May 2003
In your more philosophical moments you like to believe in the fabric of existence; that your life is a thin membrane woven of different thoughts and memories, people and places. The only problem with this is that metaphorically you’re not entirely sure what Faith should be- one central thread running straight through or something entirely different. Perhaps she is the rod upon which your cloth rests. Different, alien and yet so completely important that without her there would be nothing to keep you from gently floating down into the mud.
The two of you are forever entwined and yet you dislike the word- ‘entwined’- that it may seem to suggest she is but another thread, as you are. To you there is no such thing as ‘same’ where Faith is concerned; you are nothing if not different. You have a life so entirely devoid of her presence and yet it feels as though she runs through you like a current- the swell of your breast, the tingle of your fingertips, the gasp of your lips. It seems as if you have known her forever, not just four short yet important years. Or perhaps it’s five?
Five years since your eyes met those of a recklessly grinning, cocky fifteen-year-old. She thinks you don’t know her age- how dumb when you so obviously know her birthday. You try to ignore the oddly ‘creepy old man’ feelings you get knowing Faith is closer in age to your sister than she is to you.
Dawn and Kennedy are on the edges of their seats watching her with enraptured awe as she tells them the story of the vamps, the priest and the police. You pick at the limp strands of spaghetti on your plate. The sauce is so diluted the water has separated from the tomato and meat to make it look even more disgusting.
You wouldn’t really be expecting more except Faith’s spaghetti looks like it’s just been whipped up by the secret Italian chef they keep in the back for the girls the waiter fancies. Spotty little twerp.
Faith half-cuddles, half-wrestles you affectionately across the table, “So he’s huggin’ me like there’s no tomorrow-”
“And the cops pull up and arrest you both?”
She glares at you playfully, “Way to ruin a story B. Hey,” She turns back to the girls, “Did I ever tell you two about the time I got Buffy drunk?”
“Oh God!” You bury your head in your arms to avoid her mischievous smirk.
How can this little girl sway your life to such an extent that you can sit and smile when it feels like your insides are crumbling?
If your life is a tapestry then Spike is the sliver of silver thread, winding randomly through nearly unnoticed until you turn around one day to see that he binds together the rips and tears, pulls your past together into some semblance of a future. Only… you’re pretty sure it was him you were supposed to be sharing that prospect with and not the pile of dust that is left of his body.
“You ok there, B?” You lift your head to see Faith smiling from across the table.
Or her. Spike probably wouldn’t want you sharing this new lease on life with her either.
“Fine, Faith, but… I think Vi might have stolen your waffles.”
The Hellmouth is closed, Sunnydale is caput and roadside diners have crappy food.
God it’s good to be alive.
Faith is muttering curses under her breath, spinning round in an attempt to both count the empty plates of food around her and search for Vi in the crowd. It’s amazing just how much of said crappy food you can buy for the cash found in a busload of people’s back pockets. The chef had to send one of the waitresses out for supplies at one point. Your dark-haired counterpart has eaten about a fifth of the overall food, which, considering she’s competing against a lot of ravenous and newly called slayers, is pretty fantastical.
You laugh as she climbs up onto a chair to get a better look at all the girls. She resists your hand tugging her back down until you make mention of the rest of the food she’s leaving unguarded. Neglected children, you mother once lectured you with a stern look in her eye, will take greatly of anything that is offered.
She fluffs her hair back to get some cooling air on her neck. You wince at what the motion uncovers.
There is a scar on her neck to mirror yours, made by Angel’s fangs. Three long lines on her back made by a demon. The ‘wing tattoo’ on her stomach. The lighting scar on her left shin from where a broken leg tore her skin. An ugly circle just below her rib cage where that girl ran her through a pipe- of equal diameter on both sides. And burns around her wrists from when the guards realised that steel rope could hold her much better than handcuffs. Yet not one single childhood abuser cared enough to leave a scar on the outside. Hate is not the opposite of love- it’s indifference.
It turns your insides to see the difference between blemished and clean skin. Yet you love her birthmark. It’s barely visible unless she’s ill or unhappy which probably makes liking it quite odd but it sits between her eyebrows and you once read that a mark there was called an Angel’s Kiss. How could she be anything but protected to have come through so much and still be standing?
