Title: Just Desserts (2/?)
Author: nailbunny617
Pairing: B/F eventually…I think…
Rating: PG-13 for now
Disclaimers: No, I don't own any of these characters, I'm just taking them for a joyride and mean no harm. Oh and if girlsmut is illegal where you live, move! If it's not your cup of tea, then I suggest stopping reading right now.
Author's Notes: I kinda muck with the timeline. It's my world, here, get over it. Usually I find songfics tedious and usually badly written, however in this little world, there are actual good reasons for it AND the perfect song. Forgive my lapse. The song belongs to Tegan and Sara and is called "Days and Days" I meant no harm in using it, I swear. And I'm terribly sorry if I've completely gotten Lorne wrong, but I only watched the episodes of Angel that Faith or Buffy were in…
We made it back to the Hyperion in no time. Well, maybe it lasted longer than that, per se, but I was far too busy staring out the window to notice. And people say Angel has the lock on this whole brooding thing.
Wes stopped the car, and I got out, looking around and whistling quietly.
"Nice digs, guys."
"Don't make yourself too comfortable here." Wow, Cordelia sure can hold a grudge. I guess I deserved that. After a particularly fine glare from Wes, she quieted down and followed us into the place, muttering quietly.
As soon as I walked into the huge entryway, I could smell fire. Some things are never going to change my slayer reactions, because I immediately assumed the worst. My heart started motoring and my hands clenched.
Then I saw the cake.
It was a pitiful little thing, sitting on the reception desk. It was white with inconsistent pink letters that probably spelled out my name and 'happy birthday,' and listed distinctly to the left like a little leaning tower of LA.
Tears started slipping down my cheek.
Angel slouched over to me and shrugged apologetically while saying, "Well, it's kind of been a while since I baked anything."
I dashed the tears off my cheek and scrounged up a smile, "No, Angel, it's great."
He saw my tears, and I think he understood. Considering he had an inside source in the police department, I figured he might have read my file. The stuff I keep bottled up inside.
I had never had a birthday cake before.
After some awkward moments of Angel watching the rest of us valiantly try to ingest his latest culinary masterpiece, I excused myself. Wes showed me to my room, and my slayer hearing vaguely picked up on Angel telling Cor that she'd better behave herself. That the hardest part was yet to come.
He had no idea, did he? The hardest part? I think he meant me not running away again. Maybe he forgot that I had nowhere to run to. Maybe he didn't realize that no matter what, my world started and ended with a tiny blonde a few suburbs away. Maybe she's what he meant.
I closed my eyes and laid on the bed, trying to block all the confusion out. I hate birthdays. Well, no, not all. Just mine. While I was in Sunnydale, I soaked up all the information I could on B and her gang. I could recite birthdays, favorite childhood cartoons, first vampire experiences, and even their flavor preference of ramen noodles. But they never got more than a couple pieces of information from me. And that was only because I got careless.
I let them in. Even if it was just a tiny crack, they could see a little bit of my shattered soul.
But that was the thing, I'd spent most of my life hiding from people. I never let anyone close. I'd tell myself all sorts of things. They'll eventually hurt me. They'll betray me and show their true colors eventually. But you see, I was tired of being alone. I was tired of keeping secrets. I was tired of shouldering my entire world.
There was a soft knock at my door, so I grunted. The grunt is an all-purpose conversation tool. There can be "okay, I'll grudgingly admit that's funny" grunts. There are "I'm really pissed at you so don't even come near me" grunts. There are "I don't know what to say because I'll start crying soon" grunts. There's one for every occasion. This particular one was "come in already if you're REALLY going to insist on bothering me."
The door creaked a little and Cordy's head peeked in from the hallway. "Uh, hey Faith."
"Hey C." I was tired and it showed.
She screwed up her courage and actually brought her entire body in the room. The backs of her heels were skirting the hall, but I bet she felt accomplished anyway. "Um, are you, well, are you okay?"
I pinned her with my best contemplative stare. Should I lie? Lying never got me anywhere before, just like all the hiding and running. Heaving a large sigh, I responded, "No."
I made my way over to the window, staring beyond the skyline with my arms hugging my chest. Cordy made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed, seemingly curious despite herself.
"Well, do you wanna talk about it?" I could literally hear her kicking herself, questioning her sanity at pestering a semi-insane rogue slayer. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I'm just saying that if you so chose, that I could, you know, be the one to listen because I've been through some pretty bad stuff and…" she trailed off uncertainly, probably biting her lip and staring at my back. I could feel her eyes on me.
I had to laugh at that, the idea that rich elitist little Cordelia Chase had ever been through tough times. By association with Buffy, she had faced down the odd apocalypse or two, but that didn't count when she was talking to a true blue slayer.
"I hate birthdays, you know. My birthday, actually."
