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"Two years! You've been gone two fucking years, Faith!" Cordelia's voice is reaching an octave unknown to man. Her hands pushing and jabbing and wanting to inflict pain.
Faith takes it. She digests it.
It's all understandable. She left without a word. Without a note, a letter, an email, a phone call, a goodbye; without a single trace. And extra magic to block them from finding her. She did everything she could to wipe it clean. Wipe the memories clean. Feeling so dirty all the time, without even knowing why. Feeling so low, so useless, even when she was placed near the front in line. And then something happened. Old habits die hard, and something inside of her drove her to self-destructive methods. She didn't go crazy, and she didn't resort to evil. No, nothing that would be considered betrayal. She only partied harder, danced longer, fucked a lot more, and counting. She drew further and further into herself, leaving only walls to block the rest of them from reaching her.
Not that they didn't try. They did. They reached to her as equally as they did each other, but the problem that came with Faith was that she needed a hell of a lot more than reaching, and the people who knew it couldn't give it to her.
She felt defective.
And now with her deteriorating health, she knows she is.
"I'm pretty sure she's got the two years speech down, Cor." Xander flashes Faith a smile that tells her how much he missed her. She winks in return.
"I don't care how many times I've said it already! I'll fucking say it again! You've been gone for two motherfu-" Cordelia's breath is taken away by a hug. A very Slayer hug and cue the laughter.
"God, I've missed you, Queen C." Faith pulls back, lopsided grin pasted finely on her gorgeous face. She cocks an eyebrow and leans her head back a little as if checking the other girl out.
Which she was.
"And that fine little ass of yours."
Cordelia can't help but fall back into that time when they threw incessant flirtatious remarks at one another. She places her hands on her hips with a scowl on her face.
"Just so we're clear, I don't put out on the first date."
Faith chuckles and shrugs.
"What a pity, huh?" She turns to Buffy, who is the last person she has yet to greet. Whether it is subconscious or intently done, she'll never know. She's a little nervous, but she was with most everyone else, too.
"Hey B. How's life been treating you?"
Buffy doesn't quite know how to answer it. Nobody else quite knows how she's gonna answer it, either.
"Fine. We've been doing well."
Without you.
Faith gets the message behind the defensive tone, the defensive stance. The defensive everything. She doesn't take it too personally, considering she's pretty used to the low self-esteem bit. So she ignores the jibe. Buffy seems to be on edge anyways, no need to push it.
"Didn't ask about all of you. I asked about you."
"Peachy."
"So I hear." Oh, she got the general gist from Angel. Just that plane ride alone filled her in on all the little details. Things she already knew. Things that they know now. The way she seemed to have lived on.
It makes her feel empty again.
"Faith, can we talk? Alone?" Buffy's voice holding something a little more than just irritation.
Faith nodding in agreement, already walking out into the hall, waiting for Buffy to follow. Who follows. Turning back around to face her.
"Yea?"
"Why did you leave?"
The question so innocent, with no anger behind it. No accusation. Just asking. Just wondering. Just needing to know.
Answered by a simple answer.
The honest answer.
"You."
Buffy turns away a little, breath catching in her throat in something between a gasp and a sob. She isn't as strong as she wants everybody else to believe. She isn't as tough as she pretends she is. Because as long as she's still doing her job and doing it right, she's allowed to do whatever she wants, right?
But here's the answer that says no.
From the person who makes her feel not as strong, and not as tough.
Not as invincible.
But she drags everything - kicking and screaming - back inside and holds it as still as she can.
"Was it...because...?"
"Yea." Faith responds, knowing exactly what Buffy is talking about, and still wanting to smack her over the head for it. Preferably with a sledgehammer.
Because it was that night that had provided the most damage, the most insult to injury as possible. It was the salt to the fucking open wound, baby, and it was just enough to get Faith running with her tail not between her legs. It was up and high, probably wagging as she chased off into the night, if only to defy everybody and everything she was leaving behind.
To show them that she could care even less than they could.
Approx. Two years ago.
It was a night like any other.
Except maybe it wasn't, because for some reason there were two bodies up against the door instead of one, two voices laughing and whispering, two minds fogged over with alcohol and adrenaline. Two different hands mingling together in the darkness because they were the only hands strong enough to hold against the other. Two lips meeting each other's, two hands opening the door, two pairs of clothing strewn about the floor, and two bodies blending into one.
It was a night that neither could forget.
"Faith..."
The gasps couldn't be forgotten. The heavy breathing, the sound of lips smacking against each other, the hands traveling into depths they've never dared dreamed of going into.
"B..."
God, it was just so damn sexy.
"B...B...Buffy!"
She wanted to hear her name over and over again, in that voice, in that same tone, just over and over and over again, that was all she wanted.
And yet.
And yet in the morning she woke up and walked out, clothes disheveled and make up running; she walked out without saying a word, without leaving a note, without giving a goodbye kiss, without anything. She walked out with shame on her face, with silence in her voice, with tip-toes in case anybody else heard what they both knew everybody probably heard.
She walked out.
When Faith woke up, she was all alone and everything was the same.
The walls were the same color, the room was dimly lit, the door was shut and closed, and everything was the same.
And yet.
And yet nothing was the same.
The bed smelled of her, the sheets were damp with sweat, her body felt like heaven, and her mind felt like a clusterfuck.
She walked out.
And said nothing.
