Work Text:
“You’re talking about me wrong.”
Buffy glances across the restaurant booth at Faith. She had spoken without glancing up, more focused on licking barbeque sauce from her fingers than paying any attention to Buffy. A lock of unruly dark hair has fallen across one eye and Faith’s hands are currently too sticky to push it out of the way; Buffy’s fingers itch to do it for her. A plate of what used to be ribs that Buffy, admittedly, helped devour with only marginally better manners than Faith lies on the table between them. The adrenaline from slaying Kakistos is still singing in Buffy’s veins, and she knows without having to ask that Faith feels the same way. Buffy’s stomach is full, and the dim diner lighting and cramped little back booth where Faith’s knees keep bumping into hers under the table are making Buffy feel warm and cozy. She’s more than a little inclined to linger. Or, she would be, if she didn’t have another pressing post-slay need to get home and take care of. Alone.
Then Faith’s bizarre statement actually registers in Buffy’s thoughts. “Huh?” Buffy asks.
Faith sucks another finger into her mouth. Buffy’s eyes drop involuntarily to Faith’s lips, to what’s left of her dark lipstick. Warmth that’s definitely from all the ribs she just ate and nothing else pools in Buffy’s belly. Reluctantly, she drags her eyes back up to Faith’s, who is already staring back at her, eyebrow raised in curious amusement. Despite her best efforts not to, Buffy feels her cheeks turn pink. She didn’t mean to get caught staring.
Faith apparently decides not to comment, instead answering Buffy’s question. Or at least, Buffy can only guess that’s what Faith is doing, because her answer doesn’t make any sense. “You called me ‘she.’ To the waiter, just now.”
Buffy blinks at her, completely confused about why Faith’s just stating facts. “Okay.”
Faith shakes her head. “Nah, not ‘okay.’ You’re talking about me wrong,” Faith repeats, clarifying nothing. Then she ducks her head, studying her fingernails, and the next part comes out a little mumbled, “I don’t like it.” Then she’s meeting Buffy’s eyes again, shadows making her eyelashes seem even longer. “I don’t really use ‘she.’ I like ‘he.’”
“You—huh?” Buffy asks, very eloquently.
Instead of responding, Faith just shrugs, as if everything she’s said makes perfect sense (it doesn’t) and Buffy should already understand without further explanation (she doesn’t—not even a little bit).
When it becomes clear that Faith isn’t going to say more, Buffy splutters, “But—you—you think you’re a boy? Or, you–you are a boy? You—want to be a boy?” Buffy’s mind is racing through a million possibilities, none of which seem likely or even possible. Faith doesn’t look like a boy. Sure she’s not girly like Buffy or Cordelia, but she also doesn’t dress like someone who wants to be a boy. Like, for example, boys don’t wear sexy dark lipstick or—wait, sexy?
Buffy shakes her head, ignoring that. There’s one more reason that Faith is definitely not a boy: she’s a Slayer. And those are only girls. Always. And Buffy would know. She got brave enough to ask Giles once, because she knew what the answer would be and she wanted to prove to herself that the way she was feeling was impossible. Not that Buffy thought she was a boy. She thought she was something…else. Something that was neither a girl or a boy. Something she didn’t have a word for. If such a possibility even exists, it wouldn’t exist among Slayers. It couldn’t. Buffy refuses to bring all of that back up again. She’s doing just fine with repressing and ignoring it, thank you very much. There’s no point in wondering when Giles and her mother and her friends and her Slayerness all tell Buffy exactly who she is. Or, at the very least, who she has to be.
But Faith just snorts, unbothered. “Nah, I ain’t a dude. Can you imagine? That’d be wicked gross. I mean, all men are beasts, B.”
Buffy decides to ignore that last comment. She presses, “So…you’re a girl that—”
Faith interrupts, “What I am is human.”
