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Buffy’s saying: “No, no, no I mean the other time we snuck into the movies. You know that time! With that guy with the fish?”
Faith’s sprawled across Cordelia’s couch, grinning into the big bakelite landline, the curled cord wrapping and unwrapping across her fingers. “Oh my god yeah, Fish Guy! Forgot about him. The fuck was it in a bag for anyway?”
Buffy says, “I mean, they give those out and stuff, don’t they? Like at carnivals, you can win a goldfish in a bag. But I feel like it’s less the question of why was the fish in a bag and more the question of why was a fish in a bag at the matinee of Varsity Blues ? ”
“Nah it does matter, ‘cause there wasn’t even a carnival in town. Was there?” Faith asks. “So dude must’ve like, I dunno, come from a town with a carnival just to see a movie in Sunnydale. Creepy. Maybe he was a demon?”
“ Or ,” Buffy says, her voice bright and hyper in a way that makes Faith’s ears feel all warm and pink. “Maybe he was carnival-less! Maybe he was just a guy who had a way codependent relationship with his pet fish who was like: ‘Well gosh, I’m going to see the matinee of Varsity Blues, lemme just pop my trusty goldfish into this plastic sack of water, obviously. I know how Mr. Goldfish hates to miss whipped cream bikinis.’”
Faith gets this little flash of something up her spine, remembering that day. Somewhere in that winter in Sunnydale, right in the sweet spot when things were normal with the two of them. As normal as they get, anyway.
Faith remembers sitting in the back row of that theater with Buffy, both their boots kicked up on the backs of the seats in front of them.
And that blonde chick pops up on screen, in the reflection in the glass wearing nothing but whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Faith remembers Buffy going so still next to her—She remembers because she stole a glance sideways, to see how B was reacting, and Buffy’s eyes were flying-saucer-wide, like she was trying not to look at Faith. Only then she did glance over, like she could feel Faith looking at her? And the beats of Faith’s spine went all lit up and tingly like Christmastime? And then both of them snapped their heads back forward so fast, and Faith was breathing hard, and trying not to show it.
Faith blinks the memory away, exhales harder than she means to, and then says: “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t a demon. Oh my God, gross, he was probably just trying to eat the thing, you know. Like, everyone sneaks snacks at the movies. Guess demons just do it … wetter.”
“Bleughh,” Buffy says. “See, this is why you’re a bad influence on me. I never would’ve even known what kind of freaks go to the noon showings of R-Rated movies if you never made me sneak into any.”
“Oh, now I made you?”
“Yeah, you did.”
Faith makes her voice go all breathy, “ Oh, Faith, I don’t wanna go to chemistry today. My brain’s all not-work-y. Can we just play hooky and sneak into movies for free all day? Huh Faith? Huh? ”
Buffy’s voice is all scratchy and grumpy, but in this way that’s soft, mostly, underneath it all: “I do not sound like that!”
Faith says, “Yuh huh. Just as long as you think that, Summers. That’s what matters—and also , you do realize that makes us the kinda freaks who go to noon showings of R-Rated movies.”
“No,” Buffy says. “I mean, okay, yes. But that doesn’t even cover half the kind of freaks we are.”
Faith’s throat feels suddenly all dry, like she’s gonna cough up the dangly thing in her throat. “Oh?”
“...Yeah? You know, Slayers? Freaks of nature, preternaturally strong, spend all our time with dead people, average life expectancy of seventeen? Ringing any bells?”
Faith swallows hard and sits up, trying to feel normal again, even though she’s not sure why she stopped feeling normal in the first place. Except maybe these phone calls with B have always got her feeling suddenly on edge at random moments. Like, when’s the lightness gonna stop? When’s it gonna go back to being all hard and bitter and awful like its supposed to, and how long can Faith hold her breath until it does?
Faith says: “Yeah, sounds kinda familiar. You been reading my diary, B?”
Buffy says, “You have a diary? Like, ooh, fuzzy pink with a locket and key and you hide it under your pillow?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” says Faith, kicking her socked feet up on Cordy’s coffee table, which is now basically her nightstand, and littered with a bunch of yesterday’s clothes and dried-out lipsticks she forgot to cap up and a few glossy magazines flopped open.
“Maybe I would,” Buffy says, matching Faith’s tone in this way that makes Faith’s heartbeat race, though she can’t tell why.
“So, uh,” Faith says, throat all itchy again. “How’s things? I mean, summer in Sunnydale’s pretty quiet, usually. Right?”
“Just your run of the mill monsters,” Buffy says, a shrug in her voice. “Ooh, there was this vamp nest last week though that—”
Cordy’s voice cracks through the line all of the sudden: “Hi Buffy! Tell Faith to stop hogging the phone thanks bye!”
Faith looks up from the couch to see Cordelia’s grabbed the other landline that’s bolted to the kitchen wall.
Faith cranes her neck and calls: “Use your cell phone!”
“Use your cell phone!” Cordy snaps back.
Faith says: “Can’t! Forgot to pay the bill again—and I’ve already played your fiscal responsibility lecture in my head, so we can skip it this time, thanks!”
Buffy says, “Ow? Yelling right in my ear? Both of you?”
“Sorry, B,” Faith says. “You know me, I’m a screamer.”
Cordelia says, “Ugh, make me yak. And anyway, I can’t use my phone, because I gave this guy my home number and he said he was gonna call today. But he can’t if you’re hogging the line.”
Faith says, “But why didn’t you just give him your cell number?”
“Because a home phone is classier? Obviously?” Cordy says.
Buffy chimes in: “Jeez, is that a thing? God, I’m so glad I’m not on the dating market. Too many rules.”
Faith’s stomach tightens, suddenly, and she can’t tell why. But she really fucking wants it to stop. She draws her knees into her chest and leans her chin on them, pressing the phone harder against her ear.
Cordy says, “Oh yeah, how’s the new boy? Angel wouldn’t tell me anything about him after he was up in Sunnydale. Which is how I know he’s gotta be cute. Riley, right?”
“Riley,” Buffy confirms, her voice all giddy again, and Faith’s stomach tightens another knot. “And yeah, cute. Cutest, actually. His hair’s been doing this butterscotchy thing lately? Getting all summer sun bleached? Um, but we’re good! He’s taking me out on Saturday, actually. Couples massage. Big time relaxy Buffy.”
Cordelia says. “Ugh, you are living my dream. I miss having massage money.”
Buffy says, “I’ve only ever gotten a massage like, once? Mother-daughter getaway weekend thing. But based on that incredibly small sample size, I think most masseuses don’t actually have what it takes for me?”
“How’s that?” Faith asks, pressing her elbows into the sides of her thighs.
“They’re just not at Slayer level, y’know? Don’t press hard enough. It’s like, if you’re not actively trying to break my back, why bother?” Buffy rambles.
Cordy goes: “Well maybe Mr. Sexy Super Soldier will just have to break your back for you and boy , did that not come out right.”
Faith exhales a little chuckle. “Hey, whatever you’re into, Cor.”
Cordelia makes a point of sticking her head out of the kitchen and glaring really aggressively at Faith. “Well what I’m into right now is you getting off the phone. I don’t wanna send this guy to voicemail.”
Buffy pipes in: “Ooh, but isn’t that kind of like a power move? It’s all, look at me, I’m so sexy I can’t even come to the phone right now. Wonder what I’m out there doing? Well, probably making out with hot guys who aren’t you, huh? ”
“Oh, it fully is. And I’m very pro dating power moves, don’t get me wrong. I invented half of them,” Cordy grins into a laugh. “But I already sent him to voicemail like twice, and if I do it again I’m gonna seem unattainable. And I’m in the mood to be attained.”
