"Faith. You killed a man."
Did she think I didn't know? I tied his lifeless body to cinderblocks and watched it sink slowly into the ocean. That's not something you forget.
I told her I didn't care. Couldn't she tell it was a lie? My hands were shaking like leaves on a tree in a hurricane. I spent fucking hours washing that wife beater. The goddamned blood soaked the sink every time until my hands were wrinkled and pruney.
I slept with it under my pillow, not knowing what to do with it. I had nightmares where it was floating in a thick river of blood, guarded by centaurs with bows and arrows. I finally burned it. Now I dream that I'm in that river and the blood comes all the way up to my nostrils so I can't breathe.
B came to me three nights ago to throw her friend shit in my face. If I weren't so goddamned stubborn, I woulda been glad to have her there. Staking vamps was easy—buzzing, actually—but staking a human is a whole new deck of cards. I see him all the time outta the corner of my eye or in crowded places. And when I close my eyes, he's tied to a few cinderblocks and sinking into water. The only safe place is at the bottom of a bottle. And I've been pretty comfortable there for about three days.
Faith stumbled, gripping the bottle closer to her in fear of its demise. "FUCK." The world was fuzzy on the periphery and rocked to and fro in doubles as she scanned the area. She was pretty sure nobody saw that.
She untwisted the cap and knocked back a large mouthful. It tasted akin to gasoline and burned like that shit you spray on an open wound. Though it burned her throat, Faith was more concerned with the liquid's salutary effects on her emotions: she couldn't feel jack. Further, each swig burned less than the last. A couple more and it would be like drinking water.
Her slayer senses dulled considerably, she was thoroughly unaware of the figure trailing behind her. It had followed her through a maze of unlit alleyways for the better part of an hour in a rather clumsy manner with no detection and much hesitation.
Stomping along the alleyway in thick-soled combat boots, Faith began to sing. "There are those…I suppose…think we're mad…heaven knows…the world has gone…to rack and to ruin…" She laughed, finding her ditty rather pertinent. Her arms splayed out to her sides and her feet, unwilling to cooperate, scuffed along the asphalt in a poorly executed dance.
Dark alleyways and lonely women never lasted long in Sunnydale, and—right on cue—some hungry-looking vamps were quick to flock to the easy prey. Sober Faith would have sensed the newborns from miles away; drunk Faith couldn't sense them when they were standing in front of her three feet away.
"Well what do we have here?" One vamp said mockingly to the other.
"Looks like a digestif to me," the other answered in a thick French accent.
Faith smiled lazily at the two. "Hey boys. Know where I can get a refill?" She jiggled her bottle of whiskey and managed to waggle her eyebrows a bit.
"Funny. That's what I was just asking Francois over here," the first vamp answered. He jumped toward her, expecting no resistance, and was shocked to find himself knocked squarely in the face with a roundhouse kick. He recovered just in time to see another kick aimed right at his face, then a punch and finally the sharp point of a wooden stake.
In a cloud of dust, he was gone. The other vamp had fled, thinking far more of self-preservation than of helping one of his kind.
"Honey," Faith mumbled. She was lying facefirst on the asphalt, where she had been pushed out of the way by her champion.
The situation was uncomfortable indeed. "Um, yes. Dear?"
"Canyoutakethathoney?" Faith's eyes were closed and her body leaden. Her grip relaxed on its hold of the bottle, which clinked loudly on the pavement.
Tennessee Honey Whiskey, it read. Awkwardness temporarily alleviated, Faith's body was hoisted over strong, lean shoulders and carried the long distance to a warm bed.
"Fucking A." Without opening my eyes or moving, I knew I had one helluva hangover. Even within the safety of my eyelids, the world was teetering dangerously on the point of a top and I was in no hurry to tip the balance. Not that I had any desire to move them, my arms were pulled out from my sides starfish-style and I knew without pulling that they were tied to a bedpost.
I groaned, knowing there was only one cure for mornings like these: tomato juice, celery, vodka and answers. I currently had none of those.
"Here, drink this."
Did I have a fairy godmother or something? Still not daring to open my eyes, I sipped through the straw that was lightly pressed against my lips. One unfortunately large sip later, I was choking on one of the nastiest-tasting beverages that I had ever had the misfortune to imbibe.
"What the fuck is this shit?"
"It's Pedialyte. It's great for hangovers. Trust me."
Shit. I'd know that voice anywhere. Buffy.
Much to my misfortune, my eyes shot open and my body jerked upwards, only to be pulled back down hard from the restraints on my wrists. I could practically feel my brain hitting my skull.
"B. What the FUCK?" I saw that I was in my motel room, lying with my hands tied to the creaky headboard. I knew I could probably rip the thing right off, so I wasn't too concerned about my current state of vulnerability. I would play along until I knew what B was getting at.
