Title: Oh, How We Grow
Disclaimer: This is purely for entertainment; none of the characters are mine.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A short fic, exploring how Buffy came to have such intense feelings for Faith.
Chapter 3 - Understand, Deal, Then Move On
I pulled the thin material around her hand, wrapping it so that she wouldn't damage her hands. I tugged on it, pushing her hand in the opposite direction, occasionally looking up at her to see if she'd tell me if it was too tight, or too loose. I continued, wrapping the long, thin piece of white material around her hand, and she pressed her other hand into a fist as she leant on the old chair.
'Mmm, a little too tight,' she mumbled to me as I tugged another time on the material, and I glanced up at her, and loosened it slightly.
'Better?'
She nodded immediately and my gaze fell to her hand once more. Soon we were both up as we had been before, standing before the punch bag.
'Ready?'
No one would have thought she had had an injury three days prior to this. Yet here she was, giving blows to this punch bag, strong as she could, and I stood behind it, keeping it in place.
She wouldn't let me tell her to not train. She said that missing two days of training was bad enough. She couldn't let her injury bench her. But she knew how I felt about her training. She was hurt pretty bad. She wouldn't admit to the pain getting her down, but all the while I could feel it and I knew that she was kidding herself.
But I watched her. This tough rendition of me. A Slayer. A Fighter. Boy, she did it well. I could see it in her eyes, the determination, the strength. Even as she lay there, before me, on my comforter, and told me she had to train. That being under a duvet for three days in a row was not something she wanted to get used to. Strange. The girl could sleep through an apocalypse.
But she was punching this bag, giving it her all, and in her eyes I could see it, and in my stomach I could feel it.
The pain she was experiencing. I don't know how and why she thought she could keep this up, but still she concentrated. Pushing herself to the limit, each blow to the bag an example of why she shouldn't be training.
'Faith, you're still weak,' I uttered as she punched the bag, and I stood, never moving, her force into the bag not enough to move neither the bag, nor me.
'I'm not,' she muttered beneath her breath, firm on her inward promise to keep training.
She released a little moan as she punched the bag with harder force, trying to prove me wrong.
I watched her with solemn eyes, knowing that I was right. I hated seeing her this way. She was in pain and she just wouldn't rest.
I blinked worriedly, holding the bag for her whilst she punched, wondering when she would give in to the pain.
I guess I must have wavered from watching her, because next thing I knew I was snapping out of a daze and she was doubled over on the cold concrete floor, one hand supporting her weight, pressing into the ground, the other clutching at her stomach.
I was at her side like lightning, taking her in my hands, listening to her letting tiny whimpers pass her lips.
'Faith,' I uttered, anxiety apparent in my tone. She lowered her head and her eyes clamped shut, and I thought she was trying to wait out the pain. 'It hurts too much…' I decided for her, and she shook her head.
'No, it's alright…' She clenched her teeth immediately after this, bending over further in pain, and I came to the conclusion that the pain would be coming in waves.
'I don't think you should be doing this.'
'I told you B, I can't just sit around waiting for it to go away, I still need to be workin'.'
'No, Faith, right now you need to be "working" on getting better.'
She held her hand over her stomach still as she moved back a little and into a sitting position. She looked far from comfortable; distressed, she looked as if she was writhing beneath the surface, irritated endlessly with herself for becoming this weak, and letting this injury slow her down.
'I have to train.'
'Why?' I questioned, and she let her eyes open to me, and the look in them told me she was not happy I'd asked her this. 'Oh, c'mon Faith, look at you. You can barely stand. Why are you doing this to yourself?'
And all at once I caught a glimpse of that need to be in control in her eyes. I knew it myself, it was in my heart. The need to be at the top of your game all the time. The need to be the one in control, even if you were beat down. To be strong everyday, to be a fighter.
'Even soldiers need rest,' I told her gently as I sat upon the ground, across from her tired form. 'C'mon…' I told her. 'I'll run you a bath.'
I listened to the click of my heels on the hardwood floor as I entered the house, then the sound of the door as it shut. Too much of a silence had woven itself between us; Faith's idea of training hadn't exactly gone to plan. And anger seems to be the primary emotion she releases whenever things don't go her way.
I put on the latch for the front door, and when I turned, I saw her, upon the first step, holding onto the banister, just looking at me with a sort of…calmness in her eyes. I hope she wasn't thinking about hitting me.
I took a step towards her, butterflies intensifying in my stomach the closer I got to her. I gazed into her eyes, the light reflecting from them causing them to glimmer. And as I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her in towards me, she seemed to exhale upon a breath it seemed she'd been holding. Along with it, the tears came. Her chest seemed to heave as she let it all out, and all I could do was let her be. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and buried her head in my chest, the tears warm as they hit my skin.