Faith raises a goading eyebrow at her. “Damn right you are.”
Cordy blanches. “You’re disgusting. And also, you’re right. And also , bye Buffy! Faith hang up now please thank you!”
She smacks the receiver back on the wall mount in the kitchen and glares at Faith.
“You have like, sixty more seconds,” Cordy tells her.
“Whatever you say, Mom,” Faith says, and then tells Buffy. “Uh, sorry ‘bout that, B.”
Buffy says, “I don’t mind! It’s nice, getting a little Cordy time. I never thought I’d say it, but I actually kind of miss her? Um, never tell her that though, ‘cause her ego way doesn’t need it. Plus, I think she’s kinda like a Monet for me, you know?”
“Huh?”
“Better at a distance … I think. I stole that reference from Clueless. ”
Faith’s insides feel all kinds of itchy again. “Right. Secret’s safe with me, B.”
Buffy says, “Um, so I guess we should …?”
“Yeah. Time to motorvate.”
“Well, right. Okay. Happy slayage?”
Faith tells the phone: “And many more.”
She lingers on the line for a second, just to see what’ll happen, if there’s anything else, but no—there’s the click and the dial tone and B hanging up, and Faith still pressing the phone to her ear for another second longer, just thinking about whether—
“Hey, zone-out girl!” Cordy snaps. “Hang up? ”
Faith tweaks her head upwards to see Cordy glowering over her. “Right. Sorry Cor.”
She drops the phone back into its dock and twists around, plopping backwards against the arm of the couch, pulling a throw pillow over her face.
Very gently, there’s the slow feeling of a throw blanket being draped over her, soft and gauzy.
Faith grins lazily into the fabric of the pillow, and pulls it away to tell him: “Thanks, Phantom Dennis. You know just how to treat a girl right.”
*
“So, how’s it going with the new roomie?” Gunn asks.
He and Faith are sitting on stools at this hightop table in Faith’s favorite dive bar.
“Jeez, you’re never gonna land a bullseye like that. Keep your fuckin’ elbow still, dude!” Faith’s heckling at the drunks in the corner throwing darts, then twists her head back around to Gunn. “Huh? Sorry, got caught up.”
“Nah, I get you. Those dudes have shit form. Been bothering me all night.”
“Right? My dead mother could throw better,” Faith tells him, knocking back last dregs of her glass of beer. “Anyhow, you asked something?”
“Yeah—you rooming with Cordelia, since Angel blew your place up? I mean that’s gotta be—well, look I haven’t met her too many times, but that girl’s uptight as hell. And you’re …”
“Down loose?” Faith offers, and pops a french fry in her mouth, tears it in half with her front teeth, pulling her head back.
“Something like that. Or, right, maybe uptight ’s not the word—that British dude y’all hang out with, he’s uptight.”
“Wes, yeah. Pretty sure he invented uptight.”
“Right? But Cordelia’s more …”
“You gonna finish any of your sentences tonight, Charlie Boy?” Faith asks, and gnashes another fry.
Gunn half laughs, tips back the last of his own drink.
“Damn it, you know what it is? That girl is scary . I’m afraid to make fun of her right now. Not that she’d ever come anywhere near a place like this. But for some reason it still feels like whatever I say about her, she’s gonna find out? And maybe she can hear me right now already, actually, and I should stop while I’m ahead.”
Faith laughs back, “Yeah, she’s … a lot. I’d hate to be on her bad side. Way B tells it, it’s kinda like a whole military declaring war on you. With better shoes.”
“B? Gunn asks.
“Yeah—Buffy. Maybe I haven’t mentioned her before? But she’s the uh, the other Slayer, up in this town a ways north from here, called Sunnydale? Blonde chick, short, wears a lotta skirts? Uh, and she’s—”
She breaks off when she notices Gunn’s in silent hysterics, laughing at her.
Gunn says: “I just— hang on, sorry,” and bites down one last laugh bursting out of him. “Just, damn it, Lehane. How many times you gonna fall for that? I know who B is. You can’t stop goddamn talking about her.”
Faith scrunches up her eyebrows at him, reaches across the table and grabs the last of his buffalo wings in retaliation. “I don’t always talk about her. I got plenty of other things to talk about than some prissy little—”
“Oh! Prissy! That’s the word for Cordelia,” Gunn says, smiling all excited like he just screamed out the right answer to a quiz show from the couch. And then his face goes grave and grim. “Now you don’t ever tell her I said that, huh? That girl is terrifying.”
“Jeez,” Faith said. “It’s funny, B said the same thing last time I was on the phone with her, only it was about missing Cordelia, and—”
Gunn’s raising his eyebrows at her as high as he physically can, adding in a head tilt.
Faith says: “Okay. So I talk about her a lot.”
“Just wanted to get you to admit it,” Gunn says with a ribbing grin. “But anyway, you ready to go? I got the tab covered.”
Faith grins, gives him an appreciative clap on the arm. “Hey! Thanks man—I owe you one.”
“Nah, we’re even. Patrolling with the Slayer? That’s easily worth a few rounds of drinks and bar food.”
Faith says, “Hey, I gotta patrol every night, you’re welcome to come along if you wanna provide for my —” she’s about to say pre-Slayage pigout, because that’s what B calls it, but she can’t handle the extra mocking. “ — Vamp-killing fuel.”
Which, Jesus, is just a lame and awkward way to say it and she shoulda used B’s phrase.
Gunn scoffs at her: “Don’t push it, Boston. I’m not made of money.”
*
They’re out in some dark, dank alley that Gunn says is basically a vamp free-for-all. Which is basically the only kind of alley Faith’s ever in. Maybe the only kind of alley that exists to begin with.
Stakes at the ready in their hands, scanning the gathering shadows, they walk in step, muscles tight, ready for battle.
Gunn says, “I know I already said this, but man, this is so fucking cool. Did you know I’m patrolling with The Slayer? Huh? Killing vamps with the Slayer. Crazy right?”
“You fucking nerd,” Faith says, smiling in that way that makes her cheeks hurt, like she’s holding it too tight, but can’t stop,
“See, normally, that would hurt my feelings,” Gunn tells her, whipping his head around to scan the alleys as they cross. “But nothing’s denting my glow tonight, you know why?”
“...’Cause you’re patrolling with the Slayer?”
“‘Cause I’m patrolling with the motherfucking Slayer .”
Faith feels this little ache run up her gut.
She says: “Dunno if I’m the Slayer. I mean, a Slayer for sure, but … doesn’t feel like I’ve earned it, being the main one. Plus, B’s got seniority.”
Gunn scoffs. “Please, why should blondie get all the credit?”
Faith says: “‘... Cause she never became a murderer for hire or tortured her Watcher or abetted an apocalypse?”
“Uh...You never told me you tried to end the world? I mean I knew about the murder stuff and, look, half the guys I got fighting demons with me’ve got pretty intense rap sheets. I know shit happens, you can’t always avoid it. But … apocalypse?”
Faith’s knuckles feel all tight and hot.
“Right, yeah, it was—I mean, wasn’t my idea? Guy I was working for, he uh, I never really got it, honestly? But he wanted to be this big snake, and, and he bought me this apartment, and I, I really don’t like to talk about him actually on account of it makes me feel like I’m, I dunno, melting inside? Or, maybe more like —”
She can’t finish the thought because a vamp is barreling out at them from the shadows, a big one, and quick too, like he’s been around the block for a while and has picked up how to play the game. Gunn goes in for the block, but the vamp’s stronger, and soon Gunn’s on the ground.
And, good on Gunn, Faith sees him trying to move through the pain, position himself to trip the vamp at the ankles. But the bloodsucker’s got its sights on Faith now, pitching for some action.