Buffy’s heart is starting to beat faster in her chest. Faith seems not to like words like ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ to describe herself—himself? Almost as if Faith feels like something else entirely, which is sort of—
It’s not the exact same. Buffy doesn’t want anyone to be calling her a ‘he,’ but it is similar. Buffy’s never heard of someone else possibly feeling like she does, like being thought of as a ‘girl’ is a dress she’s been forced into where the colors are pretty and the shape looks good on her but the zipper is too tight and the straps chafe. Like it’s almost perfect, but not quite. And if Faith is feeling it too…Is it possible Buffy isn’t alone? Could she be a Slayer and not a girl? If Faith has the answers, she’s—he’s?—being very tight-lipped with them. Buffy tries not to get frustrated, “I’m just trying to understand.”
Faith stretches, easy and casual, like this is a normal, unimportant conversation that they’re having rather than a possible key to Buffy understanding her own existence. “Well, too bad, Blondie. That’s the closest thing to an answer you’re gonna get.” Faith glances away and after a beat she adds, softer, “It’s the closest thing to an answer I’ve got.”
“But—you can’t just use words like that,” Buffy protests, ignoring the way she kind of feels like Willow, or Giles. Being uptight and academic and nitpicky for no reason, caring more about something like rules and grammar—which Buffy has never cared about before, much to Giles’ constant chagrin and protests that she’s butchering English—than Faith’s feelings. This shouldn’t matter and yet, it does. Buffy feels strangely pissed, though she doesn’t really know who she’s pissed at, or why. But Faith is here, so Buffy is taking it out on her. Or him. Whatever.
Since the day Buffy was born, her parents have expected her to be a perfect daughter. And since the day she was chosen, Watchers have expected her to be the perfect Slayer. For years, Buffy has been complaining about how her parents’ expectations and this role don’t suit her and no one, not even the universe itself, seems to be listening. If people and the rules that surround Slayerdom have told Buffy no, have drawn lines that she can’t cross, have forced her into roles that she doesn’t fit, how dare Faith just waltz in here and be exactly how… he wants to be? How dare it be so easy for him?
So maybe Buffy isn’t angry. She’s jealous, which is making her angry. Because not only does Faith get to be himself without penalty, but everyone in Buffy’s life who has been so intent on liking her only when she fulfills their roles and expectations seems to like him better than Buffy. It isn’t fair.
Buffy snaps, “Words mean things. Boys use ‘he’ and girls use ‘she’ and—”
Faith’s gaze jumps back to Buffy, eyes flashing. “I ain’t asking for permission,” she— he —says, voice low and serious. “Hell, I ain’t asking at all. I’m telling you how to talk about me. If you don’t like it, don’t talk about me.” Faith sounds pissed, but Buffy catches a split-second of vulnerability flash across her—no, his face, and it makes her hesitate, biting back an angry retort.
Buffy stares at the tabletop, avoiding looking at Faith’s glower. She forces herself to take a couple of deep breaths, uncurling her hands out of fists she doesn’t remember making. The air in the diner feels heavy, stuffy. Buffy’s face burns hot, and she wonders if they raised their voices enough for the few other people in the diner to be looking at them, though she doesn’t dare check. The server comes back and clears away the plate of rib bones, setting a slice of pie on the table in front of Faith. Buffy had been too full to order more but Faith had wanted dessert. Faith picks up his spoon but, unlike earlier, he doesn’t dig in right away. He cuts the pie up into little pieces, pushing it around his plate. The cherry filling smears, staining the slightly dingy white plate a dark red.
Buffy sneaks another glance at Faith’s face. She wants him to reapply his lipstick. She feels like she shouldn’t be seeing him like this, all post-fight intimate and vulnerable. It isn’t hard to recall his panicked screams echoing off the walls earlier, the terror in his eyes when Kakistos’ hand grabbed Faith by the throat. Buffy shouldn’t know him like this, like when they’d met in the alley the night before and Buffy realized she knew what his voice was going to sound like before he’d even spoken. Like when he turned around and she saw his face for the first time and realized she already recognized him as if he’d been in dreams she’d been having every night for weeks but kept forgetting by morning. Like how he already trusted her with the truth about Kakistos and his Watcher, and it kind of makes Buffy want to scream that she doesn’t deserve it, even though that’s exactly what she asked him to do, isn’t it? Trust her? Talk to her? Let her help?