“But don’t you think,” Dawn is saying, rather earnestly, “that breasts are actually kind of ugly?”
“No…” Kennedy speaks slowly as if to a very small child, “I think they’re hot.”
“I didn’t mean in a lacy bra or a cute top- I meant naked.” Your sister rolls her eyes.
“So did I.”
You laugh as Dawn flounders for a few moments “But- but- they’re so weird-looking! White. And… like really ugly eyes…”
Faith and Kennedy, sitting across the table from the two of you stare patiently, “Maybe you’re talkin’ to the wrong girls, Kid.” Faith chuckles, reaching over to ruffle the younger girl’s hair before thumping Ken’s shoulder and thumbing towards the door of the diner, “Smoke?”
“Can’t.” Kennedy hangs her head “Whipped.”
Dawn laughs, slapping her hand over her mouth to hold in a snort. She’s forgiven Faith to a point. Unfortunately it’s the annoying-ganging-up-against-Buffy point. They’re back to sharing those little secret smiles that make your heart at once jingle with nerves and swell with happiness. Nothing good ever comes of their plans for you but just the idea that a tiny piece of you lives on within your sister… well, you like to think it’s part of the old you; the pretty-in-pastels sunny smiling one.
She has your feistiness too. A few days ago she stormed up to you as you were supervising training (i.e. Turning your eyes green watching Faith and Spike make friends), a little patented Summers’ frown on her face. It was early morning and you can remember thinking right before she started the yelling that she was turning into a beautiful young woman.
“You know,” She’d growled, “At this point I’m almost considering getting a loan from Anya to pay you to go have sex with Spike and/or Faith just to stop you making stupid googly eyes at the two of them!”
Fortunately her teasing hadn’t attracted the attention of either of your main desires. Or perhaps that should have been ‘unfortunately’… the two of they shouldn’t have been so… pally! God, he’s dead and still your flesh crawls to think of him touching your girl. And yet-
And yet you can’t deny that when you looked into his eyes and told him you loved him… it was nothing but the truth. In that moment at least. Possibly longer. When- when you knew your mother was ill, when she died, when you were ripped out of heaven and all you wanted was for someone to be there, to have a connection with another person. Angel was too busy saving the souls of people who’d caused their own trouble and Faith was too busy… counting ants, or whatever seemingly inconsequential thing was of dire importance that day.
You’d needed someone and he’d been there; funny, kind, sensitive… creepy old Spike. He had his bad points- a desire to wreak true evil mainly, though that seems to be a running theme with the lovers in your life. But underneath everything he was still a sweet man who loved you. In his own… twisted way.
And it hurts, to loose yet another person, almost as if the Good Feelings Towards Buffy decrease year on year.
“You ok, Buff? You’ve been spacing.” Xander’s voice brings you back to the here and now. To the sweat sliding down the side of your face and the hair stuck slick to the back of your neck. It’s stiflingly hot in this tiny half-glass box full of hyper girls and an A/C so old you think it’s probably cooler outside with Faith.
You intend to claim that as the reason for being by her side if anyone asks- ‘cool’ in all ways of course.
But instead Xander slides into Faith’s empty seat, blocking you with words into the small booth. Willow clambers as daintily as possible over him and onto Kennedy’s lap. Next to you and engrossed in her meal now Faith is gone, Dawn barely glances up.
“I’m fine.” You repeat.
Your friends share a knowing look. “I- We” Willow corrects when nudged, “Want to talk to you. About Faith.”
“About… about prison and Faith?” You edge out hopefully.
Xander pats your hand, “No, more about you and Faith.”
“We’ve just been noticing-”
“You and Faith are screwing.” Kennedy cuts in over her girlfriend, shrugging unrepentantly when glared at. “What? Everyone knows.”
Ha! What sex? Even tomatoes would be jealous of your current bout of redness. “No! Guys! It’s not like that… Faith and I have a Slayer bond, it’s very-”
“Uh, Buff?” Dawn snorts as Xander pats your hand in just the right condescending manner to have his cut off, “I think that bond’s called attraction.”