The vamp goes: “You look like you’re gonna taste real good, little girl.”
“Jesus Christ, you serious, dude?” Faith asks the vampire. “You’re not even gonna try to be a little original with the taunts? The whole creepy sexual thing’s done to death.”
The vamp just narrows its yellowy eyes at her. “A talker, huh? Fine by me. And look, if you wanna scream, when I kill you, why don’t you go for it? No one’s gonna hear you anyway.”
Faith nails a roundhouse kick right in his neck, and the vamp sputters backwards.
She says, “No one? There’s literally a whole ‘nother person in this alley, bloodsucker. Not too smart, huh.”
Vamp is still down, so she rushes it, lands a kick in the stomach, just because she can, likes to feel how deep her boot can press in the flesh, likes to hear the monster yelp at her strength.
Vamp clambers its way up through, hands swinging at her, and they’re matching each other now, blow for blow, fist for fist, kick for bloodthirsty kick. And Faith’s breathing hard, because fuck, the thing’s strong.
But, fuck it, she’s stronger.
“But I get it, sweetheart,” Faith tells the vampire. “You really just are as dumb as you look. And, just between us two friends, not your fault! I mean you couldn’t help being born an ugly—”
She lands a punch to the jaw.
“—Worthless,”
And a kick to the groin.
“ —Waste of fucking space.”
And a stake to the heart. And the creature’s all dust.
Faith shuffles over to where Gunn’s still pulling himself up off the ground, and gives him a hand to make it the last of the way up.
“You good, dude?”
He nods. “Five by five … Did I use that right?”
“Like you were born sayin’ it.”
Gunn grins at her, shoves his hands in his pockets a little bashful. “I mean, a little embarrassed, on top of being five by five. But just you wait for the next vamp, and I’ll show you what I got.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she says, patting him on the back. They start to move again, scanning the shadows all over.
“And Faith?” Gunn says, after a few minutes of silence.
“Hit me.”
“With moves like that back there? Look, I don’t know what kind of crazy fighting mojo this prissy blonde girl’s got. But what do I know is that you’re The Slayer. Not a . The. It’s coming off you in waves, Lehane. Can’t even help it.”
Faith tries not to grin at him but she does anyway, this eager shocked little brightness bursting up from the back of her throat and won’t stop.
And then there’s another vamp, rushing them from out of nowhere, and the pair of them are back to work, fists shining, stakes moving, and Faith’s hands feel like they’re doing just what they were always meant to be doing.
*
Faith’s neck’s all achy when she wakes up, because her head’s pressed in the divot between these two pillows, but still craned up at an angle against the headboard. She has these few seconds of huh? shooting through her body, because the light’s all wrong—gray and dim and not at all like at Cordy’s where Phantom Dennis thrusts the curtains wide open at eight every morning. Plus, headboard, which means she’s definitely not on Cordy’s couch, she’s—
She flutters her eyes open and, yeah, there we go.
The guy’s room is small and all the furniture’s gray and the interior’s just blue blankets and empty liquor bottles passing for decoration and some sports posters pinned up crooked to the back of his door. Which, now Faith’s never exactly been Martha Stewart, but come on. The dude’s whole room just screams: hey, don’t you forget! I’m a guy! I scratch my balls and don’t listen when women talk .
Faith tries to flash back to last night—did he listen when she talked? But, as she’s remembering it, not a whole lot of talking between the two of them.
Good. Better that way.
Next to her, he’s face-down, pale back stretched out over the sheets, head pressed into the mattress so hard she half worries he’s gonna smother himself. She knows it can’t happen like that. But one of the church ladies when she was little said it works like that for babies, and ever since, she can’t stand to see it. Sometimes she shakes herself awake in the middle of the night, just to be sure she’s not sleeping where anything can press the air out of her.
The guy’s back is moving back and forth slowly though, these peaceful rises and falls, so he’s alright. Whatever.
Faith pulls herself out of bed, giving her neck this long stretch to work out the kink—still a little touchy, but Slayer healing outta take care of that within the hour. Faith’s got no idea how regular people cope when their body’s fucked up. But hey, not her problem, is it?
Her clothes are scattered around the floor and she grabs them up—and look, she’s never giving up on leather pants. They’re her ride or die till the end. But they’re a lot easier, emotionally, to put on when you’re about to go out clubbing than when you’re shoving clothes on your body in a dimly lit room in the middle of the morning and you got no food in your stomach. The top though’s just this dark, barely-there halter that she knots around her neck, so that’s easy enough.
She’s scanning the room to see if she missed anything, patting her pockets to be sure she’s got her keys and all that shit, when she spots the guys’ nightstand drawer yanked all the way open, last night’s box of condoms ripped open in the front of it.
Creeping over to it, because hey, always good to be informed what kinda skeletons these guys have got in their closets. And there’s always at least one skeleton. And right, look there, of course. Faith spots a picture frame shoved face-down at the top of the drawer, and an empty spot on the nightstand where it probably was before she came over and—
Yup, there we go. The girlfriend. Her arm wrapped around this guy’s middle, on tip-toes to kiss his cheeks, out in some big field with all these flowers. They’re dressed up fancy, like they were going to somebody’s wedding.
And look, it doesn’t matter at all to Faith. Not like she was gonna see him again anyway—use him, abuse him, lose him, pretty much been working out for her since she gave up on trying to feel anything other than a moment’s pleasure with these guys.
But still. This ache in her gut. She really does know how to pick a deadbeat, huh?
A good fuck though, at least. She guesses—whole night’s feeling kinda hazy now, honestly. Mostly, what she remembers about it is it was better than being alone. By a little.
She glances down at the picture one more time while she shoves her feet in her shoes. And. Huh. Girl’s way out of his league. She’s got this soft round face and this mop of curly red hair and this smile that’s … it’s nice. Makes Faith feel like she’s the kinda girl you could talk to, about real shit, and not feel afterwards like she was just listening to be nice about it.
Jesus. Fucking sleazebag, treating his girl like this.
Faith slams the drawer shut, and the guy shudders awake, his neck seizing up in a sudden panic.
Then he plops back down into the mattress, but turns his neck to look at Faith, cheek pressing into the sheet. Through lidded eyes, wiping the sleep crumbs out of his eyelashes, he asks her:
“Hey baby. You off so soon?”
“Not your baby. And by the way, do me a favor? Break up with your fucking girlfriend.”
Guy sits bolt upright. “Hey, woah. Look, I don’t know what you thought last night was, but I’m not looking for anything serious here. Thought I was clear about that. And uh, wait, oh did—” he wipes at his eyes again roughly with the side of his fist. “How’d you know I had a, I mean. I don’t have a girlfriend. What?”
Faith rolls her eyes. “For Christ’s sake. Don’t want you to break up with her because I wanna date you. Get over yourself. I want you to because you don’t fucking deserve her.”
“Now wait just a—”
But Faith’s out the door.
*
Faith bursts back into Cordy’s apartment to find Cordelia, Wes, and Angel gathered around the giant dry erase board, talking cases. It’s dim in here—curtains all pulled shut for Angel.
She gnashes into the last bite of her McDonald’s hash brown, and waves a hello at the gang.
“Hey! Bye!” and moves to disappear into the shadows of Cordy’s room, but Wes’ voice stops her:
“Faith, glad you could join us.” Wes has this hard thing in the back of his voice, all sandpapery. And then he seems to take in her outfit. “Where have you been? It’s early for … whatever it was you were doing, I’m sure.”
Faith raises an eyebrow. “You wanna cool it with the third degree, Dad ?”
Wesley bristles. “I was only asking a simple question.”
“Yeah, and I was only answering it. Lay off.”
