July 2003
The call to return to normality comes on a Tuesday- which strikes you with the irony of being the most boring day of the week now. ‘Now’ meaning it used to be called ‘Dawn’s-in-trouble-day’.
You’re nursing matching hangovers on the wide balcony of the Immortal’s Grand Palace. He’s become disturbingly enamoured with Faith despite the fact you’re the one he tried to pick up in a club. Not that you’re jealous exactly… it’s just that Faith doesn’t even wear expensive jewellery!
She’s happily placated, munching on those weird sugared, roasted, honeyed almonds that seem to give Faith 0 calories and you 15,969 every time you try them. The Immortal has his chefs make them by the bucket load for her and even includes them in the banquets he throws. Just for her.
No really. They have a little sign on that says they’re only for her.
But, aside from the fact she’s turning a little spoilt and apparently can quite literally eat her own weight, you’re blissfully happy. She’s caring, kind, funny, loving, exciting, impulsive, devoted, sweet… everything you’ve ever prized in your past lovers all rolled into one.
Plus… well, six weeks of the kind of sex you’d want to write home about if the idea of your friends and family reading it wasn’t so gross.
Not that there aren’t problems but as long as you get drunk with her and always keep your word it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Besides, if she ever steps out of line you just have to withhold sugared almonds.
Immortal people are so smart!
Her mobile rings and she stretches back on the sun lounger to snatch it from the drinks table. One quick check of the caller id and it’s flying in your direction. “For you.” She grunts, going back to attempting to drown her headache in margaritas.
‘The Place Fun Goes To Die’ flashes up on the screen.
You roll you eyes and hit the green button. “Hello Giles.”
“Buffy.” He replies, not in the least bit surprised that it’s you. “We have a bit of a situation.”
It takes a strong force of will and leftover guilt to stop you throwing the phone into the pool below. Besides, Faith’s been after a new one and her boy-toy will probably buy her some kind of cross-dimensional mini portal so she can call Alternate Universe Buffys and ask embarrassing questions.
“What’s wrong now?”
If this is some kind of ploy to make you come back and work at his shiny new Slayer School you can’t be held responsible for your actions. Whatever Giles says is lost into the ether as you shoot forward to grab Faith back from attacking a butler.
“Faith! It’s not his fault you spilt it!” You’ve learnt through unfortunate experience that a hungover slayer is not a happy slayer- even if she can drink an entire fleet of sailors under the table. She finally relents when The Immortal offers to bring her out an ice pop. “Sorry Giles, What was that?” Faith pops in her headphones and turns them up to full, trying to ignore the voice of responsibility.
“Angel and Spike are about to open the gates of hell.”
You frown, sitting down slowly. Is this some type of code? “But Spike’s dead.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may-”
“Does that mean Angel’s dead?”
“No. Now would you please listen to-”
“Are they trying to open it from the other side?”
“You don’t understand, we-”
“So are they trying to-?”
“Buffy! If you could please rein in your stupidity for just a second!”
Stupidity? Harsh. At least you’re pretty. And strong. Really, really strong. Giles should be nicer to you.
“I need your help with this. The girls we have, even the ones from Sunnydale, it’s just too soon for them to be dealing with something like this.”
Slightly cooled by the admittance of need you signal to Faith for a pen and paper and get a napkin and eyeliner instead. “Ok then, when, where, how?”
You stifle a giggle as Faith mouths along with what she imagines to be Giles explaining (she can tell even over the blaring of her music as you only get that glazed look for one reason), raising her sunglasses in order to frown dramatically. It might be her humour that you love the most. Last on that list would be the look on her face when you have to tell her that you need to go back to LA for a week. A week and only a week. Giles be damned you worked hard for this little slice of paradise!
And it is paradise.
Wisteria curls around the wrought iron railings at the edge of the balcony. They’re painted green, that perfect shade they always seem to be in movies. You don’t really know why that damn plant keeps catching your eye except there’s the hazy memory, just at the edge of your consciousness, of that smell and being held in your mother’s arms. You were wearing a blue dress with shiny black shoes and frills around your socks.
Or maybe it’s not you.