"Drink it. Then we'll talk." B motioned to the cup she was holding and scooted closer to me on the bed. She leaned over so that she could position the cup on my chest. Her face was inches from mine and her chest was brushing against my side. She cocked one blonde eyebrow and motioned with her eyes toward the straw. I groaned and put my shot face on, downing the whole glass in a couple of long swigs.
"Well? Is this some sort of fucked up fantasy of yours or what?" I demanded, ignoring the warmth emanating throughout my stomach and the sweating of my palms. I hoped Buffy wouldn't notice the hard, heavy heartthrobs that were making my chest move. She looked so damned beautiful, even with the slight rings underneath her eyes and her mussed hair.
"Well, I didn't imagine you would be hungover for it all," Buffy said drily. She sighed exasperatedly and angrily threw the empty glass across the room. I tried to hide my surprise at the unusual display of anger. Buffy almost never allowed her façade of perfection to crack.
I cursed silently, realizing that the cup she had thrown was my only glass. "That's a lot of pent up anger you got there, B. Sex is real good for that ya know."
Buffy took a deep breath. "You've spent the last three days drunk, Faith. Talk to me."
"You tie me up to ask me to talk to you?" B really was dense. I had no intention of talking to her and nothing short of magic would make me. I laughed, tugging experimentally at the headboard. Yep. Easy. "I don't have shit to say, B. Why the fuck would you care, anyhow?"
"Because you're a part of me. Somehow we're connected. I can feel it—can't you? And you're kind of psycho, but we're in it together, Faith. You and me. We're the only ones. It has to count for something." B looked at me all funny and somehow her hand ended up on my thigh.
Puppies and butterflies, Lehane. Warmth wound its way quickly up my thigh and settled neatly between my legs, pooling there in a sticky mess. Why the fuck did she get to do this to me? Little Miss Perfect. And I'm just another dumbshit going puppy-eyed for her.
"No, Buffy. I didn't ask for this. You didn't ask for this. We're just two people unfortunate enough to be thrown into the same shithole of a life together. And I know you want to be all buddy-buddy, but I would really appreciate it if you would leave me the hell alone."
I could see the hurt in her eyes and I knew I should've kept my big, defensive mouth shut. Her hand quickly removed itself from my thigh and I wished to the Powers that Be that I could rewind life for just twenty seconds. B looked small, her head hung and staring at the hand she had just removed from me. Why do I always do this?
"B," I said, my voice quiet and soft. There was something about B that always made me just wanna melt.
"You kept talking about Allen when you were drunk. You said you were sorry, and that you wanted to bring him back. That you wanted to pay for what you had done to him," B looked up from her hands and right into my eyes. "You told me to kill you."
I froze. Had I really wanted to die? I closed my eyes tight against the vision of the deputy mayor. I bit my lip until I tasted blood and cursed my drunk self for being so honest. I was guilty of murdering someone, and it wasn't going to go away. Tears jumped, unbidden to my eyes and fell copiously down my cheeks, lining my face with evidence of my shame.
I felt one of my arms fall, leaden, to my side. I then felt the bed shift. My other arm was at my side. Fuck they hurt like bitches. I rubbed them, wondering why B thought me trustworthy enough to untie me. How long had I been tied up, anyway?
I opened my eyes to find Buffy back where she had been before, sitting cross-legged on the right hand side of my waist, scrutinizing me with concern. Her hand was back on my thigh. It was relieving and torturous all at once.
I sighed heavily. "I'm fucked up, B." And with that confession, I found myself crying again, only much harder like a fucking two year old. It felt like my insides were going to fall out through one of my orifices, so I clung really hard to myself and prayed that I wouldn't puke. I had killed a human being. Someone who probably had a family, a life, a soul.
Why the fuck was I so weak? I could have had the goddamn world at my fingertips and I found myself doing shit like saving Buffy and feeling guilt over Allen. God it makes me wanna scream.
I felt a hand slide under my neck and another snake around my body to meet it. My head was pulled against a strong, warm Buffy shoulder and I heard the strangest noise ever come out of my mouth. It was loud and raw and vulnerable. The more B held me and petted me and told me it was okay, the more I cried.
Shitty how that works, huh? You cry alone, it's over in a hot second. The pieces crack a little, but they hold together. You cry with someone else, the damned thing never ends. The pieces crack and fall everywhere and you have to let someone else hold you together while all the glue dries.
