March, 1999.
You're in an ice-cream parlour, a 24 hour one apparently as it's already one in the morning. Faith is leaning against the plastic guard, looking like a hyperactive child faced with a difficult math question. She sniggered when you ordered vanilla straight away, nudging your shoulder affectionately when you pouted yet has now somehow managed to turn choosing a flavour into looking for the meaning of life; an overly complex and unnecessary problem.
The girl behind the counter shares a conspiratorial eye-roll with you. She greeted the dark-haired slayer by name when she entered and now indulges the younger girl, as she remains indecisive. You felt a stab of jealousy when Faith jumped up on the counter to give the girl a kiss on the cheek but then giggled as your sister slayer was reprimanded for making the girl wait. Your surprise at seeing Faith blush was only outweighed by your surprise when the girl explained Faith had asked her to keep the place open for you.
You're still deliberating on whether this is a date or just an apology when Faith suddenly decides she's found the perfect mixture. The girl piles the scoops into a cone and you both wrinkle your nose at Faith's 'perfect choice'. She laughs at your look and peels away one of your hands from the half-finished ice cream it was wrapped around. She palms your tiny cold hand, rubbing the back to keep it warm, pulling you out onto the deserted street. You walk side-by-side with her, swinging your joined arms like young children and licking your ice creams as if it is an entirely normal thing to be doing at one AM.
She'd climbed in through your bedroom window earlier and presented you with a shiny dagger with bleeding roses engraved on the handle. You were dumbstruck for a moment. Confused by some kind of symbolism you thought might be there. The younger girl's flopping down on your bed and subsequent messy search for your diary reminded you that this was Faith; everything was simple. Her life may be spent playing games but she was never one to confuse something with veiled meaning.
The dagger had been reclaimed from the sporting goods store you'd broken into the night before and was an apology for getting you arrested. She'd seen the flowers and guessed it was just the sort of girly thing you'd like. You almost rolled your eyes and threw it in your weapons chest before you noticed the way she avoided your eyes. A simple 'thank you' was all it took for her to raise her big browns to you with a smile. She excitedly showed you the bow she'd had slung over her shoulder and you feigned interest while watching the way her lips moved and how she lit up when you commented.
You'd been pulled out of your daze by a lightning quick request. Faith had told you she had a surprise, that she wanted to take you somewhere. The second half of her apology. You'd agreed, unable to deny her anything. She captivated you as she sat sideways on your bed, staring into your eyes as if searching for that little fire she loved to stoke. You'd kissed her the week before; standing in an empty graveyard, surrounded by dust, she'd cheered and you'd kissed her. An incentive to stay as open as she was around you- to never again show you the outside of those walls.
Now, as you sit on swings, laughing about what kind of a stupid person would put a playground in a graveyard, you think you might kiss her again. Her eyes slide to the side for a second as if she knows what you are thinking. You reach over to press your lips against hers and decide in the split second after you part your lips to never again let Faith choose her own food-mixes before you kiss her. You pull away grimacing and tell her so, she merely laughs and promises tomorrow she'll eat whatever you want.
You laugh at her and tell her from now on she'll be doing everything you say. She pulls faces at you and doesn't tell you she loves you so you don't tell her back. After all, you're slayers, you battle. This is no different. You know one of you will break eventually, doesn't matter who, you'll both enjoy the consequences.
As you watch her swinging ever higher, still managing to sneak in licks of her melting ice cream, you think it might be you. You'll tell her if it keeps her smiling like that; like a little child, exuberant and carefree. She laughs at your serious frown and stops swinging for a moment so she can reach over and smooth it from your face.
"No more trouble." She promises in all seriousness, thinking you're still upset about last night. Your eyes flick to the large bow resting against the metal frame of the swings. She went back for it and you find it odd; that she could be so meticulous about causing disorder.
"Jus' you, me an' the rush." You mimic her voice, slurring the words together the way she does. It works and in a second the grin snaps back onto her face. She throws herself backwards so she laughs into the sky, the tips of her silky long hair brushing the dirt under her feet. It's an action so un-like you it almost makes you blush, what you'd give to not care.
Then suddenly she's standing there in front of you- ice cream cast away- holding out her hand and a promise of freedom. Yesterday you danced until your lungs ached; today you're running through a graveyard with that familiar burn nipping at the edges of your consciousness. The two of you swerve around headstones; hair flying out behind you and air pushing it's way into you.
You leap over a fresh grave and into her side, knocking you both over. You were tired of running, wanted her back with you, paying you all the attention she was giving the wind. She turns to cradle you, chuckling as you nudge her arm around your shoulders.
"You're a hoot-and-a-half, girlfriend." She sighs out, testing the words on her air-starved breath. You lie on her for what seems like an age. Until your breathing has returned to normal and you melt into the body you are resting on. "Tomorrow we'll have cake", you giggle at how decisive she sounds- as if she's been mentally debating, "I know a tiny little place, real melt-in-the-mouth an' all that…" She drops her voice to make you blush and you comply though you're not sure why.
"Tomorrow." You agree. You can't measure how good something is unless you try again- could just be a fluke. And anyway, what's a first date without a second?