Cordelia stands up abruptly. “Right! Okay. You guys wanna let us in on whatever this weird tensiony standoff thing you’ve got going right now?”
Faith and Wes both blink at her.
Wesley says, “Tension?”
Faith says, “We don’t got any tension.”
“ Sure ,” Cordelia says.
“We don’t! Wes and me, this is just how we show our love. Ain’t it, Wes?” Faith says, steps over to ruffle his hair, rougher than she needs to, probably, but whatever.
“Er, yes. I — yes,” Wes says, instinctively putting a hand to the top of his head, like he’s nursing a wound. Wuss. “Er, Faith, if you’d care to join us for a debrief, Angel was just filling us on on a demon nest that—”
“Sorry, can’t. Gotta sleep! But, tell you what, you guys do the homework, and I’ll copy yours.”
“Sleep?” Cordy says. “Couch is kinda ocupado.”
“Yeah—gonna nap in your bed."
Cordy says, “Um. Don’t? And also, not that you’re not a delight to have here—I mean, when you’re not using up all my shampoo and cleaning out my fridge and hogging the phone— but can we discuss you maybe getting your own place? Or us getting a new office? Or, you know, everything we do not happening out of my apartment?”
Faith’s plopping onto Cordy’s bed, kicking the door shut with her foot: “Sorry can’t hear you, already asleep!”
And then she’s half-drifting into unconsciousness again.
Some minutes of almost-dream-time later, the door cracks open.
“Faith?” Angel says.
“Huh?” she glances up, to see him standing in the threshold, a glass of water in hand.
“I just wanted to check if you’d had anything to drink today?”
“What?” she asks, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, pulling herself up to prop on her elbows.
“Well, just,” he says. “You looked dehydrated? Or, I figured you know, out all night. Whatever it was was probably something … dehydrating.”
Faith takes the glass of water and sips some down, and her throat’s so dry that the coolness hurts a little.
“Thanks, big guy,” she tells him.
Angel presses the door shut softly, leans against the wall.
“So … new beau?”
Faith chuckles a press of air out of her nostrils. “Subtle.”
“I’m known for my subtleties,” Angel says. “I just figure, you didn’t look too happy, when you came in. And if it was a breakup, or something, and you wanted to talk—”
“Breakup would imply last names. Or first names. But don’t you worry about me. I’m five by five, man.”
“Okay. Good,” Angel says. “Just wanted to check.”
Faith’s chest feels all tense and shiny under the skin. “Thanks. Um. I mean it.”
“You know I’ve always got you,” Angel says, and she can tell he means it too.
“I know. Now go get back to talking about killing things, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” Angel says, with a slight grin, and clicks the door shut again behind him.
Faith plops back against the bed, fluttering her eyes shut—and then there’s this light rustling. Phantom Dennis pulling the sheet up around her, tucking it in on the sides.
*
Cordy and Faith are hauling boxes into the Hyperion lobby. Or, actually, Faith’s hauling boxes, and Cordy’s just putting her hands under without taking on any of the weight.
“Feel free to start actually helping any second, Cor.”
“You have super strength! You’re not gonna feel any difference if I carry any of this anyway,” she says. “But if it means that much to you, I will.”
She shifts her hands so she’s taking on maybe two percent of the weight, instead of zero.
Faith rolls her eyes and grins, “Wow, you’re a giver.”
“Where do you want this stuff anyway? Which room is yours?”
Faith drops the cardboard box down on the ground and leans against the wall. “Dunno, haven’t picked one out yet. All the same, aren’t they?”
Cordelia makes her shocked face. “Literally where would you be without me? They are not the same. There’s sunlight exposure to consider, first of all. Do you want sunrise light? Sunset light? All day southern exposure? Something on the north side like Angel so you can hide away in your little sunless hovel?”
“Well, I guess—”
“And then there’s other positioning considerations. Do you wanna be in the same wing as Angel, for the company? Or far away in case you’re bringing back dates a lot or something? Do you wanna be near the kitchens? Which, okay, aren’t operational and are probably disgusting actually and we’re gonna have to look into that if you wanna be eating anything other than McDonalds.”
“Hey, McDonalds has never let me down before,” Faith says.
Cordy grins all devilish. “Okay, don’t tell anyone, but I actually tried one of their sandwiches the other day and it was? Very good?”
“And that’s a secret because?”
Cordelia says, “I have a reputation to uphold! I’m the suave, sophisticated member of the group. I drink organic protein shakes. It’s a whole thing.”
“Secret’s safe with me, Cor. And anyway, on the room front? None of that really matters to me. Bed’s a bed.”
“Okay but you gotta pick a room with a queen-sized bed instead of a single bed, right? Promise me you’ll at least do that much.”
Faith nods, taking in the prospect. “Yeah alright. I could get used to some extra space.”
Cordy claps even though they’re the only two people there. “My work here is done. Oh, actually it’s not. Because you have got dishing to do. And I have important advising on said dishing to do. So, come on, step into my office,” she says, plopping down on the couch and patting the seat next to her expectantly.
Faith narrows her eyes. “Come again?”
“Ugh, your date . With that guy? The one you were all walk-of-shamey about the other day?”
“Oh,” Faith monotones, and kicks herself back into the couch opposite Cordy, feet splayed across the cushions. “Don’t know if I’d call that a date. Actually, do know, and I wouldn’t.
“Been doing a lot of those lately, huh? The one-night stand thing.”
“What’s it to you?” Faith asks, examining the chipped brown polish on her nails.
“I just think it’s a little interesting that you seem to be all involved with all these people you don’t really feel anything for.”
“If that counts as interesting for you, you gotta get a hobby. You ever try knitting?”
Cordelia keeps talking like Faith didn’t say anything. “And it’s especially interesting when there clearly is someone you do feel things for.”
Faith’s spine suddenly feels all tense inside her. “What?”
Cordelia grins all giddy. “Come on, it’s obvious. I mean, you spend all this time together. And you literally light up when you do. Like, smiling and everything. Do you know how rare that is? On you? Like, solar eclipse level. Blue moon level. Halley’s comet level type of—”
“Yeah. I get it. It’s rare,” Faith snaps. “Can we stop talking about this?”
“No! We can’t! Look, you’re together all the time, it just makes sense.”
Faith says: “I dont think talking on the phone actually counts as spending time — “
Cor says: “I mean it’s so obvious that you and Gunn are—”
“What?”
“What?”
Faith says, quickly and too loud: “Nothing! Um, nothing, forget it. What about Gunn? Like, Charles Gunn?”
“Yes Charles Gunn! Do we know another Gunn? Come on . The patrols and the drinking sessions and the movie nights—”
“We both just like action movies! Doesn’t mean anything.”
“And you just get so comfortable when you’re around him. You get all glowy! C’mon, you can’t be all glowy and not feel anything for him.”
Faith scoffs. “Yeah, we get along. I guess. I mean, it’s easy around him. Feels like I’ve known him for a long time, I guess. But, that doesn’t mean anything. He’s just … he’s my buddy.”
Cordelia cuts in: “Literally he’s my buddy is exactly what they always say in the first half of the romcom. And do you know what they say in the second half of the romcom?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“Come on , Faith. Just say you’ll consider it.”
“Nothing to come on about.”
Cordy frowns. “Spoil my fun!
“That’s the idea. Look, can we talk about ... anything else? Begging you.”
Cordy scrunches up her face to the ceiling, thinking, and then snaps back to meet Faith’s gaze. “You wanna go window shop for clothes we can’t afford? We can look at that backless dress you like to stare all longingly at again!”
Faith can’t help but grin. “Okay, but you’re driving.”