I hesitated. I have never been good at talking. For God's sake, my vocal chords had been used all of maybe three times in the past year. Thankfully, Cordelia seemed to understand that I just needed silence, time to collect myself.
I couldn't help but speak at the window in a vaguely disbelieving, 'can you appreciate the irony, too?' kind of voice.
"I was ten, you know? God, maybe I was still in my teeny bopper phase where I was in love with New Kids on the Block." Pause while we both snort at the memory. "It was my birthday, yeah, my tenth birthday. All I wanted in all the world was a ten-speed BMX bike, black like all the boys at school had. I don't think I'd ever wanted anything so much in my life.
"My family, see, we never really had much in the way of money. Or food, or well, really, anything. We lived in a not so nice neighborhood in South Boston."
I paused, visualizing the tiny little apartment we lived in. The third floor, with the crazy cat lady who lived right below us and made really good gingerbread cookies. My room was more of a closet than an actual room, but I don't remember ever complaining about it. That's just how things were.
"I raced home from school that day, hoping against all hope that a bike would be waiting for me, you know? Well, surprise surprise, there wasn't any bike. My mom had found a couple old Barbies somehow and cleaned them up as best she could. She was so proud that she had something for me, since we'd been having a rough year with money."
The tears threatened to choke me, but I had to continue. This was like ripping off a band-aid, better just to plow through. I rested my forehead on the cool pane of glass with my eyes closed, and just poured it all out.
"I threw them back in her face. It wasn't the bike, it wasn't my dream so it was all shit to me. I was so fucking selfish, but I was just a kid, ya know? She looked so hurt but she tried to hide it.
"When my dad got home from work that day, I don't think he even knew it was my birthday. My mom had slipped me some grape juice she'd bought at the store for the special day, and I savored every sip. I was really careful not to let my dad know what she'd done because I desperately wanted to have a good birthday. God, I loved grape juice. She gave it to me and called me her little firecracker. She was so proud of me, even after the way I'd treated her gift.
"I don't know how he found out what she'd done, but he did. I don't know if that was the real reason he went off that day, but I guess it doesn't really make a difference anymore. He started yelling at her and went absolutely berserk. You know what my mom did? She made sure I was safe in my room, that I'd promise to cover my ears and dream dreams of the bike she'd get me someday.
"No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't block the sounds of him hitting her. Over and over again. She didn't scream once, no, she took it quietly. I heard him leave, and I made my way back out of my room, quiet as a mouse and ready to bolt if I'd been wrong. You never forget some lessons. She was laying on the floor. It was all red all over and her arms and legs looked funny.
"I sat with her and cried, knowing even as a ten-year-old that she was dying. I told her how sorry I was. I cried so hard I think I blacked out. She laid there and told me how much she loved me, her little firecracker. She made me promise to go downstairs and get the crazy cat lady to call for help since we didn't have a phone.
"She died that night, probably even before the ambulance got there. The police found my dad shot to death in a back alley. Evidently, he was gambling and drinking all our money away and didn't repay his debts. Two days later, I was placed in my first foster home. I bounced around in them until my first watcher came and adopted me about two years before I was called."
The silence stretched on. The tears kept running down my face. I turned to face the music, to see the disgusted look on Cordy's face as she ran from the room.
She got up and grabbed me in fierce hug, sobbing hysterically. I didn't know what to do, not being a people person and all, so I awkwardly patted her back and wondered what else I should do.
After a couple minutes, she pushed me away and wiped her tears ineffectively with the back of her hand. Looking me straight in the eye, she had evidently come to a decision. She dragged me by my hand into her room, where she immediately dove into her closet and clothes began flying out. A couple times a hand shot out with a specific item and a muffled order to try it on.
Emotionally drained, not up to fighting her and, I'll admit grudgingly, more than a little curious about what the hell she was doing, I obeyed.
After dressing both herself and me, she tracked down Wes and dragged him with us to some demon karaoke bar where a guy with green skin sang and flitted around chatting.
"Cordy, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but –"
"No! This is about celebrating your birthday AND your newfound freedom. Let's drink to second chances." With that she allowed no arguments, raised her glass and toasted by downing a double shot.
"Yes, Faith, I should say that a little celebration is in order." Even Wes was intent on cheering me up. It was all so cute and endearing.
The green-skinned guy fluttered over to our table, which was towards the back of the bar. "Well hello there my little brooding darlings! Who is this fair child?"
"Um Lorne, this is Faith. Faith, this is Lorne."
I raised my eyebrow a little when he kissed the back of my hand instead of shaking it. Some people are just so weird. Or demons. Whatever.
I'm still not sure how they managed it exactly, but eventually I was wheedled into going on stage. I guess I did it in some masochistic streak to see if it would be B who killed me or some pissed off demon. I figured I didn't have much of a future to look forward to.
I shuffled up towards the stage as slowly as possible, much in the same way that little kids do when they lose all the arguments against going to bed on time. I muttered at the guy my selection and settled onto the stool, trying not to look at anyone. Slayers don't blush, let's just get that straight right now.
