Title: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
Disclaimer: Please don't; purely for entertainment. None of the characters are mine.
Pairings:B/F
Note:Season 4ish. After the 'Bad Girls' thing, after Faith was stabbed, after the coma. Before the one where they swap.
Feedback: Always =D
Warnings: Adult situations.
Rating: R for reasons that will become obvious


Part 1

It had never occurred to me what it was. A tingling sensation that awakened the utter most depths of feeling within you. Something that organs could awaken, something that could be suppressed for your entire life. Something that would shorten your breath and stop your heart. It never occurred to me that she was feeling this emotion…for me.

Warm, no…hot beads of water trickled down my bloodstained body and stinging accompanied my senses…in the most worn down places. My naked form hurt from palm to finger, from hip to leg, from chin to forehead. I was in physical pain. I hurt everywhere. My knuckles were raw from bringing them into contact with so many sorry vampires' faces. My legs ached from the instantaneous stretch of muscle they had gotten from me flinging them in the direction of the fuckers. My eyes were red raw from insomnia. Insomnia from thinking. Thinking too hard.

About her.

My eyes. Tears stung them, reddened them; tortured my eyeballs and then dampened my cheeks, then without a trace, blended into the falling tap water that so gently but at the same time harshly cleansed my body.

I closed my eyes, the only remedy I had for healing them right now. Only the emotional pain kept on stabbing at me for all I could see was her. Her. Just Her.

I sucked in a tight breath as my throat threatened to constrict. I ran my fingers back through my wet chocolate hair and turned my face up towards the showerhead, forcing my face to feel the beat of the water against my skin.

I inhaled the scent of it; nothing…just oxygen and hydrogen particles combined, rendering my naked form a cleansed material. Releasing my hands from my hair, I let them fall to my sides, and just let them linger.

My hands.

I couldn't imagine using them for anything else but touching.

Her.

Even as I reached for a bar of soap, forced lather out of it from rubbing it back and forth in the palms of my hands, and moved them over my own skin, I couldn't imagine using them for anything else. ON anyone else.

The soap was soon rinsed from my skin and pulled down the plughole from connected particles of water…and as it went, so did the blood. So did tonight's residue.

I looked down towards the paint-chipped plughole, and at how the water would fall into a swirling motion before disappearing into the pipe beneath the hole. You couldn't tell which water was old, and which was new, because it was all clear. Not blood-red, not soapy. Just clear.

It was becoming warmer and warmer against my skin, steam from the taps dispersing and finding its own way around the room. I should've opened the window.

I ran my hand along the inside of my other outstretched arm, the visible bruises a reminder of "work" that night.

I winced as my fingers hit the painful spot. The bruise was a mesh of many colours, a whirr of ballsy soreness that throbbed and pricked and stung. Most of the time I didn't care if I was getting a bruise in a place I had landed hard. I just ignored it and before I knew it the bruise and scars had gone.

But not this one.

As my arm dropped slowly to my side, the other moved slowly along the toned skin of my stomach. Running southwards, thoughts of dread and flashes of that night forced themselves into my mind, and just as I thought my fingers would touch upon that scar, I flinched. Moved my hand away in a flash.

I looked down and a tear escaped my eye, fell straight down into the plughole. I looked at the scar there. It didn't hurt. If I had left my fingers there I most probably wouldn't have been able to feel it. But it was the scar. THE scar. The skin was slightly raised, a small slit just large enough to match the size of…of a matchstick.

I swallowed hard as I looked back up, ahead of me at the tiles that so badly needed a clean, then at the bar of soap sitting so contentedly on the holder that also needed a clean.

I never cared about that sort of thing.

But this.

I found myself sobbing hopelessly, as if my soul had left my body and my physical form had continued to move and breath and sob.

I was at the corner of the shower, my face up against the steamed up tiles and my legs beneath me, supporting the rest of my form. My hand pressed against the tiles also, as if to hold on.

And for some reason I was sobbing.

For some reason.

- - -

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a white towel around me as I did. In front of me the mirror showed me what I looked like. Squeaky clean.

As always.

I crossed the bathroom to the sink and reached for a brush, and as I began running it through my soaked hair, I watched myself in the mirror. I looked like shit.