Maybe it’s just some funny half-remembered daydream. It seems all too easy to imagine your own little girl in front of those bushes while the two of you laze in the sun. Oh God, you really are getting old. In that case maybe you should stay out of the sun, nasty wrinkles and all that.
You laugh quietly as Faith’s iPod decides it’s had enough of the sun too and fizzles on the inside. The fourth to die this way.
Giles explains that he wants to send some of the girls with you, which makes no sense- if they’re too young to fight on their own then they’re still too young to do it with you there. You are so not going to play nanny to his latest projects. “Who are you thinking of?”
“Well, Kennedy obviously.”
“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, temporarily unable to remember whether Kennedy has any other skills than just running her mouth. Probably not. That girl is like all the annoying bits of Faith with added Andrew.
“Rona and Vi will be flying in from our African location t-”
“’Location’? Giles it’s been six weeks and you have ‘locations’?” British people are weird. And freakishly organised.
‘Organization’ for you the past few weeks has meant deciding whether to go to the beach now or later and which club has the prettiest sign and therefore the nicest inside.
The French patio doors open behind you, “Famore?” trills from inside.
Faith spins- in a slow, marginally drunken way- at her pet name. “Mimtal!”
To be honest, you’re not entirely sure if either of those are actual Italian words or just the two of them speaking in the bizarre code they’ve created for… no apparent reason. Well, other than to piss you off. Obviously.
“My apologies for having missed eating with you last night ladies, I was… otherwise engaged.” The Immortal bows like a gentleman as he greets you both.
“Was she hot?” You giggle as he flushes slightly. When you first met he irked you for being arrogant and too smooth but he’s really rather sweet. It’s one of those odd things about powerful men- they all have a weakness.
His is family. Except, rather obviously, being immortal means all his family are dead. But it’s the ones he picks up along the way that count apparently.
He ruffles Faith’s hair and it reminds you painfully of Angel.
You still believe that somewhere inside he’s a good man but you just can’t understand what his game plan is. Angel joined forces with evil supposedly to take them down from the inside but now he’s trying to open the doors to hell? It makes no sense!
Plus on a personal level you just can’t let go off what he did… how he tried to tear you away from Faith and then acted like her saviour, how he caused those hideous scars around her wrists but claimed it was for her own good.
She was heart broken, upset, angry. She needed a Goddamn hug! Not chains to hold her down.
“Buffy? Are you there?” Giles’ voice floats out of the phone. You look down to see it sitting on your lap and have no memory of putting it down.
“Yeah Giles, I’m here. What were you saying?”
Whatever it was is lost again as you focus instead on Faith’s happy grin. Mimtal tells her she has a phone call from ‘the President’, not-so-subtle code for ‘Kennedy’. She bounds inside, excited to hear from her bestest bud.
“Uh, huh.” You say when Giles leaves a pause for you to respond. “Sure.”
The Immortal passes you another fancy drink with a little umbrella. You smile at him and slide over slightly so he can sit next to you on the sun lounger.
“So you’ll fly over tomorrow? I’ve already booked you a flight for-”
You gulp audibly, “Fly!” Next to you Mimtal chuckles, knowing full well your hatred of unnecessary deadly situations.
If you’re prophesised to die each and every year why tempt fate? ‘Engine Trouble’ doesn’t sound particularly heroic, especially when engraved on a tombstone. “Yes, I’m sorry but Willow isn’t available to magic you across the Atlantic again, you’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.” Giles found sarcasm? When did that happen?
“Hmm…”
“Buffy, I hope you won’t mind me saying but Spike-”
“DON’T!” You frown even knowing he can’t see you. “I don’t want to hear about it. I’ll go in, kill things and then come back home to my woman, ok?”
“Actually,” He coughs, “We need you both.”
An almost audible flinch comes down the phone as you growl. “Giles, we’ve talked about this, remember? I’m not doing that to her. She’s out of the game. For good.”
“Does she know that?”
“Excuse me?”
“It appears as if you are making a lot of decisions for the poor girl and not even giving her a say!”
