Title: Just Desserts (11/?)
Author: nailbunny617
Pairing: B/F eventually
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 you stop reading right now.
Author's Notes: Sorry this took long than usual, but my computer was forcibly reformatted. Add to that the fact that this was a tough chapter to write - you'll see why - and this is the result. I still don't know if it's quite up to par, but I simply can't look at it again and I won't make my beta look at it again. The song belongs to Hoobastank, no infringement or harm meant.
When I got off the bus in LA, I wandered aimlessly. Not cardinally aimless, mind you, because I knew exactly where I was. But I was still completely lost in another way - I'd lost my true north.
Cordelia was sleeping on the round couch in the lobby when I finally made my way to the Hyperion. I gently roused her and we sat there in silence, shoulder to shoulder. There was absolutely no way I could put it into words, the pain, the truth, the hint of light peeking into my life that I'd blotted out all on my own. I was such a mess that I even briefly considered going back to Boston.
No one ever asked me what happened in Sunnydale. I settled into a routine, helping the guys fight the big bad of the week. It was exactly like I'd imagined when Buffy had asked me if I could leave Sunnydale permanently. My heart wasn't in it, not really, and they knew it. I was like a ghost - you knew I was there but mostly I really wasn't. That if you looked too hard, you'd see right through me.
I picked up the phone at least ten times a day. Cordelia caught me doing it the very first time, and from then on she'd slap my hand if I reached out again. But we never spoke about it. It was like one of those things that everyone's simply too polite to point out or bring up in conversation. After a while, she didn't need to slap me so often and the gaping hole in my heart didn't seem so big. Didn't seem so overwhelming.
Cordy, Wes and I made regular visits to Lorne's bar. We'd sit and reminisce and drink. One night, C'd had more than her fill. She leaned over and confided in me something I never thought I'd hear her say. "You were always too good for Buffy Summers. That girl was always too self-righteous for her own sanity."
Despite myself, I wanted to argue with her. I wanted to defend the girl I'd spent so many years dreaming about. I didn't want to admit that I'd said almost exactly that to Buffy myself.
That was the only time anyone touched the subject. I emailed both Tara and Willow regularly, having gotten an extremely annoyed phone call during which Red had informed me that she had her best resolve face on and there was no arguing – I simply had to keep in touch. So I did. She said that she'd put her neck out to support me, so the least I could do was to touch base ocassionally. Instead of talking about anything actually important, I regaled Tara and her with stories of the different ways Cordy and I had found to test Angel's patience. I relayed tales of the marathon shopping trips that I was dragged on, but didn't end up minding – even though I complained nonstop when Cordy was in earshot. It was like a habit I couldn't break. In a way, I think C appreciated the way we bickered on those excursions. Everyone knew I liked having a friend that didn't have any expectations, just that I'd be me.
After a while, it didn't hurt to breathe. I'd wake up in the morning and Buffy wouldn't be my first thought. I'd look in the mirror and not immediately shy away. Somehow Cordelia had figured out exactly what my dislike of mirrors meant, because she insisted on trying to get me in front of one as often as possible. I had hoped to heal myself on my own. To become self-sufficient. I wanted to be my own island.
Angel, in one of his rare heart-to-heart moments, cornered me. He'd stared into my eyes, speaking from the depths of his tortured soul. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to avoid reacting to him, to his words, to his understanding. He told me that I needed to rely on others. I needed to let people in. That I'd continue on a self-destructive cycle until it killed me. Until I succeeded in killing myself.
So I made the decision to open myself up to the one person I was truly, honestly terrified of. I knew that Willow had spoken to Mrs. Summers about my trip to Sunnydale. I knew that instead of being relieved, she'd expressed disappointment that I hadn't seen her. I didn't know who was more surprised, me or Red.
I found myself near a park one day, and stopped to watch the children on the playground. Being pushed on the swings, skidding down the slide, hanging on the monkey bars, shrieking with laughter and happiness. The moms clustered on the benches, listening with one ear for the inevitable demand to 'watch this, Mommy, watch this!' I called Mrs. Summers that night, at her request, and we set up a time to meet for lunch during her next buying trip to LA. Her voice was warm and welcoming and I felt a little something inside me melt.
Two nights later, I dreamed that Buffy was crying in her house. In her living room - isn't that what they call those rooms nobody ever really uses? She was sitting in the armchair across from the couch, staring at her mom's unmoving form. I knew immediately that I'd never see Mrs. Summers again. My legs gave out from beneath me; I sank to the floor staring at her body.