The four of them stare at you with a mixture of compassion, humour and the very adult sense that lets you know you’ve been caught out. “Ok, ok… busted, right?” Willow and Xander laugh, Kennedy makes lewd jokes about slayer stamina and Dawn… makes puke noises.
So it’s odd and weird but at least they’re not yelling or chasing you with conveniently available pitchforks. After all, it would have to be a parallel universe for something to actually go the way you were expecting.
“You’re… you’re ok with this? With me… and Faith? Faith? Really?”
“Sure!” Willow shrills a little too unconvincingly. She clears her throat, glancing round to check if Faith is poised to pounce (she isn’t, still outside filling her lungs with tar). “Well… you do this… thing, with… people, who aren’t the… best, when you feel unsure. You’ll get up on your feet again soon. It’s not like you’re getting married or anything!” They share a partly nervous laugh as you cringe.
There are dozens of school books buried under the rubble of what was formerly Sunnydale with Angel’s name scribbled on the front covers and somewhere inside the back cover (generally along the fold so it was hardest to spot) is Faith’s. Both of them have hearts round and gooey, sappy, grossly-teenage love scribbles- the kind of thing that makes you blush in shame just thinking about it. You were the type of girl to secretly call yourself Mrs Whomever in your head… the problem being neither Angel nor Faith are all that open when it comes to surnames and ‘Mrs Summers’ just sounds wrong. Still, ‘Mrs Faith’ isn’t that far off.
“It’s not as if you actually love Faith!”
“It’s not as if you want to have her babies!”
“It’s not as if it’s more than sex!” Again, what sex?!
They laugh and joke but it sounds so far away, so one removed as if the sound is coming from an old gramophone. It even feels for a moment as if there’s a sheen over your eyes, your vision blurs like you’re in water, it’s so slow and all you can hear are deep breaths, like sighs in your ear. The skin along your neck goose bumps as the warm air flows across it.
It seems so safe, this little happy bubble, that smells of leather, smoke and... Tomato sauce, that sounds like the beats of two hearts.
Suddenly it shatters as one of the girls drops a plate, fries flying everywhere. The others clap and laugh, some call things out and it seems so loud, so oppressively horrible that your chest hurts. They move so quickly, speak so piercing and fill the room so that it feels you can taste them in the air.
Your hands shake and your stomach lurches. It feels like that stupid fast-forward thing again where everything moves too fast and you just want to crawl under the table. Andrew looks no different though so perhaps it’s just that you’ve slowed down? Willow doesn’t pay any attention and you know all curses would catch her senses so it’s just in your mind- you’re loosing it.
You want to go back in time to the peace you found in Spike’s arms and on Faith’s lips, except… the night after that the kiss on the roof, Faith and the potentials were blown up by the bringers and everything became a crazed mess. You were so angry with her when she was huddled in your sheets, sooty and aching. Part of you wanted to smack her silly for getting the other girls hurt and putting herself in danger yet again. Another part wanted to just climb in there with her and hold her close.
It had torn at your heart to see her injured but there just wasn’t time to care, time to stop and love.
Once Giles had her settled on the bed he’d ordered… well, ‘instructed in an off handed way that had you gulping’… you to “make her comfortable”.
Your hands had trembled as they hovered over Faith’s belt buckle. Did it mean something? Did it count? Was it just helping her the way you had sometimes with the nurses at the hospital?
And, of course, Little Miss Coma hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t helped.
Dawn rolled her eyes, pushing you aside as soon as the others left the room and pulling off Faith’s pants like it was nothing. Which it was… for Dawn. You’d turned away until she’d put Faith under the covers, giving her privacy. It had never really crossed your mind before that loving a girl means you treat her differently to other girls, to your friends.
You shake away the memory of your fierce blush and make hurried excuses to escape to the only place that feels… right. A push through the surprisingly heavy doors out into the fresher, but no less sweltering air. It feels better though, less stifling, less like you’re drowning and without the forced smile of denying something that means more than they’ll ever know.
You want her to take you away again. And she does. She smiles.