The idea of giving her a ‘say’ seems strange for moment, as if she’s not really another person- just an offshoot of you. Like Dawn, but slightly more immature. It’s not that you don’t value her opinion or think that hers would even be the same. You’ve just gotten so into the habit of answering for her and controlling everything it’s a little hard to let go. “She has a say. She says no.” You lie.
“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll email you the travel details. I assume you’ve been checking your account?” Oh sure, you’ve checked it, 64 emails from Willow still unread.
“Sure. Great.”
Both of you dither for a moment, unspoken conversations stretched along a phone line. You push the disconnect button and then curse. You could have sworn he drew a breath to speak as you took the phone away from your ear. Damnit!
Mimtal pats your shoulder and heads inside. “That sounds as if you could use a cocktail, I will make you that OliveRock you love so much.” In truth you only love it because it’s green and the ice cube always stays half-way down, even though it’s fizzy- the taste isn’t really that great!
Despite the promise of cocktail you sigh deeply and press yourself to the railings; feel them digging into your stomach slightly, hope it’ll bring you back to reality. Or, at least, one other than this. Hopefully a reality without planes. One with… super-fast trains. Oh! They have those in Japan! You should be Japanese.
Faith would look cool if she was Japanese. Or… like that girl in the ring.
But that’s still kinda cool. In a creepy way.
Except her face when she comes back outside is white as a sheet and a little green around the edges and it’s not cool, more worrying. You stretch your arms out to take her in them and she accepts, barely noticing when her phone slips out of your hand and down to the pool below. The small splash makes you smirk even though you’re concerned about what’s upset her.
“Baby?”
She shivers in your arms and doesn’t reply.
“What is it? Are you ok?”
“K-” A cough and she straightens up, her forehead resting just on the top of your head thanks to her three extra inches. “Ken called.”
She doesn’t continue. “Yeah… I… I gathered. What did she say?”
Faith pulls far enough away that you can see her chewing on her lips, eyes searching the balcony like she’ll find the best way to phrase whatever’s wrong written on the wall somewhere. “That we’re goners.”
“WHAT?!”
You check the sky, the ground below and inside the house before realising Faith is entirely too calm for the world to quite literally be ending right this second.
“Okay… so there’s an apocalypse? I know that, Giles told me. Kinda miffed that Ken knows before I do but technically we’re retired so that’s not so odd I guess… I’m gonna have to fly over- in an actual aeroplane- and help them out. I’ll miss you. I hate aeroplanes. I’ll miss you. I already said that… If you want I can get your buddy to buy you a puppy while I’m gone, keep you occupied. Don’t let it go in the pool though ok?”
She stares at you oddly, as if she knows you’re withholding. “Yeah, think I got that part covered.” Her eyes narrow slightly at what is quite probably your least convincing smile. It is, unfortunately, also the best you can muster in this situation. Dear lord, you’d crack quickly under torture. “I didn’t mean the world’s ending, though… that’s… nice to know. It’s just a little, well, not a little; it’s a big, big thing. Big. B- but, what else did Giles say?”
Huh? “Nothing, not important, what’s the matter?”
Faith shivers and itches her left arm uncomfortably. Breath rattles through her as she sighs. You twirl the ribbon ties of her bikini bottoms between your fingers; it’s light blue and matches the paint on your fingernails. It makes you smile to see you fit, though part of it, in a way, is nerves. Faith’s idea of ‘big’ and the world’s idea of ‘big’ aren’t exactly always the same thing… actually, her idea of ‘big’ isn’t the same thing from one day to the next. She’ll go quite literally almost to hell for a friend and not expect anything in return but keep a few secrets from her and she tries to murder your friends.
Well, ‘tries’ isn’t perhaps true- they are, after all, still alive, so she obviously didn’t try too hard.
But what if this is worse? Dawn’s dead? Or- or there’s something Giles isn’t telling you about the apocalypse? Something terrible, some prophesy that says you’re going to die again. Or worse, Faith is going to- no, you dieing would still be worse. Dear God, the girl killed people because you wouldn’t make out with her anymore! What would she do if you died? Again. So really, you already know. She’d end up dead anyway. It’s just a case of how many other people she takes with her…
This is so unfair!