As clean as I was, my face told a completely different story. Thank god I was the only one who could read me. Why would anybody else want to, anyway. It seemed as if every time someone tried to, I pushed them away. It was the only choice I'd given myself. If I let someone get close enough to me, my defences would drop…and…I would let them in. All the way in. Then they would…twist…the knife. And for a split second a stab of pain rushed through me.

I replaced the brush on the side of the sink and grabbed a tie back, and pulled my hair back into it.

And there was my neck. I was thankful it wasn't pierced with two little holes.

I moved to go through to the bedroom that I so sorely wanted to be just a little cleaner…or perhaps just the dingy smell just to be a little less…dingy…and strong.

Shit.

My entire form froze (even my heart) as I looked on at what was before me.

My eyes grew wider and my hands began to shake.

'Y-you,' I barely spoke, my voice lost somewhere in my throat.

'Me.' Just as…samey. The same as before. Almost scary.

For some reason I was more upset than angry. And as the seconds passed by, I felt my features softening and tears welling up in my eyes. My throat constricted, and my lip quivered.

Then she started to move towards me, and I moved back. The wall was behind me as I soon found out when I hit it. I let out a whimper as I did, surprised by it being there, and my hands touched upon it, before one came to my mouth, and tears fell down my face, as if in a race against time.

My other hand clenched at the towel covering my stomach. All at once panic and worry had seemed to consume me and turn me into this blubbering mess. This wasn't me. I couldn't be scared.

She stopped a moment, watching me regress to this…vulnerability, before taking a cautious step towards me. Her eyes pierced me, just as that knife…my own knife, and as hazel and comforting as they used to be, they possessed some threatening…scary…

'No, don't,' I warned her, my voice so bloody shaky I hardly recognised it.

She stopped moving and looked down at her foot before looking back at me. 'Faith, I'm-'

'G-go away,' I told her, taking a deep breath before I spoke. This time I had sounded more like me. I tightened the towel around my body and wiped away the tears drenching my face. In a rushed effort to regain my walls of defence I had done these things. Tidied myself up. But what a lame effort that was. She could still tell, I could see that in her eyes. She knew exactly what I was feeling.

She shook her head a little, her eyes softening at my words of demand. She sucked in a breath and swallowed. 'We…'

'No,' I told her straight away, not wanting for her to say another word. 'Get out. Leave me alone.' For some reason I believed those words gave me back my strength, but if that was so, why did I stay where I was? Why didn't I move from that wall?

She took a few more steps towards me, cautious at my reprimanding words. First step she hesitated, and I flinched. Looked at her moving leg, kept my eyes there, willing the foot to take a reversal of direction. But no.

The second step. I watched it. Wished the same.

A third. And I held my breath, pressed my hands against the wall at my sides.

Then her hand. It reached for my cheek and I flinched, then winced at the thought of her hand touching my face. I watched it, reaching so fucking solemnly for my face. And all of a sudden it didn't scare me.

I let it touch my cheek, and as it cupped it I calmed. I watched it a moment longer, then my eyes traced back to hers. And she was looking into my eyes, just as she had been before, with that same serenity. That same…reassurance that she wasn't going to hurt me. Again.

She blinked and I let out my breath, inhaled one, exhaled. Inhaled another one. Lost track because the process happened too quickly for me to gain any comprehension.

It was more contusion than it was actual pain as her lips brushed against mine. God, what was she doing?

For some reason my mind quickly decided it was some narcissistic joke that she was playing on me, and I pushed her back. At first her eyes asked the question of "what did I do wrong," followed by "I shouldn't have." 'I-I'm so sorry, I-'

'Why did you have to come here?' I whispered, a hand still outstretched, just to keep her away from me.

I don't know if I had expected an answer out of that question or not. But I couldn't think of what she would say to answer it, other than, "to finish off the job." My heart cried at that. Not that I expected her to want to spare me, but the fact that someone so special to me wanted me to die so badly.

I don't know why, I deserved every inch of pain she inflicted on me, whether it was for her own satisfaction, or somebody else's.

However dissipated that pain seemed to be, it couldn't have topped the boost I was given as she retreated, and headed for the door. That look over her shoulder as she grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled the door to. That glance could have killed me. If looks could kill.