“Hey, B.” She flicks her cigarette away and eyes you up, half leer, sprinkling of concern. “Likin’ the wet T contest but you do know ya s’ppose to use water right?”
“What?” Your white top is slowly turning red. Blood spreading out from your stomach. Odd that no one else mentioned it. “Oh.”
She bends her head to catch your eye, stepping closer to rest a comforting hand on your hip. “Are… are you ok? Do you need to sit down?”
The two of you attempt to peek down your top, knocking heads as you do.
“Sorry!”
“Sorry!”
You frown when you realise you just apologised for looking at your own boobs. Faith chuckles, “Uh… I was actually tryin’ ta look at ya, uh… wound. Not the- the- admittedly amazing rack you’re workin’ with there.”
“Ah. Sure. Wound. Right…” Damn it.
“If you want you can look at mine though. To be fair.”
She barely makes it through ‘fair’ before you’re yelling your assent, “YES! U… uh… ah… I mean…” The New Slayers seem to be ignoring you from the other side of the glass but it’s only a matter of time before one of Faith’s ‘fans’ wonders where she’s run off to. “When we get on the bus we can chase the girls away from the back and you can check out my wound… and I can… you know.”
Her lips inch ever closer, closer to yours then up as her hand curls into your long hair, bringing your head down to kiss your forehead. “Mm, maybe we can save that ‘til we have a bed and A/C, k?” You scoff lightly as she grins against your skin. Since when does Faith turn down the chance to get her boobs oogled?
“Huh?"
She slides back smoothly making you feel like a klutz as you follow her lips far enough to stumble.
“What? Wa-”
“B, the entire membership of the ‘We Hate Faith’ club is behind that window- one of who just happens to be a really powerful witch.”
You think for a moment of telling her that it was actually ‘We Hate Cordelia Chase’ but knowing Faith by now she’s probably mentally debating whether or not whales can fall in love. “So. You gonna go home now?”
“Home?” Pulling out a cigarette as an excuse to avoid your eyes, she sniggers. “I ain’t got no home. Longest I eva lived in one place in my life was three years it Stockton- ain’t exactly rushin’ to get back there.”
“Oh. Right.”
The two of you lapse into an uncomfortable silence… or perhaps it’s just uncomfortable for you, she does seem genuinely fascinated by her boot. “Hey, I… ‘m sorry, ‘bout your house.”
“Eh.” You shrug. “Mom made sure we were insured it’s not really a problem.”
“Good. Good.” Nodding blindly she flicks ash and blows away from you, making you smile at her thoughtfulness.
“So.” You start again a few minutes later, “You and Robin…?”
She almost spits her smoke out in surprise, “Oh please, not you too!”
“What?” You gasp as she swings round to glare at you pleadingly.
“We- we had sex.” She shrugs, “Kind of… uneventful sex.”
Uneventful? ‘Boy’s got stamina’ doesn’t sound too dull!
Then again… she can’t keep secrets, can never lie, you just have to ask the right questions.
“Thought he had stamina?”
“What’s your point?” She shrugs, “It was fun.”
“Ugh!” You groan, “Do you ever just… not talk in circles?”
Which, if you think about it, is a bit of an odd question. Surely a person who talks in circles would also be the type of person who has the mental acuity to remember such things as being able to count to three before dashing into a fight with no plan… or maybe they would just be able to create a plan.
Working with that person would be nice. Hey, there are lots of Slayers in the world now, maybe you can swap yours.
“You’re so anal.”
“Yeah, well, you’re…” You search around for something- anything to compare her to, “Uncomfortable bra-straps!”
Faith scrunches up her nose “What?!”
“Uncomfortable bra-straps. You think they’re so pretty and great but then they dig in and scratch and maybe they’re not worth it.”
Silence.
Moments stretch between you until she smiles
“Do you ever just… not over think?” She rolls her eyes, “And really, if we’re going to keep the dumb…”
“Metaphor.”
“Right. Well you can wear bras in, can’t you?”
Her arms slip back around and this time her lips find yours, kissing you hard enough to believe that adventure might just be a good place to start. Because, dear God she’s worth it!