Dawn’s supposed to be flying out next week so she can sunbathe with you and cheerfully bemoan the lack of a non-blown-up high school. You wanted to take her around all the tourist spots and let Faith get her drunk for the first time so she could get lulled into a false sense of freedom just in time for you to point out that enrolment at the local girl’s school starts now. You can’t die!
“It’s… about… Spike.”
“Oh.” You sigh in relief. “Is that all?”
“WHAT?!” The noise of her yell almost takes your breath away. Her shove does. “WHAT?!” She’s angry- and not just in that ‘pissed off’ kind of way but in the ‘furious-two-steps-away-from-tearing-your-chest-open-and-wrenching-out-your-still-beating-heart’ sense. “You knew about this?!”
“Well… Giles told me on the phone-”
“And you wanted to keep it all to yourself? Go home and see Lover Boy?”
Her eyes bore into yours with such ferocious rage it takes a split second too long to find your voice, “No!”
You want to grab her and shake as hard as you can! Doesn’t she know that home is here- this country, this city, this building, this balcony, and this girl?
“I just wanted some time to-” You try to explain.
She growls, “Make up a lie?!”
Yes. “No! Faith! Could you just shut up for a minute!?”
“Why? Why should I? What could you possibly say that would make this any better?”
You almost want to laugh at how totally out of proportion she’s taking this except it’s completely unfunny. “Make what better?! I knew about this for, what, twenty minutes longer than you? It’s not like it’s some kind of conspiracy!”
“You lied to me!”
“What?! What the hell are you- Just, just stop it!” You escape to the safety of inside, hope that it’ll cool her down, save the situation.
It doesn’t. She follows you in, gets extra angry when she sees you packing a bag. “Oh no, no way in Hell am I letting you go alone!”
The leather weekend bag makes a crash as you throw it to the floorboards “Nothing’s going to happen! You’re taking this the wrong way!”
“Oh, like there’s a right way?” She sneers, watching you snatch more than a week’s worth of underwear from the draw.
“You need to calm down.” There’s a hint of warning in your voice but she misses it, skirting over in her anger.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
You heave a sigh and try to take deep, cleansing breaths before you all start yelling ‘WHAT?!’ again. “I’m not telling you what to do. Look, Giles needs me and I have to go!”
The pretty mint green walls with the elegant wood panelling swim before your eyes. It’s too hot in here, too damn hot. Unfortunately the windows are on the other side of the huge bed and closer to Faith. She stands as if trying to fill the room with her presence, squash you down into a corner and hold you there.
You’ve never been good with people trying to control you. “How come I can’t tell you what to but you can tell me, anyway?”
“Because if I don’t you’ll be spreading your legs for the undead!”
“Better than spreading them for cash!”
She slaps you.
You jump, startled.
The last time she laid a hand on you was… years ago, when she woke up from her coma. And that had technically been your hands hitting her face thanks to the body swap.
It wasn’t right to say that, too mean to bring up secrets whispered in the dark of night when the harsh light of anger is upon them. But she shouldn’t have hit you. It’s a thing you’re both working on.
You wait for her to say sorry but instead she just slinks down to the floor. “I wish it would go away.”
“Huh?” Though your hands aren’t quite ready to leave your cheek you follow her to the floor. A safe distance apart.
“This” She waves to the air between you. “I wish it would go away and I wish it would stop and I wish- I wish I could just be me again and not some odd half-person that won’t ever be whole or happy or good ever again! Because I’m the bad one! I can’t ever measure up to you! I can’t even be myself any more and I’m never truly happy unless…” You hold your breath and will yourself not to cry. “Unless I’m with you”
“Huh?”
She chuckles at your lack of understanding, or maybe just sobs through her tears. “I’ve never been so happy. And now it’s all going to go away.”
“No, Faith, I-”
But she’s out the door before you have time to speak.
“It’s just a week”, you repeat to yourself and the empty room, “Just a week.”
A week of scratchy jeans instead of bikinis and ball gowns. A week of fake smiles and an army-attitude. A week of… oh God, that’s depressing.
“She’ll come around.” You spin to find Mimtal by the door. “Sorry, it was open, and your fight was… rather loud…”
You blush and squirm, settling down only when he takes your face in his hands to study the handprint on your cheek.