*
Faith and Gunn are patrolling a cemetery, for a touch of the classics. Mostly empty tonight. They staked one fledgling by the entrance, but now they’re in the center of the cemetery, where it’s all just the oldest graves with the names half crumbled off, and no chance of fresh vamps.
Still though, there’s almost always some demon trying to steal some old bones from some cobwebbed crypt in a graveyard this old, so it’s worth a sweep.
Gunn’s saying: “Here’s what I still don’t get, though. Where’s Angel been living this whole time between blowing up your old place and moving to the haunted hotel?”
“Fuckin beats me,” Faith says. “I mean, you know that guy. You try to ask him a basic question about his life and he’s all no I won’t talk about that for reasons I’m not gonna tell you, But do you wanna hear about the pretentious French book I’m reading? Or about how yesterday I cried for an hour about this nun I waterboarded one time? Shit like that.”
Gunn blanches. “...Dude waterboarded nuns? ”
Faith shrugs. “I mean, that’s a hypothetical. But probably. Angel’s the most fucked up person I ever met. And I grew up in South Boston, so, sayin’ somethin’.”
“And this is the guy you’re entrusting your big redemption deal to? This is the guy I call in whenever I need life or death backup?”
Faith says, grinning and popping the P : “Yup.”
“So we’re screwed?”
“‘Nother big yup.”
Gunn says: “Know what? He’s probably living in some Batcave type place. I can picture that real easy.”
Faith twirls her stake around like a baton for something to do with her hands.
She says: “Nah, my money’s on an abandoned chandelier factory. ‘Cause then, y’know, every time he doesn’t see his reflection in all the glass he gets that extra shot of sadness he’s always jonesing for.”
“Damn,” Gunn says. “You got an eye for detail.”
Faith pushes her tongue against her front teeth, does an exaggerated bow into the cemetery shadow. “What can I say? I’m an artist.”
“ Yeah ,” says a voice from the dark. “An artist of getting killed, little girl.”
The vamp rushes up from outta nowhere, all fangs and fists, and ugly eyes.
Faith buries a stake in its chest before it can even touch her, and then it’s dust, gone, nothing.
To Gunn she says: “Anyway, I’m starved. You wanna go get some food?”
*
They’re seated at one of those picnic table type things at the edge of some park, down the block from where Gunn’s go-to taco truck is always parked on weekends.
“So,” Faith says, tearing into her taco too fast, so half the filling’s falling out. “Fill me in—how’d you turn all demon-hunter anyway? ‘Cause I mean, I didn’t have a say in it. You chose this bullshit gig.”
Gunn says: “First of all, don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Faith grins through another bite, flashes her eyebrows skyward. “Got me there.”
“And second of all that is not how you eat a taco. You gotta keep the thing upright, and then you tilt your head. Tilting the taco’s just gonna make the kinda mess you’re making right now.”
Faith narrows her eyes, but does like he says, and it works annoyingly well. “Jesus. Everyone else know about this?”
“Literally everyone. But hey, would you look at me? Teaching a thing or two to the Slayer . I mean, not about demon-fighting, grant you, but still, pretty impressive if you ask—”
“You gotta cool it with that, Charlie Boy,” Faith says, and kills her taco with a last bite. Moving onto her next one, she says, “And c’mon, don’t leave me hangin’! Hit me with the tragic backstory.”
“How do you know it’s tragic?”
“People like us? Always tragic.”
His face goes grim.
“You said I had a choice in it,” Gunn tells her, not looking at her. “But it wasn’t like that. It was — it was me and my sister, and no one to take care of us, so I had to do it. And then no one was taking care of the vamps either. So, I had to do it. Had to keep us all safe.”
Faith says: “Didn’t have to. Did anyway. That’s real shit.”
“Thanks,” Gunn says, staring at his hands on the table.
“So. Sister?” Faith says. “You never bring her around.”
Gunn swallows, hard and slow. “Gone. I didn’t — I couldn’t —”
“Vamps?’
“Made her like them. I had to … finish the job.”
“Shit,” Faith says.
“Yeah.”
It’s quiet out here—some cricket chirp, some kids roughhousing somewhere in the distance, cars rolling past, low chatter coming from the other folks up by the food truck. Sky above them’s dark and hazy and light-polluted, and Gunn’s scraping his nails over the wood grain of the table.
“I never had anybody either,” Faith says. “Dad was gone before he could make much of a dent. And my Mom? She was there. Physically, at least. Usually too busy drinking to be there much past physically. Drinking did her in right around the time I got all Chosen One-y. But then …”
She blinks up at the sky, where the stars would be if the city didn’t drown them out.
“But then, I had this Watcher, all the sudden.”
“What, Wesley?”
Faith shakes her head. “Nah. Before him. This was the lady who, who found me, told me what I was. And, for a second, it felt like I had everything I never had before. Family. A purpose. Something to make me more than just, just a waste of space.”
“I know the feeling,” Gunn says.
“And then. This vampire. Kakistos. Old as dirt and twice as ugly. And he … they don’t have a word for what he did to her, actually. And after that, came to Sunnydale, shacked up with B and the super friends, and well, you know that part. Everything went to shit again.”
“And here you are,” Gunn says. “Still kicking.”
“Something like that,” Faith says, blinking away a dab of wet from her eyes. “Hey. I’m — I’m sorry. About your sister.”
“Alonna,” Gunn says, name catching all gravelly in his throat.
“Alonna,” Faith says. “That’s pretty. What was she like?”
“I … I can’t,” Gunn says. “Too much.”
“It’s cool, I get it,” Faith says.
They sit in silence—Faith vanishes the last of her food down her throat, and Gunn’s getting cold in front of him, and she’d probably ask to finish it for him if they hadn’t just gone all trauma share time on each other. So she just lets it sit. Lets him sit.
Lets it all be.
Huh. It is easy, isn’t it? Even talking about the hard shit, the shit that makes your whole brain seize up and freeze and go numb. She can talk about it, to him. Doesn’t even have to search for the words. They just come out of her, and he gets them.
Maybe, maybe , Cordy was right? Maybe this is what it feels like. That thing she’s never been able to get at with guys.
It’s quieter, than she thought it would be. People talk about it like it’s big fireworks—that’s how B always talked about Angel. Like he made everything in her go shivery and freaking out and burning up all at once. She couldn’t even help it, was how B described it, it just came over her, this force. Like getting Chosen all over again.
And this isn’t that. This is quiet and comfy and, and nothing Faith would’ve thought about if Cordy hadn’t gotten her all worked up.
But maybe it’s supposed to be the other thing, the fireworks thing. Maybe it would be, would feel like that, if Faith just wasn’t so fucked. So messed up inside that she doesn’t even know what love feels like.
Maybe all this shit, all the killing and the loss and the nobody ever wanting her, not in the way that matters, not in the way that’s about her, but it’s just about what she can do for them, maybe it all got her twisted up inside. Mangled.
Would make sense, looking at her track record. Her instincts have never been right, not about this. So maybe she should just ignore them. Maybe she should just, just try to be normal, just try to do things in the way you’re supposed to for fucking once, and it won’t all be so hard anymore. Maybe. Maybe she could—
Faith reaches across the table.
She kisses Gunn, her hands pressed into his, and his lips are soft.
He’s all shock, for a second, and then he’s kissing her back, for a second, and his lips are soft as anything, they really are, and hey, maybe this is going alright, and then—
“Woah,” Gunn says, pulling away. Reeling back. “Faith, I … I didn’t expect that.”
Faith is still leaning over the table, in a way that would probably make her feel seductive if she didn’t feel like such a fucking idiot.
It takes a second, frozen there, trying to figure out what the fuck she just did, and then she plops back into her seat.
