Chapter 7

Angel

The morning sees you all in the library. Giles and Amy huddling over a series of old maps and cuttings, exchanging little theories. They seem to be piecing some things together, as there is much nodding and pointing.

Your recollection of the church ruins in the cave might be the key. It seems a church did vanish during an earthquake, though pinpointing its location required compiling and cross referencing a lot of old sources.

Kennedy was reading books of vampire lore for any reference to wells of blood. She was deeply engrossed, scratching down notes here and there. You have never seen her so into reading before.

As for you? Well, you don't think your sword is going to get any sharper. You toss the whetstone onto the table with a sigh and carefully return it to its scabbard.

"Hey G. Gotta get to Cheer Squad meeting." you lie. He is engrossed in a microfiche, but nods, waving you away.

Nobody looks up as you go.

Jenny Calendar is your favorite teacher. She looks like someone who should be in music videos rather than teaching a computer class to nowhere kids in a nowhere town, but then, since when has anything in Sunnydale made any sense?

Weird thing is, you like her class too. Computers you just seem to get. You just gotta ask them right, and they do whatever you want, exactly how you want it. They are reliable too. Not like people at all.

Jenny, (which she insists you call her) gives you your first ever 'A' grade. Handing it to you with a wink and a smile. Another 'A' follows soon after. At first you wonder if she is trying to mess with you somehow. A sick joke. But no. you have earned this. You get this. Because computers are not like people.

When you get home one night, a brand new laptop is waiting for you in your room. Giles has tacked on a note:

Faith, Jenny persuaded me that you needed this infernal thing. Well done on your grades.-RG

Maybe it is the Hellmouth energy twisting everything up, but you have changed in ways you cannot have foreseen. Maybe it's just being a teenager, or life or some shit like that. Nefarious or not, you are not sure who you are anymore. Hell, you know what 'nefarious' means now and can probably spell it too.

Image sent to the printer, you flip your laptop shut and pick up your cup of tea.

Kennedy can be seen in the living room, head buried in yet another vampiric tome. She seems to be getting thinner each day. Her jeans now genuinely worn and shredded from battle. The same red top or Dingoes Ate My Baby shirt are on high rotation. She wears her scraped up leather jacket like armor.

Conversely your safe orbit around the Cordettes, courtesy of Summers has, by some strange gravity, shaped your look to be positively preppy. Button downs and soft tight sweaters have somehow crept into your wardrobe. Leggings and sneakers. And of course, cheerleading gear.

Your hair is short now, with soft bangs, curving down to just below your jaw. Better for cheering, better for fighting.

Well, that and that bastard fang Xander took a huge chunk of your mane with him to hell. You told Buffy somr drunk frat guy grabbed it from a passing car. Thus making the change, as Summers called it, "a bold, yet necessary move".

You sip your tea and glance back at Kennedy. But she is gone. The brat moves real quietly when she wants to, but never when you are trying to sleep in. She is all scraping windows and the clump of boots. She bangs her bedroom walls when she has nightmares too, but you can't really get mad at her for that.

The tome is laying open on the table. Curiosity takes you, and you wander up to take a peek at the yellow pages.

"Orb of Thesula." you read out loud.

Summers arrives at your door a little early. She is way more excited by the upcoming dance than you, and she carries several bags under her arm. How you ended up a life sized dolly to a malibu barbie you never know. Maybe it was the Hellmouth being all insidious again, but Buffy seemed to be changing too... or perhaps just liked to hide her razor wit under a bubblegum demeanor. In the moments when she let her guard down, a quip would often fly that suggested she was much better read than she let on. She was letting her guard down a lot around you lately.

The dress fits perfectly. Buffy claps her approval.

"Delicious! Faith, really! Wow." she tugs at your skirt. "Spin around." she says. Lost in the moment, you twirl, striking a comical over the shoulder coy look.

It takes you a moment to realize why Buffy is staring at you with a look of horror on her face.

Shit. The dress is backless.

"Oh, Faith." she gasps, walking towards you. "Faith. What on Earth happened to you?"

"Uh. Car accident." you lie. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

"Is that how your parents… uh?"

"So…" you say "two dresses out. What else ya got for me B? Maybe something with a back this time. Don't wanna be grossing everyone out."

"It's not gross. Why should we find scars anything but beautiful?"

"They ain't beautiful."

"I think they are." she insists. "Look, life threw something horrible at us, at you... and we survived. Got back up. We healed. What isn't beautiful about that?" she says.

You release the breath you are holding and give a little nod. She hasn't sold you, but you intend to ponder that later. Someplace alone. Someplace where there are no mirrors.

"Faith?"

"Uh... Yeah, well, I dunno about all that Summers. But scars? To me they just serve as a reminder to be more careful."

She eyes you curiously, and you feel suddenly raw and exposed. You look away. To the floor. To the wardrobe. To that weird stuffed plush pig. Anywhere but her eyes.

"Can I see?" she says, her voice soft and hesitant. You swallow and nod, allowing Buffy to turn you around.

"I don't look at it much. Do I still look like Frankenstein's monster back there?"

At first you think you are imagining it, it is so gentle. But you aren't. Buffy's fingertips are gliding slowly down your back.

"They look like folded angel wings." she says quietly.

"I'm no Angel."

Her fingers return to the top and trace down again. As if she could smooth them away. Perhaps she can.

Trace. Trace. Trace.

You turn your head so you can read her. Hazel eyes glittering in the light. She looks so vulnerable, unsure.

Her fingers still.

"Feels nice." you say. "don't stop."

Trace. Trace. Trace.

The tension in your body is rising, charging you, making your skin feel too tight. You swallow back a moan for fear it may turn to tears.

Her hands still and press against your flesh. Warm in a way you haven't felt before. You lean back into her touch and close your eyes, savoring it.

Buffy rests her chin on your shoulder. You feel her breath against your neck coming in shuddere. Your hands are against her hips now, pulling her in.

"Faith?"

Her lips are close to yours. You ache to close the gap, even that little distance seems so vast. A million thoughts and fears lace into a wall between why you should act, and why you definitely shouldn't. An image of Willow's face flickers into your mind. Then of stone wells filled with blood. Stakes blackening as the flesh around them burns and crumbles.

You should protect her from all that. From you. You feel caught between worlds. Burning with need, chilled with horror.

So it is Buffy that moves to close the distance.

And just like that, Buffy Summers is kissing you.