Buffy wants to point to Angel and Kendra and Ms. Calendar and everyone else she hasn’t been able to save and make Faith see how stupid he’s being, trusting her. To show him what future awaits him if he lets Buffy help. But if not Buffy, then who? There’s no one else. He’ll be all alone.
Continuing to fight seems stupid. Buffy’s still jealous, but less so now. Because she saw that moment of vulnerability that flashed across Faith’s face for what it was: fear. Fear that he’d made a mistake in telling, fear that Buffy would reject him. Faith shared a lot with Buffy tonight, dropping all of the fake bravado and lies around Kakistos and telling Buffy the truth. It couldn’t have been easy. Buffy herself hasn’t been able to manage it when Giles asks her about Angel, and he’s Giles.
And now—this. This he stuff. Buffy’s almost positive she’d called Faith ‘she’ or a ‘girl’ or something like that in the last day or so. It wouldn’t have been a conscious decision, more like second nature. Buffy sees Faith and thinks: girl. And why shouldn’t she? Until right now, Buffy had never met anyone quite like Faith before. She’d never met anyone who also felt this non-girl-non-boy stuff. At least, not as far as Buffy knew. But Faith hadn’t corrected Buffy, hadn’t disclosed this to Buffy until now. Until after they’d established some trust between them. Buffy hadn’t realized it at first, but this had been another secret being revealed. Faith had been acting tough, in control, uncaring, while he actually cares a lot and was putting the control in Buffy’s hands, making himself vulnerable, tentatively letting Buffy in. He’s probably been so jittery for the past half hour because he’s been about to shake out of his skin, caught between wanting to tell Buffy and worrying about how she’d react. He’d finally told, and Buffy had been a bitch.
“Okay,” Buffy says, carefully.
Faith’s head whips toward her so quickly that Buffy nearly laughs until she sees his eyes, alight with curiosity and hope, and her insides turn to warm mush. “Okay?” He asks, and it comes out all breathy, like he forgot how to put volume behind his words. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth until it’s bare, until the lipstick is gone. Buffy feels vaguely regretful about that. She liked the way it looked. She had wondered how it would taste—which is a thought she refuses to examine any further.
Buffy lets out a big breath. She nods. “Yeah. Okay. I mean, I’ll call you whatever you want to be called. Of course I will.” Another deep breath, then, “Sorry.”
Faith blinks at her, surprised, like he didn’t expect Buffy to give in that easily. Then his face splits into a wicked grin, and Buffy knows she’s in trouble. “Okay, girlfriend. Call me ‘Daddy.’” He smirks.
Buffy blushes again, redder this time. “A world of no,” she says. She refuses to look at his lips. She refuses to think about Faith’s lips ever again, actually.
“Do you need anything else?”
Buffy startles slightly; she hadn’t heard the server approach, though she’s thankful that someone is saving her from this current topic. “Can we get some more napkins?” She asks, pointing at Faith, then hesitating. The server might think it’s weird, but it’s not like Buffy is going to see her ever again. Besides, she just made Faith a promise, and it’s one she intends to keep. Better get started now. It’ll be easier to do this in front of a stranger than trying to make this make sense to Giles, or Xander, or her mother. Buffy speaks again, the word unfamiliar in this context. “ He made a mess.”
If the server looks confused, Buffy doesn’t notice. Buffy hardly registers the server’s expression, or when she walks away from the table, or the rest of the world around them. Faith’s grin is positively radiant, and Buffy’s stomach swoops past her knees because it’s directed at her. She’s glad she’s sitting or they might’ve gone weak. Buffy can’t help but smile back at him.
“I didn’t make any more of a mess than you did, little miss ‘all I want is a non-fat yogurt,’” Faith accuses when he finds his voice.
The word stings. Don’t call me that, Buffy wants to say. I’m like you. But she isn’t ready to admit that to anyone. So instead, Buffy rolls her eyes. “You so did. You still have sauce on your face.”