She can’t think of anything to say.
“Look, I … I think maybe we’re not on the same page here,” he tells her. “Or, I thought we were. But now I’m—”
“I’m sorry, alright?” Faith tells him. “Just forget it.”
“Kinda hard to forget it,” Gunn says. “It happened.”
Faith snaps: “You can just say it wasn’t any good, you don’t have to make a whole big deal of it.”
And her fists are feeling itchy, and there’s this plane flying overhead that’s so loud for some reason, and everything is too much. She pushes up from the table, walking off into the distance, and she’s not even sure which direction she’s going but anywhere is better than here.
“Hey!” Gunn says, jogging up behind her on the sidewalk, grabbing her wrist. “Look, I didn’t mean to — if I thought you really meant that, I might’ve even ... but, we’re friends, Faith. I thought we were friends.”
Faith spins around, blinks up at him. “What d’you mean, if I really meant that . I … I don’t do things I don’t mean.”
Gunn just looks at her.
And, okay, yeah, he’s right. Because she’s looking at him now and she doesn’t wanna kiss him again. Nothing’s loud in her head except that plane flying above them, nothing’s burning or shivering or any of that shit people talk about.
The only thing is that he’s looking at her like he cares about her, and it feels a little bit like before her first Watcher got ripped to shreds. Feels like she’s got somebody.
Faith tells him: “Okay, no, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Cordy got in my head.”
“Cordy? Damn, that girl needs to mind her business,” Gunn says.
“In her defense, I think if she did she’d actually die. It’s like vamps with blood. Keeps her going.”
Gunn sighs, runs his hands over the back of his head, and says, “Look, don’t get me wrong, you’re hot. And, dating the Slayer would be—”
“Yeah yeah, we get it, you got a big demon-fighting jones for the Chosen One.”
Gunn continues: “But, I think we both know there’s only one person you’re interested in.”
Faith does a double take. “Uh, if we do that’s news to me.”
Gunn actually laughs at her. “I’m. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But seriously? How do you not know?”
“Well maybe I’d know if you fucking filled me in? Jesus, everyone’s got a fucking take on who I’m secretly in love with this week. Maybe I should call Angel and Wes too, they can put their two cents in.”
Gunn says, “Nah, not putting any cents in over here. Gonna let you figure this one out on your own.”
Faith smacks him on the arm. “Seriously?”
“ Ow,” Gunn yelps, rubbing the spot where she struck him. “And yeah, seriously. Gimme a call when you figure it out, okay? I think it’ll be funny.”
“You’re the fucking worst,” she tells him. “Anyway, wanna go get in a few more kills before sunrise?”
“That even a question?”
*
The stage at Caritas feels weird to stand on— making Faith’s legs feel like jelly, how she used to get after running the mile in school. Back before she was a Slayer.
It’s the singing in front of people thing, she reckons. Or, demons in this case. Even though none of them would say a thing to her about it—they know they’d catch a fist to the snout the second they left the sanctuary spell if they did.
But she hasn’t sang in front of people since … ever. Well, maybe when she was little. Some Christmas pageant Mom shoved her into at the church. Or school maybe, music class, some distant glimmer in the back of her mind. She used to sing alone though, for a hot minute, when she was living at the Mayor’s. Voice echoing out in that big shiny shower with no one to tell her anything about it. Just made her feel good. Feel like her body was a good place to be.
She’s got no idea if she sounds any good. Wesley said once that it’s different, what you hear in your head, and what really comes out. Something about ear bones, echoes. But the voice Faith hears in her head is big and round and resonant, like good wine, the expensive reds Cordy’s been turning her onto.
She hears it about to come, the wine voice, as she opens her mouth on Lorne’s stage, looks out at over the sea of demons sipping technicolor cocktails. And Lorne in the back, leaned up against the bar, nodding, and giving her the go-ahead, and … fuck.
Fuck, if this doesn’t work, doesn’t tell her whatever Gunn was talking about, whatever Cordy thought she saw that Faith couldn’t, whatever the fuck everyone else is always feeling and Faith can’t touch, or even find, and doesn’t know where to look? She’s gonna start bashing in some heads in here. Sanctuary spell be damned. She can punch hard enough to break through a shitty magic barrier, she feels that somewhere in the back of her bones.
And then the karaoke track starts playing, and Faith’s got no choice but to buck up and sing.
“ Jolene, Jolene,
Jolene Jolene.
I’m begging of you please, don’t take my man.”
And Lorne is giving her this look, glimmery in the eyes. Makes Faith’s stomach go sick and sloshing, like the ocean. But, whatever, fuck it, she started this, so gotta keep at it, even though everything in her is all just gnaw.
“Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, Jolene”
Song’s flowing out of her harsh and desperate. Back of her throat’s going to this scratchy aching place every verse. She likes this song, always has, thought it was pretty and sad all at the same time, not that she’d ever tell anyone that.
But singing it now, knowing as she does the green guy’s poking into her brain like an autopsy, jiggling his fingers around there looking for loose change. Makes her feel like she’s singing naked. Which, honestly, she’d rather. Naked, she knows how to handle. But this thing? This shivering exposed moment that won’t end, with her voice snaking out of her and can’t stop it? This, she’d never like to feel again.
“You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
He's the only one for me, Jolene
I had to have this talk with you
My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, Jolene”
Faith really, really wants to get swallowed by the stage floor, maybe fall into another coma. But she keeps on singing, and the song fills up some little gasp of air in her, and as she rounds out the end of it, fingers gripping so hard she thinks she’ll shatter the microphone, toes going crazy fidgeting around in her boots like that one time she snorted coke, she—well, she feels good. Really, actually good. And yeah, Lorne’s still looking at her, and he’s seeing her, and it makes her wanna not exist, or to punch something, or both.
But—she’s gotta know. And she’s gonna. She really is.
Gonna finally know, what’s that thing she can’t see. What’s that piece, everyone else has got, and she just can’t have it.
Jolene, Jolene,
Jolene, Jolene
Please don't take him even though you can
Jolene,
Jolene.”
The song finishes out and Faith feels like she’s just finished a fight.
Her tongue is so dry it’s gonna crumble out her mouth. And everyone’s staring at her, fucking staring, demons blinking all shocked with their yellowy lidless eyes and fuck, fuck, this was stupid, so stupid, and she should run off the stage, out of the club, out of the city, but then Lorne’s coming up, grabbing her around the shoulders like a coach at a boxing match.
“Well how about that huh? Hey, everybody, give it up for LA’s very own Slayer. I think all of us and Miss Dolly would agree, she just slayed our hearts with that number.”
The demons are giving her a round of applause then, and somehow it’s worse than when nobody was saying anything.
Lorne says: “Right, I’m gonna go have a chat with little miss sultry over here, and in the meantime, Gabagorth of the Meatholuk Clan is gonna wow you all with some Marvin Gaye.”
This huge purpley motherfucker rolls up onto the stage as Faith and Lorne shuffle off it, opening chords of “Sexual Healing” playing over him.
Lorne leads Faith off to a little table on the side.
Her hands won’t stop shaking.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Cotten, you need a drink in you like I need a record deal. How’s about it, huh? On the house.”
“Uh. Sure. Thanks.”
“Let me guess, you’re a hard liquor kind of girl?”
Faith says, “Whatever you got’s fine. I’m not picky.”
Lorne’s got this glint in her eye that makes her all nervous.
“Carlos! Would you whip my friend over here up a New York sour? ” he calls out, gesturing to the bar. To Faith, he says: “You’re gonna love it. Just like your classic whiskey sour, but jhuzzed up with some lemon juice, and a red wine float. Now that doesn’t rock your world, I don’t know what will.”