“She loves you, she’ll come around.”
“You said.” Pulling away from him you grab the bag from the floor and start piling more clothes in. Too many clothes, you note subconsciously.
“Do you love her?”
“Does it matter?” You chuckle cynically at how often you seem to have this argument. “Love isn’t… It isn’t enough, despite what Faith thinks.”
The look he gives you is almost a glare but covered by that Italian charm you almost feel bad for thinking it. Still, the hairs on your arms rise as they do when a vampire is about. “Do you love her?” He repeats.
“Yes.” An instinctive answer but so easy to doubt. Or perhaps not, perhaps the love is the constant and everything else the variable. Maybe it’s Italy? Who knows, you’ve never been happier.
“Then,” He prompts, “no matter if it’s enough or not…?”
She should go with you?
You both need to go back? To be sure that this is really home? Forever?
“I still have to try?” You sigh and pull Faith’s clothes out of the dresser too. He arches a brow when all that’s left hanging are the clothes he’s bought you; beachwear, smart designer outfits, huge, extravagant dresses that make you feel like Princesses. Huh. Rhyme.
So not the time for humour.
“We’re coming back.” You reassure, “We’ll be here in time for lunch with the Countess. It’s just that… LA… it has some memories- for both of us- that we need to work through and… and there’s this guy. He’s- well, he’s kind of like you actually, but he’s… dubious.”
“You are not sure if he is good or bad?”
“Exactly. We need to be sure that this is where we belong.”
Like a true gentleman he picks up the bag although you’re the one who could bench-press him. “My home is your home.”
“Mi casa es su casa.” You chuckle, running your fingers over the frames of the portraits in the hall as you walk past. It’s an incredibly wide walkway but you always like to stick to the sides, always have your right hand pressed to the wall like you’re in a maze.
“Buffy,” He sighs, “I am Italian.”
“Oh. Uh… I’ve never been good with foreign languages… or… English, d’you know they don’t give you extra points just for speaking it?”
“I was aware.” He trills in that fluid and permanently amused voice.
“Mimtal, I-” You stop in front of the suddenly huge and ornate door, “Never realised how huge my front door is.”
He laughs and passes back your bag, “It is your door until you no longer want it.”
“Thank you.” Despite his charming flush you still stand on your tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Now, don’t suppose you could drag Faith out here? There’s not much point in me taking a whole load of clothes that sag in the boob area.” Hers have got to be at least three times the size of yours.
Rather than looking down to check he nods sagely and goes off bribe her onto the plane.
You hate flying.
With a passion.
Not even the comfy fold-down seats and cute little packets of nuts in a First Class private jet can make you feel any better.
And your champagne definitely went down the wrong way.
Why is there even champagne anyway? ‘Gee, so sorry we’re flying you to your death- here, have some complimentary champagne and a tiny bag of peanuts.’
You have a packet of almonds in your bag in case Faith gets antsy on the flight (plus the ones no-so-subtly slipped into your pocket by Mimtal as you hugged goodbye) but she hasn’t moved since she slumped into her seat just before take-off.
Not even an opened packet, lovingly roasted by Julio the chef of questionable ethnicity and waved under her nose provokes more than a grunt of disinterest.
You’re going to die in a tin can, your body unrecognisably smushed together with a girl who hates you.
Ok, not ‘hate’ more… distrusts? Dislikes? Dis…obliges? Pretty much any word beginning with ‘dis’- including ‘dismal’ somewhere in there.
Oh God, she’s going to be there in Heaven being all frowny and avoidy!
“We’re going to die…!”
“Shut up.” She groans, “Just shut up.”
Faith doesn’t speak again until you’re almost over Los Angeles.
“I’m sorry I hit you.” The itch on her left arm flares up as it does whenever she’s stressed. You’d almost forgotten about it but watching her scratch now makes you want to cry.
Why does it feel like every mile is a step away from happiness?
Why do you have to save the world, why not just each other?
“It’s ok.” You clear your throat and repeat again, desperate for her to understand, to not pull away. “It’s ok.”
She smiles at you over her shoulder, that little secret smile she has that you’re pretty sure she doesn’t even know about.