Faith takes one of the new, clean napkins, wipes his cheek, and misses by a mile. Or at least several inches. “Better?”
Without really thinking it through, Buffy leans across the table, wiping sauce off Faith’s cheek with her thumb. Faith’s skin is soft, and their Slayer connection feels stronger when they’re touching. Buffy’s skin still feels all tingly buzzy, and she forgets to let go, lingering for a couple of seconds too long. When the eye contact between her and Faith gets too intense, his eyes dropping to her mouth and then back up again, Buffy remembers, removing her hand, sitting back in her seat. Under the table Faith’s knee bumps Buffy’s again but it doesn’t feel like an accident. It feels like a test. The diner suddenly feels way too warm. Buffy shifts in her seat, her leg bumping Faith’s under the table. It might’ve been an accident.
Then again, it might not have been. Buffy can’t say for sure. What she does know is that for a moment there Buffy had wanted—
But, no. Buffy shuts that thought down. “So, why ‘he’?” Buffy asks, changing the subject. “Like, how did you even find that out?”
Faith eats half his pie in one bite, smushing together the slice he’d been tearing to pieces earlier until half of it fits on the bowl of his spoon. He takes his time chewing, studying Buffy, like he’s trying to decide if she’s being rude again while he contemplates his answer. Finally, he swallows. “You think too much,” he says, teasing, and Buffy tries to force a smile. That isn’t an answer. That isn’t helpful. Buffy needs to know.
“So I’ve been told,” Buffy says. She tries to sound lighthearted, but she falls short to her own ears. She can’t tell if Faith notices.
Faith’s tongue darts out to lick some cherry pie filling off the spoon and, at the same moment—though completely unrelated—a flash of heat travels down Buffy’s spine, settling between her thighs. Buffy chews at her bottom lip, crossing her legs, fighting the urge to squirm in her seat. Faith’s knee is too hot where it’s touching hers under the table. Buffy wants answers from Faith but she also wants to head home. Her current situation is more than a little uncomfortable. Obviously it was important that Faith was the one to slay Kakistos—catharsis and all that—but a fight that big and no slay…Now Buffy needs a little release of her own, so to speak.
“Seriously, I didn’t think that hard,” Faith adds. “I just knew ‘she’ wasn’t right, so I tried some other options. You can use ‘they’ and ‘it’ for me too, if you want. Any of those work.”
Buffy has questions but she tries to tread carefully, wary of upsetting Faith again. “I kind of thought ‘they’ was, um, plural? Like, for more than one person?” She wants to ask about ‘it’ too, but there’s something about they that Buffy feels drawn to for some reason.
Faith seems relatively unbothered, as if he expected this. “It can be. Or it can be used for just one person.”
The diner feels like it’s shrinking down to a little corner where it’s just her and Faith, alone. Pieces are falling into place, but Buffy can’t seem to see the bigger picture they’re making. The room feels like it’s starting to spin, like that time Buffy went to a frat house with Cordelia and got drugged, only each new revelation from Faith is making Buffy’s world make more sense instead of less. Instead of going all fuzzy and blurry and dark, things are becoming crystal clear, finally brought to light. She makes a small humming noise; hopes that’s enough for Faith.
Faith keeps talking, gesturing with her spoon. “It feels cool when people call me ‘he.’ But I also like ‘they’ and ‘it’ because then people don’t assume I’m a girl or a boy. It’s like…” Faith hesitates, taking a big breath. “It feels like they see me as me, you know?”
“Uh huh.” Faith’s words are really getting to her. Buffy’s heart feels too big for their— no — her chest; a huge ball of warmth settles beneath her ribs and it feels like there’s not room for everything to fit. But Buffy isn’t—she’s not—she can’t be—
In spite of what Buffy may have previously wondered and thought about, Buffy’s definitely a girl. The kind of person who likes to be called ‘she.’
…right?
