Title: Oh, How We Grow
Disclaimer: This is purely for entertainment; none of the characters are mine.
Summary: A short fic, exploring how Buffy came to have such intense feelings for Faith.
This is the final part of this fic, just wanted to quickly say thanks for all of your responses!
Chapter 4 – My Mistake
It was past mid-morning when I opened my eyes. Close to midday, the sun was beaming through the window, painting the entire room a sweet corn yellow. I could feel its warmth beating against my left arm and back; it was gorgeous. But when I reached out beside me to find an empty space, I panicked. Sat up fast, my eyes opening wider, my heart beat speeding up.
Where had Faith gone?
The panic subsided when the door came to, and she stepped in. I lay back on the comforter, sighing loudly, and she slid under the duvet beside me, offering a coy smile.
Something was different about her. She looked well.
I leant in towards her, that stirring look in her eye provoking me to ask her what was on her mind. I squinted knowingly, and mirrored the smile that grew upon her lips. 'What's up?' I questioned, her coy expression arousing both exhilaration and disquiet within me.
She shrugged and flopped back on the bed, before liberating a fatigued sigh. She pulled the duvet back, and languidly placed a hand above mine, then tugged on it gently, looking into my eyes the whole time. Nervousness sprung to mind. And concern. I didn't understand what she was going to do, although let her hand guide mine, over the soft contours of her stomach, then down a fraction or two of and inch. And I knew. My fingers lingered at it, and without my knowing, a relieved, yet defeated sigh escaped my lips.
I was dumbfounded. 'But it's been three days,' I pondered, my eyes searching; as if they could find me the answer.
She shook her head. 'Doesn't matter,' she began, that recognisable, tough yet subversively gentle tone emitting her lips. She drew in a long breath and looked away from me, her eyes resting upon the ceiling now. 'Must be something to do with being a Slayer…maybe,' she thought, her gaze coming to rest upon mine once again as her sentence faded.
I raised my eyebrows a moment. 'Maybe.' And that was it. We didn't talk about it anymore, we didn't think about it. Even so, as I offered to make some breakfast, and watched her as she helped me, buttering the bread, making the coffee, sprinkling the waffles with syrup, I just allowed my eyes to follow her. Rest passively and easily upon her, without wonder if she was going to double over in pain, or cry from the physical ache that had paralysed her.
Each move she made was incredulously powerful and incredible; she either matched my move or went above it, her reflexes shockingly on point, her ideas always innovative and exciting. Four times I'd counted, she'd had me on the floor, a foot pressed to my chest and her smile, aloof. Seconds later her hand would be open to mine, waiting for me to take it and get back on my feet. But each time I looked into her eyes, at her hand, at her gorgeous unblemished form, I wondered, tried not to; but wondered how it had only taken her three days to get over this life-threatening injury. She hadn't even seen a doctor.
Each time I landed a kick in her chest and sent her flying, my mind dared to question just one more time, but I dismissed it too soon and we were sparring like there was no tomorrow. Hours, for hours we sparred, as if she'd been dying to get the 'spar' out of her, like it was a niggling feeling in the centre of her, waiting to pop for so long that if she didn't get her 'spar' on she would burst.
What am I saying? Often I felt the same way, only it was if I didn't get my daily dose of her. Whatever it may have been, chatting, sharing a donut, watching a movie. Just being with her was what I needed, each day. And although I spent the last few days taking care of her, it was perhaps the most profound thing for me.
She was vulnerable, delicate, and I had to be a reflection of that, only the opposite. I had to be impervious, fervent, and being there for her, taking care of her, being her strength was like, seeing magic for the first time. It's brilliance, it's heightened specialty. You can't quite put your finger on how it exists, it blows your mind.
Just as Faith does.
Soon we were peeling clothes from one another, turning taps to 'hot,' allowing the snake-like trails of water to run off each other, running hands with soap-foamed hands over one another, compassionately, non-judgementally. And as her arms ran over every part of me, cleansing me, as I did with her, I dwelled upon it. It was too sensual for me to think of it another other way. Titillating? No. I saw it differently. Like, she completed me. And it was sensual. It wasn't raunchy; it was beautiful, incredible. Surpassed anything I'd ever experienced. Even as we stepped out of the shower, and she wrapped a towel around me. It was salacious. It was sensual. I could feel her breath upon my neck as she stood behind me, brushed my hair back off my shoulders.
She took care of me as much as I did her. we knew each other like the back of our own hands, yet only a few days before had I admitted my feelings for her. I was only lucky for her to feel the same way. Even so, it was fantastic. Being able to share all you wanted to with the one person you wanted to share it with.
We decided against going into school. Thursday afternoon; it was pointless now. We'd been in each other's sole company for the past three days; I hadn't even spoken to the others. Perhaps they'd wondered what had happened to us.