Even though there was no blood, it reminded me eerily of my mom's death. Especially since B was crying like a lost little girl. Her mom and my mom blended into something awfully symbolic while I sat and held the blonde, riding out all her sobbing. I stared at the unmoving form of what had become both of our mothers. After a while, she pushed me away, stood up and disappeared. We hadn't spoken, but I knew it was a slayer dream.
I wondered why she had summoned me. I wondered if she even realized that she had - that it was really me and not some figment of her imagination.
The last dream we shared was vivid in my mind. Somehow, I'd reached out to B and drawn her into my mind. Speaking in riddles - probably because of the coma - I talked about the Mayor's ascension. I couldn't let him win, in the end. No matter how much I loved him, the slayer in me overruled all emotions. It knew right from wrong and wouldn't let me forget it. I did the only thing I could, and spoke to B while she and I made her bed.
There had been a few times in prison when I'd wake with her name on my lips after a particularly vivid dream, but I didn't think she was real in them. They felt different, like a washed-out version. I have a feeling that a couple times I'd almost drawn her into my dreams again but she resisted. Each time, I'd wake shivering uncontrollably. The rejection was too much. The connection we'd always felt was barely holding on by a thread. Maybe I was holding onto something that Buffy had already let go of.
After dreaming of our dead mothers, I woke immediately and wasted no time in gathering the gang - except Gunn, who said somebody had to protect the town - to rush to Sunnydale. Maybe B wouldn't want me there, but for only the second time in my life, her opinion didn't matter. I had to pay my respects.
On the drive, I won the brooding contest hands down. In all fairness, all four of us were somber, but even Angel came in a distant second. I'd never gotten the chance to make things right with Mrs. S. To apologize and explain myself and beg for the forgiveness I knew she'd offer me. So, I'd do the next best thing and spill my guts over her grave. She'd be listening. If I knew anything about Joyce Summers, it was that she wouldn't be able to move on until she knew everything was going to be okay again.
I could feel B at the funeral, and I knew she felt me too. There was no avoiding that, so I stood in the back, unable to stay away and unwilling to shove my presence in her face. She was dealing with enough.
I positioned myself so I could watch her profile because something deep inside me needed to make sure that she was okay. Well, not okay, but not hurt physically. Emotionally, well, emotionally I knew she was a wreck. She was trying not to show it, trying to be strong for Dawn's sake, but I could tell anyway. B stood there beside her mom's grave with only silent tears showing her grief.
Long after everyone else had left, making their way to the Summers' house for the wake, we stood there. Lost in our own thoughts. Lost period. She was feeling truly lost for the first time in her life, and I was remembering all the nice things Joyce had done for me.
There was something so innately wrong with the situation. Two slayers where there should only be one - both of us without mothers. Our lives were hard enough, designed to be intense and painful and tragic and short, without losing the people we love.
I don't know who I was crying for - me, my mom, Buffy, Joyce... The grief was overwhelming and all-consuming.
Once the sun set, she walked over to me. Her face was painted with anger, with fury, with sadness, with terror. It was all so vivid that she couldn't seperate her emotions. She stood in front of me, staring up at my face, probably hoping that I could make it all better somehow. It was an insane wish, but both of us knowing the truth didn't temper it.
I remembered the feeling vividly. I still felt it in my bones. I thought that I always would.
I hugged her then, not knowing what to say. I'd been through it and I didn't have the first idea of how to help. There was no magic cure to be found. There was no evil to vanquish. There were no words that would make it bearable for even one second. For one breath. We stood there for a long time holding one another, and it was all I could do to not let my hands roam over her body. She fit into my embrace like we were made for each other. I'd read that sentiment somewhere before and scoffed at the cheesiness. One of those stories where love was all-conquering and all-consuming and pure. Where stupid monologues seemed romantic and no obstacle couldn't be overcome. I'd always laughed at those stories, never getting lost in the glammer of the ideal. I wasn't scoffing anymore.
When she finally pulled away from my embrace, it was like molasses, slow and sweet. I opened my mouth to say something, anything because I had to make the effort - but then she kissed me. I pulled away from her after only a second or two and said, "B, if you kiss me again, I can't be held responsible for my actions."