Except that Faith said some stuff that’s sort of sticking in her brain now and feeling frighteningly similar to things Buffy’s thought and felt, like the word ‘girl’ not being quite right, but not being a boy either. And just feeling…neutral. Like Faith had said earlier, Buffy’s just human. And while ‘she,’ doesn’t feel wrong, Buffy can’t help but feel intrigued by the concept of ‘they,’ wondering if instead of settling for not wrong maybe something could actually feel very right.
But, amid all the clarity and euphoria of feeling understood, an ice cold shiver of fear is making its way down Buffy’s spine. Allowing herself to think like this is dangerous. Faith’s got nothing to lose by thinking like this. But Buffy? Buffy has everything to lose. Everything she’s only just gotten back.
Buffy wishes the rib bones were still on the table, lying there all lifeless and gnawed on for her to fidget with. She feels compelled to line them up, to arrange them into something that can stand on its own. To prove that something missing crucial pieces of itself can still be whole. But the ribs would fall over, fall apart, crumpling into a useless pile of bones stripped of their skin and flesh and purpose and Buffy’s only going to prove herself wrong.
She kind of wants to take this risk, wants to ask Faith if it’s worth it, if it’s better to be alone than surrounded by people who don’t really know you at all. Because even when she has friends and family around her it always feels like Buffy’s alone. And maybe it’s easier to be alone with yourself if you actually let yourself be, well, yourself. Or maybe Faith is braver than Buffy ever will be, because Buffy’s just simply too scared of not being enough or right or normal for everyone that she loves and losing them all over again. Because that’s the thing. Even if they don’t love Buffy, the real Buffy, she loves them. She loves them more than she loves any version of herself, real or fake, so much that she’s trying to be someone they can love back. But what if everything Buffy has in her life right now isn’t even real?
There’s one person on this planet who Buffy knows for sure would accept her, might even someday love her and—
Buffy takes a shaky breath and Faith notices. Faith studies her for just a moment before his eyes widen in understanding, and the room seems to tilt sideways on its axis. Buffy thinks she’s shaking her head, though to be perfectly honest she’s not sure she’s really managing it. She feels entirely disconnected from her body. Buffy and Faith have known each other less than a day and they’re already this connected. Buffy—well, hates might be too strong a word. She resents it, at least.
Buffy presses her palms flat on the table, trying to ground herself. Her hands are shaking. She feels like she’s spiraling out, shattering into pieces. Her eyes jump to Faith’s. “Don’t,” Buffy tries to growl in warning, only it comes out more like a plea. “Whatever you’re thinking, o-or going to say, don’t. I just—I need some air.”
Belatedly, Buffy remembers that she had offered to pay for dinner and she reaches for her wallet with numb fingers. It takes her a couple of tries to pull any money out but eventually she succeeds, dropping a couple of bills on the table and hoping they’re enough. She feels Faith’s eyes on her the entire time but she refuses to look back at him. She trips over her own feet in her hurry to get outside, rushing around the street corner and ducking into the nearby alley, leaning back against the rough brick, sucking in lungfuls of air. The night air is cooler than the air inside the diner—which stopped feeling cozy and instead started feeling cramped—and it feels nice on Buffy’s heated skin. Buffy wonders if she should be weirded out that she feels more comfortable in a dark alley than she does in a cozy little diner where Faith can clearly see her, too clearly, but decides against that. Sunnydale is all alleys, and according to Slayer mythology, Buffy was practically made to feel at home in them. She leans her head back and looks up at the stars. She could hardly see them at night back in L.A.
When Faith joins her outside, Buffy feels more than sees him approach. One moment he wasn’t there and the next he just is, like he didn’t even have to look that hard to find Buffy. Like he knew right where she’d be. He leans back against the brick beside her and Buffy gives him a quick, sideways glance. In contrast to Buffy’s inner turmoil, Faith seems so light he’s practically weightless, carefree. And why shouldn’t he be? Kakistos is dust, he’s found acceptance in Buffy—
No, more than that. He’s found someone just like him in Buffy. And he knows it. Faith’s presence is making Buffy’s head start to spin again. She can’t decide if this is all too weird, or all weirdly perfect, which is possibly more dangerous.