"What do I do, B?" the words raked against my throat and I could swear I tasted blood. The pieces were all around me and B's slim arms were the only thing anchoring me. The tide was pulling roughly at my ankles and I hated how my entire existence hinged on those two appendages. I wanted to feel rage or anger or adrenaline or something other than the warm feeling in my lower body and the relaxing of muscles in my back. So many god damned feelings.
"We can't go back, Faith. Stay here with me. Fight more demons. Stake more vamps. Keep Sunnydale safe for more humans. We can work on your whole "fight first, think later," deal. This is just another shitty thing we have to fight. And you're strong, Faith. Please. I need you here with me."
Why was B saying all of this? I was the bad slayer, the fuck up. She was the damned goody-two-shoes. Why would she need me? I shifted to the left so that I was facing her. Her eyes lifted up slowly—shyly—to meet mine and I found myself wholly unable to read them. They were deep and churning, belying her calm exterior. If I didn't know any better I'd think she…
Her right hand moved up to my cheek and suddenly the look in her eyes became all too clear. Her perfect lips on mine sent a dark miasma of want rolling through me. My throat closed up in a despicable display of emotion and I felt tears rush to my eyes. I had known since the first moment that I had wanted this, but I was unpleasantly surprised by the depth of my desire.
Ferocious, tied up in a web of feelings and fire, I found myself fighting some internal force. A moan, a guttural mix of unwillingness and desire, escaped my lips, and I felt B's body shift on top of mine. Her strong hands fluttered over my body, stoking each wayward limb into submission.
As I let myself fall into her, I could feel myself forgoing every faint reminder of composure. I could hear her heart beating so heavily…could smell the sweet scent of her desire…could see the steady undoing of my one pillar of strength.
"Buffy," I moaned as her lips found the tender flesh of my neck. They kissed gently at first, and then added tongue and then teeth. With each successive addition I found myself further and further away from anything that was me.
Her blonde hair poured over her shoulders and masked us from the dreary reality of my motel room. Her eyes were deep, her pupils wide, her breathing shallow and quick. Her hands roved roughly over my body, reeling me in further with every inch she claimed. Her lips moved frantically against mine as if it would be our last. I wanted to stop her, to slow her down, to savor every sweet second, but her urgency wound me up into a salacious coil of desire that craved outlet.
Her hands were magic against my skin. Everything was measured in Buffy—time, breaths, space, light—who somehow managed to get me out of my clothes. Her lips were again on my neck, kissing and biting with a force that would leave most skin black and blue. I found myself wishing I lacked slayer healing, if only to see the marks of Buffy in the morning on my skin.
I was powerless under those magic hands…a moaning, whimpering hot mess of emotions and desire. My heart felt as full as my pounding core as her slender fingers ghosted their way up my slit, trailing the evidence of my arousal to the sensitive spot that made me gasp.
"Oh, Faith," B moaned in my ear as her fingers dragged through my wetness. My body shuddered, and I thanked the Powers that Be that she suddenly sat up and flung her shirt across the small room. Her pants quickly followed. Her mouth was on mine once more as my fingers danced nervously around her pulsing lips. I waited—willing her to give me some sort of encouragement to enter such a sacred space.
She forcefully plunged my finger up her slit, stopping it right at her clit. She moaned into my mouth as I slowly started circling it with my finger. Her finger mirrored mine and my body began to grow taut with pleasure. Her dark eyes flicked open to find mine, holding my gaze as we both circled up to the zenith.
"In…" B panted. I slipped two fingers into her and suddenly my breath was stolen from me. I felt her body arch as hers was stolen as well, and suddenly we were both above our bodies, just watching.
I watched as I kissed her neck, her beautiful body glistening beneath me. My dark hair contrasted with her blonde, my dark lipstick with her pale skin. Light and dark; night and day; moon and sun. We were a perfect balance.
I turned to B where we floated in the air and kissed her there, too. I wasn't anything solid, so I sorta floated into her and felt myself swirl around her like chocolate syrup in milk. We spun downwards and fell back into ourselves just in time for earthshattering orgasms.
B clutched my hip with one hand as she came, covering my hand with her sweet liquid. It was sweet—ambrosia—on my tongue and I knew instantly that it would be a lifetime addiction.
Her hand gingerly moved from my clit and to my cheek, where her doe-eyes looked at me with what I can only describe as wonder. I'm sure I was mirroring it. Her eyes kept darting around my face, searching for something. I kissed her lightly on the lips, feeling a bit giggly as the endorphins hit. She started laughing, too and soon we were just a mad puddle of giggles like two good friends at a sleepover.
"That was…God, Faith, what was that?" B asked me once our giggles had subsided.
"I don't know…but it all makes sense now, doesn't it?" And it did. She was light; I was dark. We were a balance, two meant to be one, destined to be together. It felt right, and I couldn't stop grinning like a damned fool.