“Fine,” Faith mumbles, staring at her hands on the table.
“Well somebody’s a little wound up, huh?”
Faith snaps her head up at him. “Look, I just wanna know what I came here for, so I can get on with my life. So could we hurry up with the merry bartender act?”
Lorne grins at her. “No hurrying this operation, darling. We work at one speed over here. Ah, and speaking of, thank you, Carlos. Now doesn’t that just look gorgeous? That’s some cocktail artistry right there.”
The bartender, this guy who looks almost human except for the thick spiky things jutting out his eyebrows, places the drink down on the table. It looks like, fine.
“Thanks, man,” Faith says, takes a sip as Carlos heads back to the bar, and looks back up at Lorne. “So?”
“So. Honestly, Faith, I’m not sure why you came here.”
Faith grits out: “I told you. My friend, he said that—”
“That you’ve got the hots for somebody and you got no idea who it is, yeah, got that bit. Only you do know. Boy howdy, do you know.”
For all that B’s gang used to say she was criminally insane or whatever, Faith’s pretty sure she’s never felt what actual insanity was like until this exact moment.
She tells him: “Look, you think I’d have gone up there and sang Dolly fucking Parton in front of a buncha demons, who under any other circumstance I’d’ve killed on sight, if I already knew? ”
“Well, first of all,” Lorne says, taking a sip of his drink. “Not all these guys are black hats. Gabagorth up there is an excellent babysitter in fact. Just goes to show you.”
“And second of all?” Faith says, mouth clenched.
Lorne gapes at her: “ Second of all . Come on. Jolene?”
Faith blinks at him. “What about it?”
“Oh for crying out loud. Jolene! Gay repression anthem, darling. She’s singing this whole long song about how she’s sad over some man, meanwhile doesn’t say a thing about him. But she can devote a whole verse to Jolene’s ‘flaming locks of auburn hair’? Come on now.”
Faith nearly chokes on her drink. “I —I don’t—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“I just … I just think the song’s pretty. My mom used to play it.”
“Plenty of other songs are pretty, Faith. You picked this one.
“Look, you’re out of your little green mind, okay? I’m not … I’m not…”
“Go on,” Lorne encourages. “It’s just a word.
“I’m not fucking gay, okay?”
Lorne gives her this infuriating smirk. “Hate to—actually, love to break it to you, dearie, but I’ve never been wrong. Not even once. This is what I do.”
“First time for everything, isn’t there?” Faith says, and takes a hard sip of her drink that spills a film of whiskey over the cocktail table. She’s sopping it up with the thin paper napkins, and telling Lorne. “‘Cause look, not to get crass on you—though I’ve been told it’s my speciality—but nobody’s done more guys than me. Kind of an impressive record, actually. I’m expecting a trophy in the mail any day.”
Lorne says: “And all those guys. You ever feel anything, for any of them?”
Faith’s drink is so cold going down her throat, she almost can’t take it.
Lorne says: “Well?”
Faith scoffs. “‘Course I fucking felt things for them. Maybe it’s been a while since you got any, but fucking is pretty much just feeling things. It’s the big idea.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about me, I’m all taken care of,” Lorne assures her. “And I’m not talking about physical sensations, Faith. I’m not even talking about the thrill when you realize somebody wants you, or that you have power over them. Or getting to tell all your little friends that you got lucky, and it makes you feel just a little bit normal. Finally. For once.”
Faith swallows so hard. The glass is so cold in her hands. And, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Lorne says: “What I’m talking about, sugarplum, is do you ever get nervous?”
No. No, no, no. no.
Lorne says: “Anybody ever make that little heart of yours flutter like crazy, and you can’t reign it in? Someone you can’t shake, but you just think about them, talk about them, all the time, like they’re in your bloodstream? No control over it. You’re like a woman possessed.”
Faith’s mouth is finally working enough to speak again, so she tells him. “I mean, yeah. I’m a person, aren’t I? That happens to people. But it doesn’t mean—”
“Doesn’t it? ‘Cause who was it, Faith? Who was the person?”
“No,” Faith says. “Shut up, okay? Just fucking—”
Lorne grins at her. “Thought so.”
“It’s not. Couldn’t be. Not—”
“Not the same little blonde girl who’s always got your roomie wound up tighter than a pretzel? Well, more than he already always is.”
Faith feels like she can’t breathe.
Or no. She can breathe. That’s the shitty part. She wishes it felt like being shot in the gut, wishes it felt hard and impossible and shovable and far away, but instead it’s right here, staring at her, won’t stop looking her in the fucking eyes, point blank range.
"I’m not sure why this is coming as such a shock to you, sweet cheeks. From that little ditty you sang up there, well, you definitely know your way around a woman,” Lorne tells her, lips pursed.
Faith's fists feel itchy again. She just shrugs at him: "I mean, sure. Yeah. I've fucked girls. But who hasn't, right?"
Lorne raises his eyebrows at her, takes a long sip of his sea breeze. "By all the lower beings, kiddo, you're really gonna make me spell this out for you, aren't you? ‘Cause I can spell it, if you like. L-E-S-B-I—”
“ Stop!” Faith commands, and he does. “Look, it’s not, it’s … it’s not . And I’m not. I don’t. But, let’s say I did. Not saying I do. ‘Cause I don’t. But argument’s sake.”
“Argument’s sake,” Lorne nods agreement.
“I mean people, they, they can like both. Couldn’t I — it’s easier, with guys. It feels … it just doesn’t matter. You know? With girls, it—”
“With girls it matters?”
Faith feels all shivery and wrong and headachey and she’s flashing back, that first girl she felt up in the back lot of her high school back in Boston after hours, before she dropped out. That woman in the Midwest she crashed with when she was making her way to Sunnydale, who she can’t think about without getting all hot and bothered. The girls she’s been picking up since she got to LA, their hair so shiny and their necks all perfumed and—
“I don’t wanna talk about this. And, and like I said, I can like both of them. If I want to, I could—”
“Faithy,” Lorne says, reaching across the table, grabbing her hands, and she hates how good it feels, hates how it stills the jitters just like that. “Everybody can like whoever the hell they want to. No rules, least of all here. But, when you reach into your heart of hearts, can you honestly tell me you feel anything, for any man, like you feel for all those girls? Like you feel for Buffy?”
“But, with Buffy, it’s—”
Lorne’s eyes glint at her. “Different when you say her name now, isn’t it?”
Faith swallows hard. “Shut up.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Look. I’m —- we’re not having this conversation, okay? But, but if we were?”
“Go for it, kiddo. Come on now. Don’t be afraid.”
Don’t be afraid. Fucking hell. Afraid’s all she’s got, when it comes to B.
“Look. Even it was like that. B doesn’t feel it back. I know she doesn’t. She couldn’t. Not someone like me, not … or, I mean, does she? That something you can tell?”
Faith’s breathing so quick and hard and shallow. She takes another sip of her drink, and then it’s just the ice left.
“Sorry, pumpkin, doesn’t work that way. I can only see what I got in front of me.”
“Oh. Well then, just forget that I even—”
"But, I’ll tell you this much. Two Slayers at once? That’s powerful. Whole demon world felt the rumblings. And I don’t know this girl. Though, between you and Angel singing your heats out, I got a decent sideways picture. But even so, if I had to put money down? I’d say she can feel this thing between you, strong as you do. Now, I don’t know what direction she feels about it. But you’re the only two in the world who’re like you. That counts for something, Faith, baby girl. It counts for feeling … seen. Feeling like, like you’re not a freak, anymore. Buffy’s gotta feel that. Because that’s what it is. Now, could I tell you a story?”