A grin stretches across her face, pulling your still-joined lips taut with hers. “Tell me what’s stopping you.”
“I… I…” The breath gliding across your face feels soothing and cool rather than hot. “What happened to not kissing me? Not that I’m complaining!” You add hurriedly.
Her fingers glide through your hair like silk instead of the ratty, sweaty corn you know it is. “Couldn’t hold back, I guess… too much time apart. Now tell me.”
You chuckle and feel it vibrate through her body and back into your hands. “Do I really have to do this?”
“Yes.” She slides her cheek against yours, whispered words drifting into your ear, “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Doubtful.” You groan. “Okay… I… I so don’t do girls!”
“Not yet anyway.”
Some answers are so predictable you just shouldn’t bother. Faith and sex go together like… like ‘Buffy and Faith’. Heh. Busted.
You so love her!
“You’re all I see!”
“What?”
Skipping over the more pertinent ‘my friends hate you’, ‘you’re a psychopath’ and ‘we’d probably kill each other’ onto what irks you the most- the complete and utter lack of control you have around her. “When- sometimes when I look at the world… the only thing I see is you.” Blushing you bury your face in the crook of her neck. “Just, you.”
In the heat of battle the moment you felt that pain of the slicing knife through your gut it was her eyes you searched for, her healing touch you craved. And not just because the wound eerily echoed that which you’d left on her.
“And…” You take a deep breath, “I don’t want that to stop. You’re so… so beautiful and everything else is ugly. But I need to be apart from you else I can’t do my job; I can’t save a world I can’t see.”
She draws back to look at you properly, “Don’t have to save it B. Got a million little rugrats running around now.” Shivers run up and down your spine as her hands caress your arms, even through you jacket.
You snort and then cringe, “Yeah, they’re just going to love that I’m hooking up with their golden girl.”
Taking a step away from you she frowns, “Like the SuperFriends aren’t gonna be thinkin’ the same thing? Besides… I think you love who you love and sometimes people ain’t gonna understand why, maybe you even don’t understand but… it doesn’t really matter does it? Is your world going to stop turning?”
She clutches her wrists, her thumbs stroking almost absentmindedly over the bumpy twisting scars. It hurts to think of her bound like that, so that she’d bleed. But more so, it scares you to think that she wouldn’t stop once the ropes cut down into her tendons. You press a finger down onto the inside of her wrist, where her pulse beats beneath the thick skin. “It might.”
“Doubtful.”
Her hand wraps around yours, pressing the soft flesh of your palm into the coarse raggedness of her arm. “Does it still hurt?”
“Only when I bend my hand a certain way.”
In the many months since you first returned to the prison after coming back to life you’ve discussed many things but somehow shied away from this. All you know- and this from Angel- is that when you died something inside of her died too. She went wild. Feral. They pumped her full of drugs that never worked and tied her down with metal chains that snapped like cotton thread. It had taken him, her saviour, to find the answer to her cage.
He gave them the ropes to hold her down.
Magically reinforced steel ropes. The kind that hold up hundreds of tones of bridge.
She had no chance to escape them but still never calmed, thrashing and screaming, not even caring as her flesh was torn from her body.
You wish you could lie to yourself- lie and pretend you don’t know it was anything to do with you. It would all be so simple except… she stopped. She returned. She’s normal.
He said she just lay back. Calmed down. Went to sleep. Safe in the knowledge that you were in the world again.
Heaven was… well, Heaven, but sometimes you could kiss Willow for having brought you back- ‘you’ as in ‘us’ as in ‘we’. She brought you back from Heaven and Faith back from Hell.
But if Faith had never loved you… you could have stayed. Granted, Willow didn’t know about Faith’s feeling when she brought you back but it’s the only way you could ever be thankful to be on Earth. Sometimes you think they might have all had better lives without you. Even Dawn. Who cried every night you were dead would have eventually gotten over it, gone on to live a normal life. It was just Faith’s love that tore her life apart.
“Do you… do you ever wish you didn’t love me?”
She laughs and pulls you closer again by your belt loops. “With disturbing frequency. But that doesn’t mean I want it to come true.”
“Really?” Your chest swells slightly.