She stared into my eyes. "I just...I need to feel..." she said haltingly. I nodded, understanding the need. The overwhelming drive to lose yourself in something. The desperate desire to be distracted long enough to draw breath without pain flaring in your chest. Sex was the easiest, cheapest, and most available method of drowning out the world. I'd let her use me, I'd give her my body so she'd make it through this first night a motherless child. I couldn't think about the next day, about how my heart would break, about how dirty and used and cheap I'd feel, about how I'd be the one needing comfort when daybreak came.
Buffy needed me and that was all there was to it.
Her mouth on mine was hot and wet and needy. I fell into her, then, into a place beyond all thought and reason. She took me quickly, hands slipping into my trendy black pants. I remembered how Cordy had held them up to me and declared that I'd look drop dead gorgeous in them. I cried when I orgasmed and she drank in my tears.
Hands shaking, I carefully seduced her. Her kisses were demanding and bruising. She wanted me to be rough, maybe even make her hurt, but I couldn't do that. I was soft and gentle and tender, expressing all my love and devotion through silky caresses. She bit my neck when she came, riding out the most beautiful orgasm I'd ever been part of. We both cried then, falling asleep with our bodies tangled together on the damp cemetary grass.
I woke a little after sunrise, alone and sore and vulnerable.
I went to Willow's dorm room, not knowing where else to go. I reeked of sex and tears and grass. Red knew almost immediately what had to have happened, but she didn't ask. Instead she gave me her robe and shower supplies. By the time I got tired of the scalding water sliding over my body and crying into the steam, Tara had come over with some clothes that I could borrow. They both eyed the vicious bite mark I was toting despite my best efforts to cover it up with my collar. I sat, shaking and numb, on Red's bed - trying my best not to think about what had happened the night before.
My mom used to tell me that life's not fair. I hated it when she said that to me, scrunching up my face and glaring at her. She'd just laugh and mess up my hair and reassure me that someday things would be better.
After some silent communication, Willow left. Tara and I sat in silence. She was waiting for me to speak and I was waiting for my brain to stop flashing images at me. So instead of waiting for the slideshow to cease and desist, I told her everything that had happened. My voice broke and tears threatened and I had to pause to collect myself a few times, but I got it all out. I sat there, waiting for her to call me a slut, waiting for her disapproval, waiting for the inevitable.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry." And she hugged me. There was no judgment, just support. Even knowing it was coming, knowing that this was who Tara was, I hadn't really expected it. I hadn't let myself.
I let myself be held, comforted, reassured for at least a little while. Improvement, right? I pulled back. "I'm such a fucking moron. I feel stupid and I feel used." When at a loss, quote songs. That's my idea for a bumper sticker.
"No," she said firmly. "You love her, Faith. There can't be a better motivation than that."
"But I should have stopped her," I argued. "I should have done something...anything else."
"Faith, Buffy came to you because she knew that you'd help her in any way she asked. I think she came to you because she needs you. You, Faith."
That really hadn't occurred to me. In the least. Angel was here, why didn't she go to him? He was the love of her life. Hell, why didn't she go to vanilla-boy? I didn't know that he had finally left her. I didn't know that she didn't go after him until she realized it wasn't just a threat. I didn't know that she'd realized she'd never really loved him.
As soon as I thought of Angel, I groaned and smacked myself on the forehead. Tara simply watched me, letting me decide if I wanted to share.
"Angel." She kept looking at me expectantly, so I sighed and continued. "He's here, too. Last night...I think maybe he...saw."
We both winced. There was no way that Angel hadn't come to check up on us. He'd have done it if either of us slayers had been in pain and in need, but both of us together at the same time? There was no way he hadn't seen something.
Of course, Cordelia chose that exact moment to come banging in without knocking. Scared the shit out of both of us. Me because I wasn't paying attention to anything and Tara because she was paying attention to me.
"Willow came and said that I needed to find you right away. Are you okay?" Her face was all worried and panicky looking. And once she got a good look at me, bedraggled with circles under my eyes and puffy I-just-cried-my-eyes-out cheeks, her gaze intensified. "Oh my God, are you okay? You were gone all night and I got worried so I sent out Angel. But then he came back all somber and sad-facey. And holy shit that's one hell of a bite mark. Buffy fought you? But why were her teeth close to your neck?" And her eyes widened comically when she put two and two together and came up with four. Her face brightened and she said, "Hey! Congrats, right? I mean, this is what you wanted...and that is so not a happy face. Am I gonna have to kill her now? I just got a manicure."