“As long as we don’t have to talk about me anymore? Yeah, you can tell me any fucking thing you want.”
Lorne knocks back the rest of his drink too, smacks it down on the table. “Now, this is highly classified, so I’d appreciate you not spreading it around. But, I come from a place that’s ... it’s a little different.”
“Why’s that classified?”
“Hush up and listen,” Lorne says, with a sad little grin. “Now, my world, music didn’t exist. Can you imagine that? My whole life, I thought I was crazy. That I had ghosts in my head or something. Simply because I could hear music. Of course I didn't know it was music. All I knew was that it was something beautiful and, and painful. And right. It was right. And I was the only one who could hear it. And then— well, the mechanics don’t matter for the purposes of this story. But then, I wound up here, and heard Aretha for the fist time, and well.”
He grins at her, beaming this time, bold and bright and remembering.
Lorne says: “And it felt like, oh . Oh, I’m not wrong. I’m not broken. There’s all these people, just like me. They feel what I feel. They see what I see. So, now, imagine being your Buffy.”
“She’s not my anything,” Faith says.
“I said, imagine it. Just imagine you’re the only girl in the world. And then suddenly, you’re not. Oh wait, you don’t have to imagine it, because that was you, too. You’ve got something between you, sugar bee. And it’s a good something. I promise you that.”
Faith feels suddenly hot and antsy and her throat all stuffed up, like she ate food that was too spicy, like she’s running for her life, like, like—
“Look,” she tells Lorne. “I get what you’re trying to do. But it’s not like that. She’s not … she’s better than me. She is. She … she’s the Slayer, you know. The . And I’m just … I’m just the chick who showed up and ruined it for her.”
Lorne shakes his head, scoffing. “That is so ridiculous I’m not even dignifying it with a response.”
“But—”
“No buts! Enough of your pity party. Now, I saw when I was reading you that you and your girl have been tying up the phone lines all summer, yeah?”
“I guess. Uh. Haven’t called her for a while. And, not like she ever calls me, so.”
Lorne scolds: “Hey! What did I just say about the pity party, babe? Now, you go march your little superpowered tuchus back to that godforsaken hotel, and you call the girl you you’re in love with, or so help me.”
“Please,” Faith goads, leaning back in her seat. “Like you could do anything to hurt me.”
Lorne says: “You’ve never heard my high note.”
*
Faith doesn’t call Buffy until the next day, when Angel vanishes down into the tunnels for whatever it is that he does.
And then she sprints up the steps and down the hall to her room, dials the number for Buffy’s dorm fast as she can, before she can change her mind.
“Hello!” Buffy says, voice coming out all bright and shiny and unbothered.
“Buff! Uh, Buffy. B. It’s me.”
“Oh, hey! Long time no call. Umm. How’s things?”
“They’re, y’know.”
Thing is, Faith should have spent the time between last night and now working out what she was gonna say, but instead she just stared at the wall, going insane, so, here she is.
“Ooh, oh my god, can I tell you?” Buffy says.
Faith exhales. She’s lying backwards on her bed, kicking her feet up against the headboard. “Go for it.”
“Literally you’re never gonna believe it,” Buffy says. “Wait, actually I want you to guess.”
“I’m not guessing.”
“Guess!”
“Don’t even know what I’m guessing for, B. Kinda hard to start,” Faith tells her, and her throat feels so tight, every word just agonizing to squeeze out, like the last bit of the toothpaste tube.
Buffy says, “Literally you are so not fun right now. But fine I will tell you, because I am a very generous gossip. Okay. Are you ready? … Dracula.”
“...Is a good movie?”
"No!” Buffy says. “Dracula. In real life. Came to here. Was Sunnydale-ing it up for like a week.”
Faith actually gasps a little, falls out of her mouth before she can stop it. “No fucking way. You’re joking.”
“Not even a little. It was so creepy . With the … mind control and the … Xander ate bugs? It was all way grodie. But also , y’know. Dracula, so I’m gonna pretty much be geeking out about it forever.”
“Damn, you can’t keep anybody away from the Hellmouth these days,” Faith says.
“Okay well that’s the thing!” Buffy says, her voice even more excited, and Faith can picture her on her bed, drawing her knees into her chest with jump, all giddy, and it makes everything in Faith shine to think about and, fuck. How did she never know she had it this bad? “He came to see me .”
“What now?”
“Me! He … he’d heard about me, I guess. And, wanted to see what the fuss was about. Wanted to meet the Slayer.”
Faith’s knees are aching all of the sudden. “Right. Yeah. You’re the one and only, B.”
The line’s quiet for a second.
“Faith,” Buffy says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Nothing to mean,” Faith says, and fuck, she’s gotta get off this call now, she’s gotta just— “Anyway, look I shouldn’t have called. I’m just gonna—”
“Wait!” Buffy commands. “Stop it.”
“You the boss of me now?” Faith says, and fuck, is that flirting? Has she been flirting with B this whole time?
“No, I just … Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been calling, I just, got caught up. Start of the semester and vampire stuff and then Dawn got kidnapped and—”
“Kidnapped?”
“Oh yeah. It was totally her fault.”
“How is the little brat anyway? She still hate me?”
“Pretty much!” Buffy confirms. “But she hasn’t ranted about you trying to kill me for a while, so that’s something? But you’re getting me off the point!”
Faith’s arms feel all cold, and she says: “I didn’t mean to.”
“Look, I just meant to say that … I like this. The phone call thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it still feels … weird. Like I’m kinda still waiting for it to blow up? ‘Cause we usually blow up, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
“Who? Us?” Faith says with a grin. “B, we’re usually so chill.”
“Yeah. Body snatching, gut-stabbing, coma-putting, murder-framing, boyfriend-drama-ing who?”
“Not us, that’s who,” Faith agrees, and her stomach feels so tight and her chest feels so heavy and her mouth's got this ache in it, but such a good ache.
Buffy says: “But, weirdness aside, it feels good. Having us be … whatever we are, again.”
Fuck. Fuck . This was so much easier when she was repressing all of this.
Because now Buffy says shit like that and all Faith can think about is them hitting the road together, driving off to stay in the middle of nowhere in some cabin and pulling over on the side of the road to nap and make out and—
“Hey,” Faith says. “You remember that time on the bridge?”
“Refresh my memory?”
“Uh, this was … December, January? I think. Your senior year. Um, when we stole that bottle of wine from your mom? And tried to go drink it in the library, only Giles caught us?”
“Oh my God, yes!” Buffy says. “Yeah, right. We ended up on that random footbridge down by the docks. Getting drunk and eating … grapes?”
“Cherries,” Faith says. “I think.”
Only she doesn’t think. She knows. Everything her and B ever did, she knows it down to the bone, burned in her memory. They were sitting on that bridge, tossing the pits and stems down into the dark of the water, and Buffy was talking about that party trick, about tying a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, how it means you’re a good kisser.
And everything in Faith wanted to ask if B could do it, wanted to see where it would take them, wanted to say hey you wanna go just chill at my place actually? And then maybe they’d accidentally fall asleep in Faith’s bed watching TV, maybe they’d wake up touching, maybe they’d—
Buffy says: “What about it?”
Faith says: “It was just nice. That whole time, um, after Christmas? But, before Alan? When you and me were …”
“Yeah. We were,” Buffy says.
“You think we could ever have that again?” Faith asks, and holds her breath without meaning to.
“I don’t know,” Buffy says. “I wish I could say just yes, just like that, but well, as established, we tend to get blow-up-y.”
“Yeah.”
“But? If we did ever? Have that again? I wouldn’t be mad.”
Faith can’t help but smile, smile so goofy and stupid and hurting her cheeks, and says: “Yeah. I wouldn’t either.”