After what seemed for like ever, she began to speak. 'This is so stupid.'
I moved back a little, creating space between us. 'Hey…no it's not, you're hurt, you…'
'No, B, you don't understand,' she uttered, her voice a bare attempt above a whisper. 'I hate this. I hate…how…I can't move, I can't eat, I can't fight, and it just hurts, everywhere,' she released, a whimper emerging from her lips to end her sentence.
I reached a hand up to her brown curls and ran my fingers through them, gently, and watched as they captured the light, and gleamed. Then her eyes, how they glowed, because the tears welling in her eyes caused nothing more than a gleam. 'Hey…' I started, lowering my voice to a whisper. 'It's gonna be alright.'
She hesitated in speaking and I saw the frustration as she creased her forehead and tore her gaze from mine. 'I…just…I need to…is this gonna get better?'
I released a gentle laugh and she looked towards me again. 'Of course it is. You're gonna be fine.'
She released her hold upon me and I slipped my hand further round her waist, and step by step, we began to climb the stairs, me by her side, her by mine.
And as I turned the door handle of the bathroom, closed it behind us, switched on the taps, listened to the sound of the water, I realised the atmosphere becoming further intense as words failed to exchange between us. I glanced over at her, with her back to me, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. I watched her as she grabbed a handful of her white ribbed shirt, and pulled up northwards. Skin began to reveal itself, then the large white gauze protecting the wound beneath it. Her eyes downcast, her shoulders dropped, her self silent, I knew that she was beginning to understand how slow the process of healing was.
I just watched her for a moment, the space between us enough for her to forget I was in the room with her. But as I removed my jacket and dropped it on the floor beside me, sighed, and then approached her, she turned to face me. 'Here, I'll…take it off,' I offered, my voice gentle as before. I glanced into her eyes to check it was okay before proceeding to remove the gauze.
I could feel her eyes on her stomach. Perhaps her nerves building as she waited for the gauze to reveal the slow-healing wound. She inhaled sharply and I guessed it was because I had peeled back the gauze. 'Ow,' she mumbled to herself.
Again I glanced up into her eyes, to find her looking at her stomach. 'Is it the wound or the tape on your belly?'
She chuckled a little. 'Bit of both.'
I screwed up the bandaging and threw it into the bin, and when I turned back to her, she was beginning to remove her top. I swallowed and stood, not quite sure what to do now. But as I watched her removing her top, then her trousers, I wondered. Should I leave? Should I stay?
She eventually looked at me and paused in removing her underwear. When I realised she had refrained from undressing I snapped out of my momentary daze.
'Oh…er…' I stepped back a little. 'I guess you want a bit of privacy.'
Her eyes were wide (as I'm guessing mine were also) and she neither nodded nor shook her head. So irresolute was the best option I took and I decided to leave anyway.
'I'll er…just…' I stepped back, opened the door and closed it after me. I could feel my hand rising to touch my forehead and I didn't move as I thought about what I'd seen.
Inside I began to shake with fear, as the thought I wish never had crept into my head. What if she hadn't made it…
Mere minutes had passed since I closed the bathroom door and left her to her business. I'd decided to grab a cup of tea and so here I was, sitting upon a stool in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. Thoughts kept running through my mind, me worrying that she was alright, if maybe I should check, if she was feeling alright in the non-queasy sense, and if she was in any discomfort.
Frustration. I didn't doubt that she was fed up with this. Being injured and a slayer don't exactly match, I know I've had my fair share of difficult bumps and bruises but never really…this…It still perplexed me; I couldn't figure out how she'd made it all the way to my house, before she collapsed.
I dropped a teabag into the mug and scoffed. 'They do say that love makes thee stronger…' I paused and furrowed my eyebrows. 'I'm an idiot.'
Seriously, though. The girl must've honestly been trying her utmost to not die whilst struggling to my house. And why me? She could've gone to Willow's, Xander's, even Angel's if she really wanted…but she came to me.
I knocked on the door and called her name, a twinge of nervousness getting me as I quickly thought that something might be wrong.
'Yeah…' she called from inside the bathroom. I went to ask another question but she pulled the door to and tightened her towel, and I jumped a little.
'Hey,' I smiled.
She returned the gesture and stepped forward, and leant her head upon the doorframe, followed by the length of her body, and as she gazed into my eyes, I wondered what she might say to me. 'Do you remember…' she started, her voice a little dreamy, tired. 'I packed a bag of clothes, and left it here…the "just in case" bag?'