She sat at the top of my bed, legs stretched, crossed over one another, hands resting on her stomach, and I, at the foot of the bed, tidying my hair. 'So, what are we gonna do?' she asked simply.
As much as I would've liked to have offered a simple answer, nothing is simple. And this is far from even the vicinity of simple. I glanced over my shoulder at her, then my body followed, and soon I was moving along the comforter towards her, bringing a leg over hers, and sitting just on her thighs, and letting my hands trail over her caramel arms. I inhaled quietly, and just waited. I don't know what for. The answer, maybe.
'Do we tell everyone?' she continued, seeing that I was in no obvious rush to answer her.
My eyes moved from hers, again, looking at nothing in particular, though searching for something. I came to rest my gaze upon hers once again. 'I dunno…what do you think?'
She sucked in a breath and moved her hands to straddle my hips. 'In truth?' she asked, and I nodded briefly. She pulled me to her, and I rested my hands upon her shoulders, and let our lips meet for a brief moment. When I pulled away, she smiled sweetly. 'I kinda like it being just us.'
So we went to the Bronze. Just us. I felt warm knowing she was beside me and I was with her. Just us. Her hand slipped into mine as we walked into the club and I felt as though I didn't have to claim her, she was with me, and we were gonna stay together for the whole night.
Immediately the 'down and dirty' vibe was having an effect on her, when the pumping of the music rumbled through us, and the swaying bodies filled the dance floor. Three days she hadn't been here and she was ready to get her party on. I didn't have a chance to ask her if she wanted a drink before she'd pulled me onto the dance floor and started dancing up against me. Not that I minded, just…eager much.
Don't get me wrong, I loved this. But she was really into the party scene, a hell of a lot more than me, I think. Where I might enjoy a quiet movie and popcorn, curling up on the couch with a duvet and a partner, smoochies and cuddles galore, she'd tune into her 'post-slayage hornies' and get voracious with the closest human being, no matter how much touching and grinding and breathing there was.
We were definitely two different human beings, different and opposite in our own ways, but where I would miss out on the post-slayage horny satisfiers, she would miss out on the cuddling and the smooching. So I liked to think of it as that I could fill her blank spaces. And she could fill mine.
Heated sprung to mind as she turned her back to my front and started dancing into my lap, taking my hands and wrapping them around her waist. Yeah. She had the power to get those little itches right in the centre of me worked up just by dancing, moving rhythmically with me to the music. It was hypnotising, intense. We'd be moving, like now for example, together, and whatever she'd do, I'd follow, and we'd be perfect, but it would be so far from reality; like the music would be going, but it would only be me, and her, and everyone else didn't exist; even if we were shoulder-to-shoulder. The only shoulders I could sense were hers. And when she looked into my eyes, like now, as she's doing, facing me, and the music slows, it was tantalising. Anything she wanted to say was communicated through those gorgeous deep eyes of hers, and she'd wrap her arms around me, and we'd just move. I'd rest my head upon her shoulder, and she would lean her head against mine.
But now, as the music did slow, she pulled away from me and moved towards the bar. I followed closely behind, guessing she was tired and wanted a drink.
'Martini and lemonade,' she told the bartender, though stopped him as he began to get it. 'Make that two.' I slid up onto a barstool as she leant against the bar, her eyes focussed on something behind the bar. I touched her arm gently, alerting her to me.
She shook her head and made a face. 'Not really, just…' Her face scrunched a little and I frowned. Was it me? She lowered her voice and leant in close to me. 'Check out your nine o'clock.'
So I did. Oh…
I looked back to her and she raised her eyebrows. I was going after. She tried to stop me but I shook off the hold she had on me. And it was instinctive. Nothing more. Not a grudge. Not that I didn't like her face. Just…me.
I broke off a wooden leg and pulled her out, not looking at her, just pulling her, until we were outside and she was trying to get out of my grasp. No chance, sweetie.
I slammed her against the brick wall, and she fell to the ground, and as surreal as every time was, I shoved the stake right where it needed to be.
But I was wrong.
I hadn't heard her shout to me, a simple two letter word. Two seconds too late.
And then there were people. Loads of people. And her. She was bleeding. And the blood was on my hands.
'Buffy, what have you done?' Her words travelled straight through me, and I fainted before I could realise myself what I had done.
I didn't know whether or not they knew who I was, what I did…still do. And I don't know whether or not she still wants to know me. Even as I came to and she explained everything to me. Even as she sat before me, held out the glass of water to me, listened to my harsh breathing, held me when I started to cry. Was she disappointed? Was she as scared as I was? What would happen to me? To us?
I had to ask myself all of these questions. Because everything was gonna fall apart after that night. Because of me.
Help me out, should I write a sequel? I thought briefly about it and got some ideas together but I'm debating whether or not it's worth it. What do you all think?