Chapter Two:

Buffy POV

I'm not sure why I don't just wait until I see her next. We see each other practically every morning at Willow's magic shop, after all. And it's not like she even noticed this t-shirt was missing. Who knows how long it's been missing from her wardrobe, and she hasn't once mentioned it being lost.

All I do know is that when I found it under my bed while cleaning this afternoon, I knew I had to see her. It was like a message from the Fates that I wasn't done with her yet. I thought I'd packed up and returned all her belongings, but there amongst the dust bunnies under my bed was her vintage Barbarella t-shirt.

I remember the first time she wore it. I'm pretty sure I teased her for turning into another Cleveland hipster, what with the skinny jeans and ironic 1970s t-shirts. She pretended to be offended and then the next day showed up at my apartment with the DVD of Barbarella in hand.

I don't remember much of the plot – it was mostly the main actress running around in a metal bustier. It was hard to concentrate on a bad sci-fi flick with Faith snuggled up next to me in my bed. What I do remember vividly, however, is how her t-shirt ended up on my bedroom floor.

So now I'm standing in the hallway of her apartment complex, standing in front of her apartment door. It smells like Indian food. It always smells like exotic food out here. Soft music wafts into the hallway, coming from Faith's apartment. It sounds familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it.

I knock on the door, loud enough so I know she'll hear me over her music, but not so hard that it sounds like I'm angry or impatient to see her.

I hear the music being turned down inside and the perceptible sound of footsteps toward the front door. There's a jangle of locks and chains and the door finally opens. Faith stands in the doorway. I can tell she's surprised to see me from the look on her face.

"Buffy?"

I give her my patented half-smile. She told me, one of the first nights we hooked up, that she'd always found it adorable. I can only hope it hasn't lost its affect.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

She glances nervously back into her apartment. It's fleeting, but I notice. "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why? Do you have someone in there?" I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

"No."

"Then why can't I come in?" I press impatiently. "And what's that on your face?"

Without thinking, I swipe my thumb against the corner of her mouth. I pull my finger away and see a slight stain on my skin. "Is that chocolate?"

Faith licks at the corners of her mouth. "Ice cream," she confirms with a nod.

"It's winter in the Midwest," I remind her.

Faith shrugs, not caring. "Ice cream makes me feel better."

"Oh. What are you upset about?"

Faith rolls her eyes. "What do you want, B?"

I thrust the cotton garment in her direction. "I just came over to give you back your shirt. I found it under my bed," I say, curling my nose at her rudeness.

"Thanks," she says, taking the t-shirt from me.

We both continue our game of chicken in the hallway. She hasn't indicated she wants me to stick around, but I'm not leaving so easily.

"You're really not going to invite me in?" I huff, stomping my foot a little.

She raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I don't know…" I say with annoyance. "To hang out?"

"To hang out?" Faith repeats with an amused look. "Babe, even when we were dating we hardly 'hung out.'"

"So just because we're not dating anymore, you don't want to be my friend?" I cluck. "Just because you're not getting in my pants anymore, you don't want to be friends?" I know I'm immature. But it's the only way I can think of to get what I want – her attention.

"Fine, fine," she grumbles. She opens her apartment door for me. "Come in."

"Well I don't want to now if you don't want me here." I fold my arms across my chest.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, bringing a palm to her forehead. "B, stop being a stubborn girl and just come in," she growls between clenched teeth. I can tell that I'm grating on her patience, so I don't play hard to get anymore.

"Fine," I huff in return and stomp into the apartment. I don't know why I always revert to a spoiled 6-year-old around her. It's definitely not an attractive quality.

Her laptop is on her coffee table and she goes to it and turns off the sound. The music that had been floating from the speakers abruptly cuts off.

"Were you listening to Adele?" I ask.

Faith nods.

"Isn't that, like, music to cut-your-wrists to? Wait." I look around the apartment as though searching for something. "I didn't interrupt a suicide attempt did I?" I'm only half joking.

She rolls her eyes at my antics. "No. Just me eating my emotions."

