible back but now I think I might just ignore you.” You fold your arms, hiding the little grinning fruit on your ‘suddenly there’ t-shirt. Why does dream you dress like Dawn? If this is some kind of releasing inner childhood psyche moment you’re letting someone get bitten tomorrow.
Faith shrugs. Now you’re officially covered-up (and by a hideous top no less) she’s making herself cross-eyed trying to check if her own breasts are still there. “It’s your time, waste it how you want.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Yes.”
“Muh…”
An eyebrow tweaks up at your impressively glib response. “On the ball today, huh B?”
“Shut up Faith.”
“Make me.”
“I will!”
You search around the room for something to hit her with and even consider punching her in the chest just to see what happens. Except that area of her is still a little fuzzy (your eyes bounce, of their own accord, around the room every time you try to look) and there is of course the ever-present fear that you might just go straight through her. You nudge her shoulder and she smiles. “Can’t do it?”
“Nah. I spend so much time hitting you when we’re awake it seems a little dumb to waste our time now.” Her skin feels warm and smooth under your palm. She smiles when you rub your thumb over it.
Just for a second it’s another of those perfect moments.
You slide your hand across her back until you’re gripping her other shoulder and pressed deliciously against her. “This is weird. Nice. But weird.”
A chuckle rumbles from her newly-formed (bra wearing) chest into yours, “Weird to actually be touching you mean?”
“Mm…” You wonder if your hands will still tingle like this when you’re awake. It feels so real; your touch, your kiss, her taste. She smells fresh and clean like powder and… apples. “Can we stay here forever?”
“Don’t you have a life to get back to?” Her sarky tone grates against you.
She likes to think you rule her life; that you’re the reason her it’s messed up and that she’s only in prison because you told her to go. Part of you wants to smack her for being such a whiney child but mainly all you can do is be sad that she still undervalues herself like that. No slayer could ever be caged without incredible willpower. You think you might die if you tried.
Yet… in a way you envy her complete lack of responsibility. She doesn’t even have to choose what to cook.
Squashing down the aforementioned desire to slap her silly you soften your eyes, “You do too. I promised you a proper Christmas, remember?” Her eyes light up.
“Really, really?” Faith bounces the bed underneath the both of you. “And this time you won’t run away to see a boy?”
“I…” Won’t you? Can you honestly put your hand on your heart and say you won’t be with someone when she comes out in twenty years time (less with good behaviour)? “I can’t promise that.” The truth is you don’t want to. “Faith, I-”
She squirms uncomfortably, “You want a husband and kids? I get it, I do.” The bed rattles as she flops back onto it, staring blindly at the non-existent ceiling. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She pouts prettily. “I’ll still love you more than him anyway.”
There’s a college assignment sat on your desk at home- from back when you made more than just a pretence of going- and probably past the point where it’s so over-due there’s no point bothering- it’s about love; the grandest gesture of love you’ve ever received. ‘Other than being born’ it says in brackets. It made you think about Faith when you first saw it, not just because she’d laugh at the post-script but because you think stealing someone’s body is the pinnacle of possessive love.
“I love you.” She repeats- just in case you didn’t get the message.
You run the backs of your fingers up her arms and into her hair. “I know, I heard.”
The awkward pause you’re expecting doesn’t come. Her childish nature means she skips completely over her your lack of reciprocation and onto more important things; “Can we have dream-sex? I mean, is it possible? And if so- can we?”
You roll your eyes. “If I can talk to the First Slayer in a dream I’m pretty sure I can do you.”
Faith’s mouth drops open as if you’ve just told her you met her favourite rock star. “Whoa! What did she say?” All thoughts of sex having left her mind.
There’s a pregnant pause. You debate lying to her but it seems a little pointless.
Here you sit in this funny little green room with a girl you haven’t touched in years in what can only be described as the most normal dream you’ve had in months. You wonder if perhaps it might be simpler to not dream at all… to float away on a sea of careless whispers.
You are most definitely a dreamer.
And never one to sugar-coat the truth.
“My gift is death. That’s why I’m here. To die.”
You jump back as her eyes flare suddenly. “Don’t you dare die on me, Buffy Summers! I swear I’ll chase you into the afterlife and- and-” She pauses, to think of what might be worse than death- like being caught laughing with a drink in your mouth and stuck between choking or just spraying it all out. A frown mars her forehead before she makes a split second decision, throws you onto the bed next to her and crushes her soft lips to yours so hard they’re numb in seconds. Then she moves slowly; takes your lip between hers and coaxes the blood back into it, sucking lightly and gently until you’re almost dying for her to go faster and tear your clothes from you to- “Don’t die or I’ll never kiss you again as long as I live.”
She caresses her mouth against you, the silky smoothness of your mouths causing delicious friction. You smile as she pulls back, “I won’t.”
No really, for kisses that good you’ll win- Hell God be damned!
Sitting, as she is, above you, there’s a fantastic view of Faith’s top half. The bra the Powers provided for this odd dream world is at least a cup-size too small for her and her entire chest heaves as she breathes. You’re so caught up in the movement you barely notice her stomach until you run your fingers over it (on the way to better things!)
Your finger hits a small ridge and you flinch so suddenly she’s almost bucked to the floor. Once you’ve scrambled up to the headboard you’re able to get a better look. The thought of touching her scar creeps you out (it had been noticeably absent earlier) but it’s not just the one huge jagged streak you’d feared.