Faith has layers, lots of layers, so many layers she’s like… stairs. Granted most of those layers are really peculiar and a few are ‘hide under the bed’ scary but you love them all because they’re just a part of her. Even her seemingly limitless knowledge of all things religious… okay, that one is more annoying than anything else but at least now you know both meanings of ‘pontificate’! Or… you can pretend you knew the first one all along.
You’d been walking round the city in the sweltering heat and had just stepped inside one of the old churches to cool down.
It was deceptively large and dark, the sun pouring in the glass windows to pool on only select touches of stone. The quiet weaved through the air so that your panting echoed loudly, making you both want to giggle like schoolgirls. Not a single soul sat in the beautifully carved pews so you tiptoed up to the altar, something like nervous awe tickling your chest. You turned to find Faith hadn’t made it the long distance, too caught up in one of the patches of coloured light, her eyes stayed closed even as you went back to slip your arms around her.
Her front was warm to the touch and yet goosebumps littered her back. You had pressed your chest flush to her coolness and blown breath along her neck to feel her shiver. She’d chuckled from down low in her stomach but not opened her eyes. “Ya know what it’s called when a bishop takes mass?”
“No…”
She’d told you it was ‘pontificate’, had gone into great depth about why that was so funny and all you’d been able to do was nod in some-what-amazed amusement. This was the same girl who had trouble remembering a plan with more than two steps! But that seemed to somehow sum Faith up, that she could sit on the extremes; at once be so terrible and so brilliant.
There’s no way Faith could ever be seen as weak but still there’s something so… fragile, about her that you can’t help but fiercely wish to protect. There’s almost more innocence in her than should be possible. The things she’s done, the things that have been done to her… and yet she can still light up with glee or become confused by what it is people really want from her. And, she has all the talents you lack, namely, practical ones; like driving, cooking and finding her way across Europe without a map or speaking anything other than English and made-up Italian.
How can someone so young be so cynical? How can someone so old be so naive?
But she is. And she’s yours.
So you swore to protect her, save the day. But you forgot about the nights. About the terrors that rip her from the confines of sweaty sheets to throw open a window and gasp for lungfuls of air.
She’s not wearing any make up and it makes her look too young, curled up tightly in the padded seat next to you. The sea and sun have turned her glossy dark waves back into the golden brown curls of her youth. If it weren’t for the protective armour of leather she’s swathed herself in you’d doubt the others would recognise her.
The clothes irk you. Remind you of why you left. In just six weeks she’s unfurled into a beautiful woman. You’ve both smoothed away the knots of your past until suddenly Faith began to live up to her name. It’s been idyllic; waking every morning to her smiling face.
But the face that stares at you from the other side of the plane doesn’t smile. She scowls, looking from you to the pilot further up the aircraft.
“So the undead came back from the dead? Again.”
You jump, not expecting her to speak, eyes darting back and forth between her and your chipped nail varnish. “Uh…” It seems like nothing is a safe answer, “Pretty much.”
“Huh.” She picks imaginary dirt from under her too-short-to-really-do-that nails, “So… you bonein’ him?”
Does she want a smack? “Oh I so did not just hear you right.”
“You. Him. Boneing.” She smirks, looking a little too happy with the idea.
“Faith!” You gasp outraged, “I haven’t even seen him yet!”
“Yet.”
“Stop wiggling your damn eyebrows.”
You growl at her but she just sniggers, barely able to hold in full on giggles.
“And don’t look so pleased- you’re giving me a complex!”
“Uh-huh…?”
Though you pretend to frown just the sound of her joking pulls a heavy sigh of relief from you. “You make it sound like you want me to sleep with him!”
“No.” She pauses and you wait, knowing she’s going to shock you, “Just touch you inappropriately!”
“WHAT?!” You almost choke on that stupid champagne that really should have gone down by now, damn bubbles. “Why?!”
“’Cos then I can set him on fire without you getting’ all mad at me.” It warms your heart to hear her laugh again, seems hard to believe that it was only just this morning you were both running round the apartment giggling like fools… of course, you then went to sleep and woke up at midday with hideous hangovers but that’s neither here nor there.
