Title: Red and Faith - one little scene (working title)

Author: lilyme

Rating: PG-15 (just to be safe)

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon & Co. I'm just playing with them.

Feedback: Yes, please. This is my first fanfic, so don't be too hard in your judgement, though

Note #1: The story takes place in February 2006 in Cleveland (where another Hellmouth is located, as far as we know). Faith moved there after the destruction of Sunnydale, Willow first went to live with Kennedy in Brazil, but moved to Cleveland after they had broke up at the end of 2004. Ever since Willow and Faith started to spend more and more time with each other - becoming close friends.

Note #2: This story is one tiny little snippet of a much, much larger story I'm planning about the life of Willow and Faith after the destruction of Sunnydale. I have it planned out, now I only need to find the time to write it down...

Note #3: This was simply me being totally silly one night, as you'll probably notice.

One night, the beginning of February, I'm sitting at my laptop, putting the finishing touches to my new program, when I hear this light knocking on my door.

I answer it and outside stands a less-casual-than-normal Faith, leaning against my doorjamb. She has a pained look at her face. At first I can't see what happened, she has her black leather jacket wrapped tightly around her body.

"Faith?" I try and at first I think she didn't hear me. Then she slowly lifts her head to face me.

Immediately I see the huge gash on her forehead, but the worst is yet to come.

"Hey, Red," she tries to smile, "I think I need a hand," she says, slowly opening her jacket to reveal the ugly wound in the side of her stomach. It must be at least five inches long and it's oozing.

She takes a step forward and stumbles into my open arms. We make it to the couch and I motion her to sit down and head for the closet to get some towels.

I get back and see her staring straight ahead, thinking. I sit beside her her, calling her. "Fai, what is it?" No reaction, I try again, a little louder, "Fai?"

She snaps out of it and looks at me questioning. "What happened?" I ask her.

"Some vamp got the better of me, rammed my sword in my gut," she says, avoiding eye contact.

"One vamp. Was he a special...Did he have any special powers? Or..."

"Regular," she states. "I got careless, playing with him, teasing him a little bit. And then, the next thing I know, he slices me open."

"Let me have a look?" I ask. She nods and I help her take off her jacket. Only then I notice the extent of her injury. It's starts shortly above her navel and goes halfway around to her back. "Oh, God!" I whisper, but I think she heard me anyway, slayer hearing and all.

"Bad, huh?" she smirks, trying to be more light about this than she certainly feels.

"I think you're gonna need some serious stitching here." I answer matter-of-factly.

I go into the bathroom and get the first-aid kit and the bottle of alcohol that I bought for sterilising wounds. Living with slayers as long as I have teaches you to be prepared for everything.

"Here. Lie down." I help her lie down and try not to cause her any more pain. I grab the scissors out of the first-aid kit and cut the shirt off her body, before cleaning the wound with a damp towel. As I desinfect her wounds she hisses softly, but remains quiet nonetheless. Luckily none of her vitals were injured, as far as I can see.

I notice a soft red scar in the area of her right kidney. It looks sort of like the one on Harry Potter's forehead, only thinner and it appears to be several years old. I know that this scar could only come from one specific fight. I look up into her face and see her staring back at me. She must have been wondering why I stopped cleaning her wound. Neither of us says anything; we don't need to. Silent understanding.

Done with the alcohol I break out needle and thread. My hands are shaking terribly as I try to fumble the thread through the tiny little hole. It takes me nearly a minute. Faith looks at me like she wanted to take the items out of my hands and do it herself.

"You've stitched something before, have you?" she asks a little uncertain.

I can't blame her. Who would want to be fixed up by a shuddering, nervous redhead?

"Yeah, sure," I answer and it's not even a lie, "lived with slayers long enough. It's just...that wound is pretty deep a-and long..." I know she hates hospitals, so I don't even ask her, if she wants to go there instead.

"Don't worry, Red," she says, putting her hand over mine, that is still holding the needle, "I'm a big girl. And," she winks with a smirk, "I have faith in you."

Faith always knows how to take the pressure off a situation and I love her for it.

"Alright," I smile, "but if you want, I think I have a bottle of Jack D left over from New Year."

"Awww, that sounds great! Gimme!" she says with a genuine smile.