“What’s that?” You reach out to trace the delicate lines on her stomach, light cream and thin, looking like folded wings either side of her belly button. The lines are slightly raised and she shivers as you run your fingers over the ridges. Looking part-tattoo and part-brand you think it’s completely beautiful (even if you secretly hate both concepts)
She blushes, “You’ll think it’s corny.” You give her a look to go on anyway, “ok… but- don’t laugh. It’s to cover up something that reminds me of bad stuff- my scar- with the thing that saved me from it- an Angel…” Ok, ok, so you’re not the centre of her world.
You smile back as Faith blushes. “He’s a pretty special guy, huh?”
“You think it’s corny.”
“Little bit. But sweet too. I…” Something tickles the back of your throat, “Ahem. Uh… it- it always surprises me you like him so much.”
She shrugs, “He’s always been there for me.”
“He knocked you out with a bat. Plus there was that whole ‘you trying to stake him’ thing.” It’s true you’re sulking but… you are meant to be her link to the outside world. Besides, how is it fair that she can hold a grudge against you for every little thing that goes wrong ever but worship the ground Angel walks on?
“He saved my life.” She smiles, oblivious.
An icy glare shoots from your eyes, “I saved your life. Hundreds of times! And I sat with you every day you were in that fucking coma-!”
“Bet you lied about it though! Told everyone it was just an extra-long patrol or a late study session! He loves m-”
You lunge, smacking into her body in a jumble of limbs. The two of you waver for a second before gravity pulls you off the bed. She twists in the air so it’s you who hits the floor with a smack “OW! Bitch!” You grab a handful of her hair and tug, use it to turn her over and hold her down so you’re straddling her again. “Not telling people doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”
“Yes it does! You’re ashamed of me!” Faith struggles again, her whole body writhing under you. “Happily fucking vampires but not gir-!” Her head whips to the side as you slap her.
“Shut up! Don’t talk about things you don’t know about!” You’re whirling in confusion- who are you arguing for? “He’s the one who wanted me to stay away from you! He made me swear-” Fortunately your conscience blocks your throat before you let out yet another of your secrets.
Unfortunately, it’s a little too late. “What?” Her voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper, “What- what did he say?”
You deflate into a sigh, “Baby. Baby you…” Sinking your hands into her hair in a gentle way this time you try to calm her with just a look, “You don’t want to-”
“Tell me! …Please.”
“He smelt you on me- the day after we got so drunk at that college party and… went skinny-dipping. He told me that if I ever wanted to… If I ever wanted the two of us to have a future, I had to keep things professional with you.”
She looks shocked, then confused and finally disbelieving, “But that whole week we-” Fooled around?
“Well, I wasn’t going to listen to him! Other than to his face obviously. I thought that we trained enough in the presence of other people to excuse the whole smelling thing. But- I guess not.” You move to lie next to her and she shifts onto her side to face you. Hands clasped together you breathe the same breath. “He told me the- the day you took me for ice-cream that I had to choose else he’d- well, doesn’t matter what but believe me, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
Faith untwines her fingers from yours and moves to cup your cheek, “And? Who did you pick?”
“Neither. Both. I never got a chance to choose.”
Your mother once let you and Faith borrow the car so you could sneak out together- but only on the condition you weren’t the one driving. The two of you hadn’t felt the need to mention that as she was only sixteen and had no licence Faith had actually garnered all her car skills from stealing them. The two of you rode round all night, not doing anything, just being together. It made you feel hopeful- that there could be quiet moments too.
Perhaps it was just a hope for the future, a hope that there could be something there in years to come once the passions of youth had worn off. At the time it had felt like peace. And love. And all the other good things.
“Who would you have? If you’d had the chance?”
When he smiled it made you feel powerful- that a man with that much knowledge and experience could look at you and see something worth smiling for. He, who once was the Scourge of Europe, saw you as a beacon off goodness. You were his angel. His-
Oh fuck it, lie to the damn girl.
“You. Not like I can grow old with a vampire.”
She chuckles, “And I’m wicked hot.”
“There is that, yes.” A bunch of her hair is caught on one of your rings and you pull it off to hand it back… not that there’s much she can do with it. “Sorry about the hair pulling. I’m normally a pincher but I just had my nails filed.”
“That’s ok.” The smile she sends back is totally unconcerned. She’s so not bothered her eyes have wandered off into a far corner “I can be a pain sometimes…”
It’s hard not to nod. “You know what I realised the other day? It’s a hell of a lot easier to talk to you when you’re in a coma. You should go back to that.”
“B, we’re… technically asleep.” Her eyes stay fixed on anywhere but you and you try to follow her gaze out into the nothingness of dreamland.
“Looking for something?”
She glances around oddly, as if she’s trying to work out what it is she’s looking for. “Dunno. Maybe.” Suddenly she’s glaring into your eyes again, “Have you always been this much of a bitch?”
Your pinching fingers start to spasm. “Have you always been this much of a pain?”
“Have you always had a stick up your ass?”
“Have you always been an idiot?”
“Have you always had narcolepsy?”
You sigh. Sometimes she just makes it too easy for you. “That’s the thing where you fall asleep all the time, genius. You mean ‘necrophilia’.”
“Oh. Have you always been this much of a know-it-all?” Oddly, for someone with such high SATs scores, you know surprisingly little.
And you’re a little confused as to why there’s suddenly name calling. “This is stupid. Admittedly… not as stupid as making a sex robot of me, but-”
Faith gasps, jerking straight up to sitting “A sex robot!? A sex robot!?” She turns to face you with a half-crazed look that makes you want to sink through the bed and into the floor, “Please tell me that was just a really odd figure of speech! ‘Cos if not I am going to kill-!”
“Stake!” You butt in.
“Say what?”
“You’ll have to stake him. He’s… a vampire…”
“Oh that’s it! As soon as I wake up I’m breaking out!”