“You are so weird.”
She sticks her tongue out, “You love me for it.”
“Do I? Do I really?”
“Oh you are so sleeping on the couch when we get home.”
It takes a monumental effort to speak past the huge bellyaching laughs, “You’re the light of my life! I love you more than- than- Vanilla ice cream!”
“Aw, still in love with bland?” She reaches across the isle to slug your shoulder and then relaxes back into the chair, taking off her seat belt to turn round, kick off her boots and rest her feet on your lap.
“Yep.” You give her foot an affectionate squeeze, “Kinda reminds me of our first date.”
“I love it when you get mushy.”
You run a finger up the base of her foot and smile predatorily when she shivers, eyes turning dark and deep.
“Uh…” She breathes out, lost for words, “We don’t… you know… have to… the… uh…” Something gets caught in her throat, “Ah! Uh… there’s- there’s no need to sleep on the…”
“Couch?” A giggle rolls through you, “Like you could hold out anyway.”
Her smile stretches, “Oh I wouldn’t. You see, I’ve always had this fascination with undead stick and I hear there’s some going free so…”
“I am so going to kill you-!” The chance to tickle her to death is unfortunately cut sort by the pilot’s hesitant request to put your belts on as the plane is coming in to land.
She slips her hand into yours and leaves them hanging across the isle. Checking that you’re suitably held down she resumes the teasing. “Tried that before, remember? Failed! I’m better at it than you!”
“Reformed murderers do not crow about how easy it was to kill people.” You glare playfully.
“Maybe I’m not reformed then!” The twinkle in her eye means it’s a test. To see just how far you really do trust her. If you’ll continue the joke.
“Hmm…” You pretend to think about it long enough to have her questioning, “It’s true… you did steal all that candy yesterday…”
“Hey!” She gasps, “I was hungry! And anyway… I’ve given up murdering people, not having fun.”
“Remind me to be the one to teach our children ethics…” It slips out before you’ve had time to think about it and then you’re biting the side of your mouth, trying desperately to hope there’s some kind of wish demon around who can take that back.
Her mouth almost drops open in shock but she manages to catch it just in time- still, nothing can help her huge eyes.
Turbulence or whatever bumps the aeroplane and you almost scream. She grips your hand tightly but still doesn’t blink. “Uh… I probably shouldn’t have said that… I-”
“Are they blonde or brunette or one of each?” She interrupts.
Blonde, Brunette, Blonde. Girl, Girl, Boy. Rose, Joy, Jack. Three-year gap then two-year gap.
Not that you’ve thought this through or anything…
“I thought you were freaking?”
“Nah.” She shrugs, “Just picturing my sublime hotness with your weird nose. I’m kidding, please don’t kill me!” You roll your eyes and take a few moments to think about her pros and cons, namely ‘having never brought the nose thing up before’ and ‘having brought the nose thing up now.’
“Hmm.”
Faith grins cheesily and sticks a thumb up next to her face like a bad campaign poster for a local election.
The plane touches down and the bump is enough to remind you just why you hate these things so much- there was chance of actual death there people! Her thumb rubs thoughtfully across the back of your hand and she bends with a frown to check no part of you was in any way damaged without her noticing during the flight.
Damned considerate girlfriend!
“Stay of execution.” You almost rip off the seatbelt when the door is opened, so thankful to still be alive.
“Good call.” She swings her bag up onto her shoulder with a wink and saunters out the aeroplane, making sure both you and the pilot are watching. You laugh as she flips him the bird even though it wasn’t really his fault. It’s one of those big laughs Faith does, fully amused and carefree.
Giles and Xander stare at you. You shut up.
The two men stand on the tarmac; a dozen girls surround them in a protective half-circle. Their eyes tell you they’re not sure whom the girls are supposed to be protecting them from.
“Buffster!” Xander throws off his awkwardness first and wraps you in a bear hug.
Giles is less demonstrative but smiles all the same.
They talk a mile a minute- this plan, that weapon, which girl, what time. All while guiding you towards the car.
You look back at Faith, locked in silent stand off with the girls, as if to say ‘I’m still here, please don’t slip away’ but her back is turned so you think she might have missed it.