The guitars started and I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and pictured the only other person in the world I could honestly say I loved other than my mom.
it
must be something in the way you move
it must be something in the
way you look
I'm not sure just yet
must be something in the
way you dream
you just go home and the thirteen days
in
between you and I
this is me before I come undone
this is
me before I fall apart
I've been tired for days and days
I've
been tired for days and days
it must be something in the way
you move
innocent like you gave in just
like you always
would
it must be something in the way they say
and the
magic that you bring in
between all you imply
this is me
before I come undone
this is me before I fall apart
I've been
tired for days and days
I've been tired for days and days
it
could have been a month or
it could have been a year but I
I
gave up long before
long before you cared
her art inspired me
to
to do my best and
to paint my music like
like I saw it
best and
she says I grew up well
well, well I grew up strong
cause no one's got my back
no one's gonna write me my
songs
it could have been a month or
it could have been a
year but I
I gave up long before
cause I've been tired for days
and days
I let the guitars fade with my head still down-bent. There was a complete silence in the bar, which was weird because it was chock full of boisterously drunk demons and humans. Then I looked up to see the entire place staring at me with their mouths hanging open. I guess that means they liked it.
One person in the back, and although Cordelia claims it was Wes I don't believe her, started clapping and the place went nuts. Making my way through the tables, trying valiantly not to look anyone in the eyes.
"Like oh my God, Faith! That soooo…just…wow… And look, you're blushing!"
I glared at her with a force ten and muttered, "I do NOT blush."
Wes cleared his throat and studied his napkin very intensely, but I could see him biting the inside of his cheek. At least the little British bastard had the good sense not to let me know he was laughing.
Lorne looked at me with an expression that I couldn't decipher. I wanted to hear my future and he knew it, but it was like he didn't know what to tell me.
"Come on, man, it can't be that bad." Very long pause. "Can it?"
He downed Cordelia's shot, ignoring her protests. Clearing his throat, he looked me straight in the eyes. I don't think I'll ever forget his words. "You're a rare one, Faith. I don't know you, or much about you except that your aura is tortured, even for a Slayer. But I can tell you this; your future is split almost evenly between possibilities. One positive and one not so positive at all. Now here's the rare part, it all depends on you. Good luck, Little Slayer."
Watching him saunter off, my heart soared with hope. Hope is a tricky thing, kinda like feelings. It's so easy to believe in it, and it's also so damn easy to be let down. I tried to temper the almost painful flaring in my chest. I'm not a soul used to having any sort of positive future, even if I still have the power to fuck it all up.
Which, let's face it, I'll manage. I'll wrest defeat from the jaws of victory, just you wait.
"Is it just me or is that guy immensely weird?" I'd had too much emotional blood letting for one day, so it was back to defense mechanism number one – sarcasm.
Wes pinned me with his best Giles stare, letting me know just how childish I was being. I'll never understand how B could manage getting along with a guy who constantly did that to her. Then again, I'll never understand B.
He evidently decided to let it drop, possibly because Cordy kicked him really hard in the shin. Hard enough that I have it on good authority, Cordy's in addition to mine, that he squeaked a little. Wes tried to claim that it was a manly squeak of pain, and we only ribbed him a little. I knew what it was like to be dealt one of those pointy heels, after all, and it hurts like a bitch.
The rest of the night went by in a blur, full of stories and laughter and, I'll admit, celebration. It was the best birthday I've ever had. I almost forgot, for the span of four whole hours, everything else in my life. Even all that baggage I somehow managed to leave on the stage after I walked off it.
About midnight, I attempted to look at Wes' watch. This perhaps was not the wisest choice I've ever made, considering that I had to lean pretty far over the side of the table to do so. I got a vague glimpse of the watch face before everything started spinning horribly and I made a close acquaintance of the floor. And Wes' shoes. They were shiny, so I got a little distracted.
That was when Cordy decided it was time to go back to the hotel.
We had more than was, well, wise. Don't ever let anybody tell you that a slayer can't get plastered…it just may take more than your average gal to get one of us under the table. I won the drinking contest against Wes and Cordy combined. Or so I claim. I told them it wasn't a fair game, but I don't think they understood that it was stacked against them and not me.
They probably had good reason to disbelieve me, especially since we were all holding each other up on the walk back. We stumbled into the hotel, somehow managing to stay not only linked but upright. This extraordinary and monumental victory was celebrated, of course, by a round of raucous laughter.
All of a sudden, I heard a placating Angel say, "She's going to have very hard times ahead of her. It'll be hard enough without you holding grudges."
"Yeah, sure looks hard alright."
I, suddenly more sober than I've ever been in my life, was suddenly face to face with the person who, debatably, hated me the second most in the entire world. Second, of course, to her best friend.
"Uh, hiya Red."