Faith takes a tentative step closer, and Buffy makes up her mind. The last time she let someone get this close to her, the last time she really let someone in, it was dangerous. She lost Angel, and Ms. Calendar, and Kendra, and others, and then Angel all over again. Buffy can’t do that, not a second time. She won’t. Decision made, she backs up a step.
She takes these feelings she’s having, these feelings for Faith and about Buffy herself, and shoves them deeper in her chest. So deep that maybe she’ll be able to forget them all someday. Only the feelings don’t let Buffy push them away; they refuse to be neatly tucked out of her mind. Actually, they won’t even fit. There’s so much that she’s trying to forget that she’s locked away back there, behind her ribs, and it’s nearing too much. No wonder it’s so hard to breathe; there’s no room anymore for her lungs to expand.
“B,” Faith says, resting his hand on Buffy’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else. His hand is warm, steadying, making it easier to breathe.
Buffy turns to face him, looks up into his deep brown eyes. He’s only a couple inches taller but it feels like more than that somehow, right now. Faith studies her, his eyes searching. Buffy waits for him to say something, anything. To try to offer comfort and say something sweet about how it’s okay for her to be like him, or to lash out and say something hurtful and angry that makes Buffy’s blood boil and her hands curl into fists. But Faith says nothing, he just keeps looking at her. It feels like he knows her, maybe even better than she knows herself, and it’s terrifying and comforting all at once.
It feels like Faith wants to slice her open and climb inside her, to burrow underneath her ribcage and stay there forever. She thinks maybe he already has, like he’s moved in there without her permission and she wants to hate him for it, because she didn’t say he could do this to her. Unlike Faith, Buffy hadn’t spilled her secrets. She didn’t ask to be known like this, she wasn’t desperate for it like Faith was, his nails digging into the back of Buffy’s hand as they sprinted away from Kakistos together, his lips painted cherry red in that diner and making Buffy want to taste them. But also, now that Faith’s here, she wants to beg him to stay. He can’t even think about leaving her, not now, not after seeing how connected they both are. But this place he’s claimed, this spot he’s burrowing into underneath Buffy’s ribs and beside her heart, is supposed to be reserved for Angel, she’s supposed to—
Faith takes a tentative step closer, and his hand moves to Buffy’s cheek, eyes still searching. His hand feels impossibly soft; it’s hard to believe these are the same fists Buffy watched pummel a vampire into a bloody pulp the night before, Faith yelling with what Buffy thought then was just rage but now realizes was also combined with fear. And that should be a sign, a major red flag to steer clear. Faith has barely controlled anger boiling just below the surface; and if anyone can manage to bring the monster out in someone like that it’s Buffy.
She should be afraid. She should be running from everything that Faith is, everything that they could be. Instead her feet stay firmly planted, though her legs go all wobbly when Faith leans in. They’re sharing the same air now, Faith’s warm breaths against Buffy’s lips, and it’s too late to stop this. It’s probably been too late for months, since the night Kendra died and Faith got chosen and the universe made him the exact same as Buffy. There’s no keeping him at arm’s length, no pushing him away, because they’re already each other, they’re already one. Denying him is denying herself, they’re one and the same, and Buffy’s so tired of doing that.
Buffy tilts her chin up the barest fraction of an inch, because Faith left the final distance, the final decision, to her, and their lips meet, and it feels like relief.
Like his hand on her cheek, Faith’s lips are soft. He kisses her tenderly but it somehow still burns, starting at her lips and rushing through her limbs, roaring in her veins and consuming her like fire from the inside out. Buffy’s knees threaten to give way again and she clings desperately to Faith’s shoulders, feeling him smirk against her mouth before he pushes her backwards into the alley wall. Buffy thinks maybe she should be annoyed by Faith pinning her to a wall, but instead she’s just grateful for something to lean against, supporting her weight. Also, very turned on.