I wiggle out of my puffy winter jacket and hang it on a hook in the front foyer. I follow Faith into the living room and I sit down on her couch while she disappears momentarily in the direction of her kitchen.

I used to tease her how I thought it was the smallest kitchen in the history of kitchens – more like a closet than a galley. It should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for Tiny Kitchens. She even had to buy special baking sheets because the standard-sized wouldn't fit in her narrow oven. I hear the freezer open and close and the sound of dishes being tossed into her sink.

"You want something to drink?" she calls from the kitchen. I hear her open the refrigerator door. "There's beer, soda, some milk that may or may not have gone bad…"

"Beer's fine," I call out.

I hear the sound of glass bottles clinking together, the fridge door close, and the slight fizz-hissing of the carbonated beverages being opened. Faith reappears with a bottle of some local micro-brew in each hand.

"So," she breathes out as she sits down on the couch. "What's up?" She props her feet up on her coffee table and gets comfortable. She's sitting next to me, not exactly close, but also not as far away as she possibly could. It's like the comfortable distance between two friends.

"Not much." I take the pro-offered beer and down a quick swig of the amber colored liquid.

I was never much of a drinker until Faith and I started dating. And the few times I drank before that, I almost always stayed away from beer. You know why. But I've gotten pretty good at recognizing the different styles of beers and actually being able to enjoy them.

Plus, beer is safe alcohol. I always fill up before I can actually get drunk and make a fool of myself. I think more than anything that loss of control made me uneasy about the effects of alcohol. That's also what made me uneasy about Faith when I first met her so many years ago.

"What are you doing tonight?" I ask, vainly trying to make small talk.

Faith shrugs and takes a long pull from the long-necked bottle. Some condensation collects on her top lip, and she wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Was just hanging out, listening to music…"

"…and eating ice cream straight out of the carton," I finish for her with a coy smile.

She grins, not embarrassed. "I could have ice cream for every meal."

I laugh and poke her playfully in the stomach. "You mean you don't already? 'Cause it looks like someone's getting a little bit of a belly."

She knows I'm teasing. No one has abs like her. The first time I saw her bare abdomen I couldn't decide if I was envious or wanted to build a shrine to them. I think that was part of the problem between us in the first place – I couldn't decide if I was jealous of Faith or wanted her between my thighs.

She grabs my wrists when I seem to have hit a ticklish spot. There's nothing more adorable than seeing badass, leather-clad Faith Lehane giggle uncontrollably when I've got her pinned down and tickle her without mercy.

A rush of arousal floods over me just from the feeling of her hands roughly grabbing mine. I shudder and it doesn't go unnoticed. Faith slowly releases her hold, but her dark eyes drill into mine. The chocolate-colored orbs flash with her recognizable intensity. Although she no longer physically holds me, the dangerous glint in her eye replaces that vise.

She carefully wets her lips and slides subtly closer to me on the couch. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her through the thick denim of her jeans. I know we probably shouldn't be doing this again – not after the last time. But I can't fool myself. I didn't come over to return a damn t-shirt. I came over for this.

As much as she's angry at me right now for the things I wasn't very good at, we've never been any good at ignoring the connection – this need – between us. I considered it unhealthy and distracting in the beginning, but I began to feel better after it germinated into a real relationship. Sleepovers and dates and flowers and things like that.

My hands slide along the tops of her thighs, and I lightly play with the bottom hem of her t-shirt. She loves her witty, ironic t-shirts, but I've pointed out to her time and again that they're hard to read when her breasts distort the words. Plus, who wants to read when you could stare at those instead?

She sighs, almost resigned that she can't fight this feeling. I know because I feel it, too. Her hand comes up to cup my cheek. She strokes her thumb along my skin and I close my eyes and turn my face into her. I press my lips against the pad of her thumb and let the tip of my tongue just barely play.

I can hear her swallow hard. I don't have to look up to know that those dark eyes are trained on me. Her hand falls away from my face and I'm left wanting more. More contact. More her.

She no longer makes eye-contact as she traces patterns on the back of my hands.