My face grew a smile and I cocked my head to the side, letting her know that it was in my room.
Once there, she moved in slowly, and came to sit upon the comforter, as I crossed the room to my wardrobe, hoping it hadn't been moved from there. Indeed it was, and I retrieved some things for her, hoping she would be okay with what was in there.
She silently wriggled into her underwear, and once done, scoffed, and held out to me a pair of black leathers. 'And you expect me to sleep in this stuff?'
I looked at her face, then down at the garment, then up to her face again. 'Faith, I don't know what you sleep in…honestly? I'd have thought that you vote the "naked" option.'
She chuckled beneath her breath and threw the trousers back at me. 'Well yeah…normally…but I'm here-' She stopped speaking quickly and it alerted me to her. The smile fell from my face and was immediately replaced with worry. 'Unless if…you want me to go back to my…' She trailed off as I interrupted.
'No, no, don't be stupid.' I headed for the drawers and began searching for something for her. My assumptions proved to be right as I failed to find anything remotely close to a sleeping garment. 'But…you don't have anything to sleep in.'
I heard a soft chuckle and she rolled back onto the bed. I looked over my shoulder at her relaxed form, and smiled.
'Ah, so I was right.'
A grin appeared on her face as I closed the wardrobe door and headed for the bed. Once upon it, I rested my hands upon it and watched her form lying carelessly across the comforter.
'Want something of mine?' I asked quietly, and my eyes followed as her hand moved slowly towards me, up, and took hold of my shirt.
And there it was. The cheeky sense of humour, the cuteness of Faith that lay just beneath the surface of her stern exterior.
I pushed her hand down and moved away from the bed. 'I'll get you a shirt.'
And as I did so, she let out a long sigh; she was tired. I could feel her eyes on me as I went to pull back my dresser draw, and as I searched for something…nonchalant, something she wouldn't make noise about, I could feel her pain, still, and how she seemed now, comfortable with it.
The story with Faith was always about the brick walls, the defensiveness, the tough chick on the outside.
On the outside. But once you scratch the surface it's all about the tears, and the weaknesses and the warm fuzzies. I don't know how I knew this about her. Maybe something to do with how I wanted to spend all my time just watching her, and being with her, next to her. I wanted to be a part of her.
I ambled back over to the bed, unfolding the garments I'd found for her. A black pair of shorts, a black tee. I hoped they'd fit as I gave them to her, and followed the bed round to the other side. I turned around before she could ask me to not look, as I'm sure that was coming, and took hold of my brush. 'I won't look,' I told her gently as I started running it through my hair.
She chuckled and I felt her putting on the clothes as I ran my brush through my hair. Inside me was that feeling of wanting to be helping her, just to make sure she wouldn't hurt herself, and to let her know that I was there for her, in every way. And before I knew it I was crossing the room to the bed, climbing upon it, helping her, for that familiar cry of pain was coming from her beautiful mouth.
She was struggling with the top, and I took it from her, my eyes momentarily scanning over her body. 'Here,' I started, murmuring quietly. 'Lift your arms up,' I said, demonstrating with my own.
And just like that, I knew she trusted me. Her eyes were on mine, her arms reaching to the ceiling, a soft smile coming to her lips. And as I slid the top down and onto her, I kept my eyes upon her. I looked to her hands and guided them through the holes of the tee, then pulled the top slowly down, and once over her head, watched as it hugged her body. I could feel her own eyes all the while upon me, and I liked it. No. I loved it.
I moved my focus to her forehead, where I moved a few strands of hair, then closed in on the space between us, and planted a kiss upon her head. My lips lingered there a moment, and I inhaled, taking in all the scents of her, each one of them wonderful in it's own entirety. I hadn't intended to say anything, though a few incoherent words rolled from my mouth and I slipped my arms around her. 'I hated seeing you that way.'
Her own arms came to rest at my lower back, warm palms resting upon my skin, and she pulled me down to her eye level and shook her head. 'I hate being this way.'
I watched her eyes, and the sadness in them, the pain hurtful for me. And all at once I was holding her to me, breathing against her, just being with her.
'You wanna sleep?' I suggested after sometime. I released my hold on her and slipped under the duvet, and allowed her to find her comfort before pulling the duvet up around us. I laid my head upon the pillow beside hers, and smiled, seeing her eyes still open, looking at me.
No words were needed. We found our bearing through gestures and expressions, and as I raised a hand and cupped her cheek in my hands, a soft murmur escaped her lips. I couldn't quite catch her words, but as she moved her cheek further into my hand, and covered it with her own, I knew she was contented.
TBC