“We just work out the way we work out, as people. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
Faith lifts her hands to cup your face, thumbs scooping up your tears. “Doesn’t that ever scare you? That- that we have no control? None?” ‘That you have no control?’
“Do we need it?” She shrugs, “Is it… like, necessary? I think it’s nice to not know, to have no idea what’s happening next.”
Do you like the unknown? You love Faith so you must do. Or maybe you just love the parts of her that are predictable, the parts you understand. But how many of those parts are there?
How long would you last?
“I hate it. I like spoilers. I want to know the ending before I start.” You smile, eyes searching hers for a sign of madness that… just doesn’t seem to be there. She’s whole. She’s here. Because you are.
With a smile she wraps you up in her arms, pulling you into the air and spinning like you’re a treasured child. Once she drops you down she presses another kiss to your lips, soft, gentle and full of promise. “As long as we stick together, B, that’s all it takes for a happy ending- Chosen Two, right?”
“Right. Right. Um…” You scratch your almost-healed (but still bleeding!) stomach, count the trash on the ground and clouds in the clear blue sky. “You know, I… uh… I…”
She laughs, “I drawn-out pause you too.”
“Good. Uh…” Oh what the hell- with a cinematic flourish you kiss her for all she’s worth, until she sees stars and comes up gasping for air!
“You-” She coughs, “You should definitely do that more often.”
It’s nice to see her blush. The little girlish smile that always makes you squirm happily.
Faith stares oddly over your shoulder, her head on one side, “Um… B? Is- is your sister making out with a window?”
Sometimes you just shouldn’t turn round.
“Yep. Dawn and… is that Kennedy? She looks different with her mouth open.”
Your companion snorts, “Dude, that’s cos you never let her speak!”
She chuckles while you shrug, “Girl talks crap… yo.” That deep, rumbling and completely free laugh that you love so much shoots through her.
“Word.”
Ok, so the two of them- and probably everyone else in the diner- just saw you being all lovey dovey with Faith. Faith. It’s pretty obvious to them now that whatever it is between you two… it’s not just some passing fling.
You laugh as Faith near quivers in her boots.
“Should I be running? ‘Cos- ‘cos Willow just turned a lotta little girls into her own personal army and I may be tough but… I kinda have limits!”
“No really?” You deadpan, “You’ll be fine. They love you. Besides, I don’t care what you say, you’re going in there.”
“Why so they can pounce on me like Cordy on a Prada bag? No thanks.”
Willow and Xander stare from the other side of the glass. Slightly accusing, slightly surprised, mainly annoyed.
You push them so far, act so cold and so mean, do things that no one else understands and yet they still love you. For now. There will be something one day that tears you apart, the straw to break their backs.
You don’t want that to be Faith. Not now. Not when there’s actual potential for this to work.
A bus pulls in to the side of the diner; the sign on the front says LA. LA to Anywhere. Make Anywhere home. Just a month, maybe two, three- no one but you and her. A chance to make this work.
“Oh screw it!” You grab her hand and pull her off to the bus, “You got any cash?”
“Uh… about thirty dollars… and a credit card in my sock.”
“Wa-” you choke, “Credit card? I don’t get credit!”
She pulls you up the stairs and hands the diver the notes, “It’s Angel’s, in case of… uh… I feel like a snack.”
“Angel?” Angel? You know she helped save him again but even after everything that he’s done she still…? You’re pushed into a seat before you have time to question further.
Your friends begin spilling out of the diner, Dawn and Kennedy at the front, grinning and waving like loons. Giles frowns up at you as the bus pulls away. You can’t do much more than shrug.
Who cares if Angel’s a bastard and you have responsibilities? There’s a whole world to see! And someone else’s credit card to do it on!
So the two of you run off into the sunset. You don’t call, you don’t write, you run through the streets of Miami, Paris, Barcelona, Rome, high on life. Nothing matters except that you’re together.
Welcome to your Happily Ever After.
Well, that’s sort of a lie… but there’s happiness and Faith so that’s pretty much the most important thing.
Besides, neither of you want to go play mommy to bratty new slayers with attitude problems that are just a little too familiar.
