COLD COMFORT
She was sitting alone on the steps in front of Buffy's house, a glass of Southern Comfort and Cola in her hand. She normally didn't drink, but lately, only alcohol seemed to numb her enough. Too many people had gone missing the past few days. Tara was dead, Xander was off god knew where nursing his accepted grief over Anya, Spike was gone too. Buffy, Dawn, Kennedy, and Giles had banded together trying to take stock of the thousands of new slayers that had been called, and Willow. she just sat there, shaking the drink in her hand and watching the ice swirl in the caramel-colored darkness.
A twig snapped, and Willow sprang up, the glass splattering on the ground in a million pieces as she fell into an attack stance. An iron grip fastened around her wrist, then softened, and Willow looked up to see Faith, her head cocked in amusement.
"Sorry, I-"
Faith waved a hand in dismissal. She kicked the glass pieces into the grass, and Willow noticed her arms were bruised from the last week's battle. They were lean and muscular in the tank top though; Willow knew they had the power to enfold in an embrace, or crush in the kill, and with Faith you never knew which it would be.
"Since when are you a boozer, Red?"
Willow sank back onto the steps and stared up at Faith, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. There hadn't been a hint of mockery in the girl's voice; with her dark hair framing her face and her eyes a deep dark brown, Faith actually looked. concerned.
"It all seems to be a mess."
Faith sat on the lower step and looked back up at Willow. "A mess? Er. let's see, big bad beastie defeated, slayers called, life back to normal. I'd call that a happy, myself."
"People are dead," Willow snapped bitterly. "Anya. and Tara." She turned away, not wanting Faith to see the tears in her eyes. She didn't know why, but suddenly the words spilled forth like rain, both from the need to talk and the sudden embarrassment that she was telling it all to the girl who, once upon a time, would have snapped her as easily as that twig had snapped under her boot-clad foot.
"I miss her. I miss her and I can't stand what I became afterwards and even though I'm trying to fix things and now there's Kennedy I just feel. empty." Willow gestured towards the broken glass. "That helps. A little. Then it wears off and I wake up and I feel like giving up all over again. "
Faith was silent. Willow shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't ramble on like that, I-" "You have no idea who you are, do you?"
Willow looked at Faith. The girl's lips were trembling as she looked at Willow, a haunted, almost hungry look on her face. There was no anger, no hurt, just an overwhelming sadness that made Willow's heart wrench. "People like Kennedy, Buffy, Tara," Faith continued, staring off into the midnight sky, "They don't mean much. They don't hold a candle to you." Willow opened her mouth to object, but Faith placed a hand on her knee, silencing her. Willow shivered at the contact, not from the cold outside, but the warmth of the gentle pressure on her body. Faith glanced down at her hand and withdrew it quickly.
"When I touch people, they turn cold, like stone, dead. When you touch people.." Faith shrugged. "No one can reach your level, R-Willow. You got more power in your pinky than the rest of us will have our whole lives. You're the only real thing here. If I give up, if Buffy or Xander or Giles gives up, the world will go on. If you give up, the world stops." Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Faith stood up and grinned. "Imagine that," she threw over her shoulder as she walked away, "Me giving you advice on love."
"Yeah," Willow murmured, watching Faith's retreating form with a mixture of wonder and longing, "Imagine that."
She was sitting alone on the steps in front of Buffy's house, a glass of Southern Comfort and Cola in her hand. She normally didn't drink, but lately, only alcohol seemed to numb her enough. Too many people had gone missing the past few days. Tara was dead, Xander was off god knew where nursing his accepted grief over Anya, Spike was gone too. Buffy, Dawn, Kennedy, and Giles had banded together trying to take stock of the thousands of new slayers that had been called, and Willow. she just sat there, shaking the drink in her hand and watching the ice swirl in the caramel-colored darkness.
A twig snapped, and Willow sprang up, the glass splattering on the ground in a million pieces as she fell into an attack stance. An iron grip fastened around her wrist, then softened, and Willow looked up to see Faith, her head cocked in amusement.
"Sorry, I-"
Faith waved a hand in dismissal. She kicked the glass pieces into the grass, and Willow noticed her arms were bruised from the last week's battle. They were lean and muscular in the tank top though; Willow knew they had the power to enfold in an embrace, or crush in the kill, and with Faith you never knew which it would be.
"Since when are you a boozer, Red?"
Willow sank back onto the steps and stared up at Faith, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. There hadn't been a hint of mockery in the girl's voice; with her dark hair framing her face and her eyes a deep dark brown, Faith actually looked. concerned.
"It all seems to be a mess."
Faith sat on the lower step and looked back up at Willow. "A mess? Er. let's see, big bad beastie defeated, slayers called, life back to normal. I'd call that a happy, myself."
"People are dead," Willow snapped bitterly. "Anya. and Tara." She turned away, not wanting Faith to see the tears in her eyes. She didn't know why, but suddenly the words spilled forth like rain, both from the need to talk and the sudden embarrassment that she was telling it all to the girl who, once upon a time, would have snapped her as easily as that twig had snapped under her boot-clad foot.
"I miss her. I miss her and I can't stand what I became afterwards and even though I'm trying to fix things and now there's Kennedy I just feel. empty." Willow gestured towards the broken glass. "That helps. A little. Then it wears off and I wake up and I feel like giving up all over again. "
Faith was silent. Willow shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't ramble on like that, I-" "You have no idea who you are, do you?"
Willow looked at Faith. The girl's lips were trembling as she looked at Willow, a haunted, almost hungry look on her face. There was no anger, no hurt, just an overwhelming sadness that made Willow's heart wrench. "People like Kennedy, Buffy, Tara," Faith continued, staring off into the midnight sky, "They don't mean much. They don't hold a candle to you." Willow opened her mouth to object, but Faith placed a hand on her knee, silencing her. Willow shivered at the contact, not from the cold outside, but the warmth of the gentle pressure on her body. Faith glanced down at her hand and withdrew it quickly.
"When I touch people, they turn cold, like stone, dead. When you touch people.." Faith shrugged. "No one can reach your level, R-Willow. You got more power in your pinky than the rest of us will have our whole lives. You're the only real thing here. If I give up, if Buffy or Xander or Giles gives up, the world will go on. If you give up, the world stops." Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Faith stood up and grinned. "Imagine that," she threw over her shoulder as she walked away, "Me giving you advice on love."
"Yeah," Willow murmured, watching Faith's retreating form with a mixture of wonder and longing, "Imagine that."