I take the initiative and press into her unsuspecting mouth. My hands instinctively slide up her front, up her neck, and I intertwine my fingers into her loose locks. It feels like coming home every time we kiss.

I moan into her mouth when she lightly sucks on my tongue. Her mouth tastes like a combination of hops and chocolate, and it's unexpectedly delicious.

I feel her palms on my chest plate. But instead of pulling me closer, she's pushing me away.

"We need to stop," she says with difficulty. Her breath is ragged and she turns her flushed face out of view.

"What do you want me to do, Fai?" I ask, annoyed at her rejection. I ball up my fists on my lap to keep from reaching for her again. "What can I do to make this thing better so we can get back to where we used to be?"

"You know what I want, B," she says sourly. "And you can't honestly be surprised at the request. I think I've been pretty patient with you, considering."

"Don't you know that it's bad to force someone to Come Out when they're not ready?" I hiss. "Haven't you ever seen Glee?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Buffy!" Faith swears with emotion. "We're not in high school in anymore. You're a grown ass woman!"

I frown, feeling cross. "Just because I'm older, that doesn't mean this has been any easier on me."

"Your best friend is gay," she points out.

"So?" Willow's sexuality has nothing to do with mine.

"And it's not like you have parents to Come Out to," she unnecessarily adds.

I swallow hard and blink a few times. "That's unfair," I choke out. My tongue feels like it's gotten thicker in my mouth and has made it impossible to speak.

"I'm sorry," she immediately apologizes. I can see the remorse and sincerity in her dark, pooling eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. It was uncalled for. I'm just upset about this, ya know?"

I take a deep breath, willing the prickly tears to subside. "Why is this thing so important to you? What was wrong with us before?"

Faith chews on her lower lip. My eyes get drawn to that generous mouth I was only moments before enjoying. I don't know why she has to make such a big deal out of this. I liked how private our relationship had been. Like it was our little, perfect secret that no one could mess up because they didn't know about it.

"Because when you hide who you are," Faith starts with a deep breath, "when you hide our relationship from everyone…you make me feel like you're ashamed of me."

"Fai, I'm not embarrassed of you." I grab her hand and I shake my head adamantly. "It's not like that at all. I'm just…I-I've never been comfortable with PDAs, regardless of who I was with." That's not exactly true, but maybe she won't call my bluff.

"I'm not asking for you to make-out with me in public, Buffy," Faith sighs. She leans back on the couch and pulls her hand free to rake her fingers through her hair. Whenever she does that, my mind wanders to inappropriate visuals. "I just want to hold your hand, and not just when we're alone or when we're in a dark movie theater."

I drop my head in guilt.

The next words that leave her lips are almost a whisper. A pained whisper. "I need you to leave."

I snap my head up. "What? Why?" I demand. "What'd I do this time?"

Faith shakes her head and closes her eyes. "I just can't see you right now, okay?" Her voice starts to crack with emotion. "Everything is too fresh, too raw. I need some time to get over you."

"But I don't want you to get over me!" I exclaim. My body jerks violently, and I nearly knock over my beer bottle on the coffee table.

She opens her eyes and glares at me. "Then do what you have to do to make this right."

She stands stiffly from the couch, and I realize that I've worn out my welcome. I stay seated momentarily, just considering my options. I can refuse to leave until she relents and lets me stay or until she physically kicks me out. Or I can make a dramatic exit and make her feel guilty for making me leave.

God, why does this always have to be about control? I shouldn't want to leave just to manipulate her. I slam back the rest of my beer and fight down the wave of nausea that suddenly hits me.

She's standing by the door, which is now open, waiting for me.

I stand up and wipe my hands on my jeans. I walk to the door and grab my jacket from its hook. I meet her eyes briefly as I pause to slip into my winter coat. "Thank you for the beer," I say crisply on my way out.

The door closes behind me, and I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It's oppressive. It's crushing me. I should be used to this feeling…apocalypses and all. But this time, I can't rely on my friends to help me save the world. I'm the only one who can help me.

And I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that.

TBC