She sat on Buffy's bed and looked at us. I did the only thing I could - I told her. Her eyes got rounder and bigger with each painful sentence fragment I spat out, her hand covering her open mouth. Twice in one morning, already, I'd found unquestioning support. I found it didn't hurt quite so bad when I knew they'd back me up no matter what stupid shit I did next.
We talked quietly for a while, mostly just going back and forth about how guilty and used I felt. They were of the firm opinion that I did the only thing I could have and that I wasn't to blame for it. I felt weak, really, because I hadn't been able to say no the one time I knew it counted the most. Tara and C both tried to dissuade me by repeating that Buffy needed me, me. And I was there for her.
It didn't really sink in, but it was nice to have them think so highly of me. They also tried to insist that I go find Buffy and talk to her, but I couldn't do that. I absolutely couldn't do that. Cordelia quickly took charge of the situation - after seeing how adament I was - getting on the phone and having a terse conversation with someone I assumed to be Wesley. Twenty minutes later, we were merging on the freeway on our way back to sunny LA.
I spend the entire time trying not to cry or look at Angel. He'd gotten in back with me instead of driving, which shocked everyone - especially C and I, knowing what he had to have seen. When I swallowed hard for about the fiftieth time, he put his hand on mine and looked me in the eyes and nodded with his patented Angel-smirk. I could see the hurt in his eyes, but that wasn't what he was trying to tell me.
I breathed out a long, healing breath in a big whoosh of air.
Upon arriving, I barricaded myself in my room for a week straight. I sat and stared out the window. I sat and stared at the wall. I laid on the bed, on top of the covers, and stared at the ceiling. I stood in the shower, with the water turning my skin fire engine red, staring at the tile. I didn't, however, cry. All my tears were gone.
Finally, after seven days of my unibomber impression - as Cordy refers to it - she wheedled her way into the room. Briskly throwing open the curtains and opening the window, she declared that we were going to get absolutely, stinking drunk. I grumbled but, grateful for the respite from my own mind, went along with her plan.
Which was how the entire gang ended up at Lorne's bar yet again. I swear the green-skinned guy had a table reserved for us.
We all got blotto, sharing more and more exaggerrated stories of demon hunting. I broke out the alligator wrestling tale again - always a party favorite. The boys went off to talk to some demon about some ancient rune. I wasn't paying attention because they were being stupid guys - you know what I mean, all macho voices and puffed-up chests and pissing contests.
Cordelia, who'd been mostly quiet that night sitting next to me, put her hand on mine and looked me in the eyes. "You know, Faith, if I didn't know any better, I'd think I was a little bit in love with you." What the fuck do you say to that? I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything at all. She held up the hand that she'd rested on mine, and carefully - because she was drunk but trying to fool me into thinking she wasn't - said, "No, it's okay, I know your heart's taken. But do you think that maybe some day you could get over her and be open to...other options?"
In a flash, I realied I'd have been lying if I said no, so I simply nodded. She smiled, covering up the pain the admission had caused her, and stared into her drink. Shit, how could I have missed that? I should have seen it coming, having been intimately involved with unrequited love myself.
Fucking hell.
I was breaking Cordy's heart and I didn't know what to do. But I respected her too much to just go along with what she obviously desired. I would never do that to her. I couldn't.
I was looking at my drinking companion in a whole new light when the karaoke fired up and a hesitant, inexperienced voice drifted over the bar.
I'm not a perfect
person
There's many things
I wish I didn't do
But I continue
learning
I never meant to do
those things to you
And so I have to say
before I go
That I just want you
to know
I've found a reason
for me
To change who I used
to be
A reason to start
over new
And the reason is
you
I'm sorry that I
hurt you
It's something I
must live with every day
And all the pain I
put you through
I wish that I could
take it all away
And be the one who
catches all your tears
That's why I need
you to hear
I've found a reason
for me
To change who I used
to be
A reason to start
over new
And the reason is
you
I'm not a perfect
person
I never meant to do
those things to you
And so I have to say
before I go
That I just want you
to know
I've found a reason
for me
To change who I used
to be
A reason to start
over new
And the reason is
new
I've found a reason
to show
A side of me you
didn't know
A reason for all
that I do
And the reason is
you
About halfway through the song I heard Cordelia gasp like her heart was being ripped right out of her chest. I knew immediately that when my eyes made it to the stage, I'd see beautiful hazel eyes looking back at me.
I watched Buffy sing to me in a bar full of demons and vampires while Cordelia tried not to cry too loudly.