The bricks are rough against her back, and Faith’s hair is soft in her hands. His lips taste sweet, like crumbly crust and cherries, and Buffy doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed quite like this. Faith kisses her like he can’t quite believe it himself, like he has Buffy pinned against a wall but somehow still believes she’s the one in charge. Earlier Buffy had felt like she was outside of her own body, but Faith’s body pressed against hers is making her feel real for the first time in months. He’s impossibly warm, from his hands cupping her face like he thinks Buffy should be handled with the utmost care, to Faith’s hips pinning hers against the wall, to his tongue swiping across Buffy’s bottom lip, asking her to let him in. Buffy forgot how nice it could be to kiss someone as warm and alive as she is.
Faith kisses her until she’s panting and breathless and, despite needing the oxygen, Buffy’s still disappointed when he pulls back. Her eyes flutter open, searching for his. They lock eyes for a moment, Faith’s glinting black in the darkness, his teeth flashing white, but then Faith ducks his head, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along Buffy’s jaw and then her neck. Buffy moans, her hands in Faith’s hair curling into fists, pulling him closer. His hands slide to her hips as he sucks a bruise into the base of Buffy’s throat, marking her, while she pants and whimpers and makes all sorts of sounds that make Faith chuckle deep in his throat in a way that only makes Buffy wetter. She’s way too turned on and distracted to have any room in her head left for embarrassment. Buffy thinks that she’d let him do more, that she’d unbutton her pants and guide his hand down them right here and now in this alley if he wanted her like that, but for some reason Faith pulls back then and studies her face with an unreadable expression before giving Buffy a brief, slow down kind of kiss.
Buffy’s starting to spiral internally, wondering why she’s being rejected when Faith offers, “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.” He hesitantly starts to hold his hand out to her then seems to think better of it, opting to shove his hands into his pockets instead. He looks shy, sheepish, the tops of his ears burning red, like fucking Buffy against an alley wall is more in his comfort zone than walking her to her front door like he’s on a proper date. Buffy doesn’t feel quite so rejected anymore; she feels important. Like this matters enough to Faith to try to get it right.
Buffy catches his wrist, interlacing their fingers as she pushes off the wall and starts walking, falling into step beside him. She’s grateful her legs are still working. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”
They don’t speak anymore as they walk, but it’s the comfortable kind of silence. The kind where they keep stealing glances when they think the other isn’t looking and then can’t help grinning from ear to ear. It does funny things to Buffy’s insides every time she feels Faith looking at her with barely concealed excitement. It makes her feel like she’s seventeen on a first date, which might actually be true. The date part, that is. The part where she’s seventeen is definitely true, it’s just that most of Buffy’s teen years have required her to grow up too fast and act like an adult. Buffy doesn’t know if this is just what it feels like to date someone your own age or if it’s Faith, but she likes it either way.
Thinking about the age thing and past dates has her mind going places she really wishes it wouldn’t. Buffy tries not to think about Angel, and how he’s gone forever and not coming back, and how if he was the love of her life she should be mourning him longer than this. How someone else shouldn’t be giving her butterflies and kissing her against walls until she sees stars. How she should be feeling sad and guilty, instead of feeling like this, like maybe her life isn’t completely over, like maybe it won’t be terrible forever. Someone else certainly shouldn’t already know Buffy and her secrets better than Angel had, shouldn’t feel more like a part of her than Angel ever did, even when he was inside her. Looking into someone else’s eyes shouldn’t feel like a mirror, shouldn’t feel like seeing herself.
Buffy’s hand fits perfectly in Faith’s, like he was made for her. And maybe he was. Maybe he was.
Buffy doesn’t want to feel guilty. Her belly is full, her shoulders feel lighter, her heart aches less than it has in months. Her ribs hurt less, like maybe she doesn’t have to keep everything locked away inside. She glances sideways at Faith, thinks about the non-girl-non-boy-ness of him. The humanness of him. Me too, she wants to say. I think I’m just like you. She opens her mouth, but the words won’t come. Somehow, that feels okay. Buffy thinks Faith already knows and he also seems to know not to push.
Buffy takes a deep breath in, feels her ribs expand, lets the air flow back out. She’ll tell Faith when she’s ready. Not today. But maybe someday.