I rummage through the cupboards and finally find the half-empty bottle. Meanwhile Faith has pulled herself up a bit, so her head is now lying on the armrest of the couch. I hand her the bottle and she takes a huge chug. "Here, take one sip," she gives me the bottle.

"You sure?"

"Course I am. If this little buddy helps me relax, it should have the same effects to you, don'tcha think?"

"Huh. Good point," I reply, taking a sip. "But only one. Don't want crazy patterns on your tummy now, do we?"

She takes another sip, puts the bottle on the coffee table and says, "Well, let's get started then."

"Okay, brace yourself," I say more to me than to her and poke the surprisingly soft flesh on her stomach and back. Ten minutes and no less than 43 stitches later I'm done. I was careful to place the stitches relatively close to the wound, so it shouldn't leave scars.

"Done," I say relieved that it went this well and look at her. My little slayer has passed out on the couch, looking pretty dazed right about now. You'd think a slayer could take more than a few sips of Jack Daniels, but exhausion probably had something to do with this, too.

I don't know how long I spend watching her. Two minutes, ten minutes... I just can't get past the concept of Faith being this cute. She looks so peaceful right now, carefree, not like this girl with the crappy childhood, hardened by several years of prison and loneliness.

She'd probably smack me, if I told her that she's cute...but there are moments, when she thinks that nobody is watching her...then she shows her softer side, the hard and cocky attitute she hides behind falls away and only leaves her...the girl with a love for comics, liquorice and cookies, that has one big goal in life: to finally be able to love and trust someone and be loved and trusted in return.

I almost hate myself for having to wake her, but the wound still needs to be bandaged. So I heave a heavy sigh, put a hand on her shoulder and softly shake her. "Faith?" The only reaction I get from her is her mumbling something incoherent.

Hey, I remember people telling me, that this was my specialty. Huh, we seem to have a few things in common. It doesn't matter. I have to try again. "Faith, sweetie, wake up." Whoops! 'Sweetie'. That was the thing I was just talking about. I nearly hope that she didn't hear me this time. She'd probably put me through the wringer about me giving her pet names.

But this time she stirs and...okay, there I go with the cute again. She has this adorable little frown and that completely disoriented look.

She looks around, trying to find out where the heck she could possibly be and why. When her eyes finally find me, she relaxes and smiles. "Ah, Red."

"Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," she says trying to get up but I can hold her back.

"No, wait. Easy." I command and she looks at me puzzled. "You don't want to open the wound again."

"The wou---" she wants to ask, when I think she remembers. "Oh! Ow!" she hisses getting aware again of the being hurt. She looks down at herself and slaps me lightly on the thigh. "Nice job! Looks like it won't leave any scars."

"That's what I was going for," I reply, "Can you sit up? We need to dress the wound."

"Sure. Hold on." She puts her left hand over the now-closed wound and slowly sits up. I put a large pad on the wound and ask her to hold it there while I'm bandaging her stomach. After going five times around I fixate it with a band-aid.

"Is this good? Not too tight?"

"No, it's okay," a still drowsy little slayer replies. "Think this is the first time I played doctor with somebody," she grins vixen-y at me.

I smile at that look on her face. "Come on, let's get you into bed," I say, helping her up.

"Whoa, you're fast, baby!" she grins, pinching me in the butt.

"You naughty little..." I start, searching for a fitting word to describe her, "little..." she raises an eyebrow, expecting a big outburst, "...you," I finish lamely and she laughs out.

I slap her on the arm.

"Hey, injured woman over here," she throws her hands up in defeat, hissing slightly at the pain caused by the sudden movement, but smiling nonetheless.

We reach my bed and I sit her down. "I think you wanna get rid of those clothes," I tell her, looking at her half cut-off shirt. Again she throws me that incredibly sexy, flirtatious look.

What is it with us lately, anyway?

"Okay, but I think you should strip me, cos I can't really lift my arms that high right now," she says, this time without the flirtatious tone in her voice. I move towards her, a little hesitating...

She catches my look. "I do wear underwear, you know!"

Damn, she read my mind! "Well, I...It's just...I heard things..." she throws me a questioning look. "Xander," I explain.

Understanding settles in. "You two were talking about me and my underwear...or the lack thereof?!?" She really looks interested now.

I sigh. "Well, to make it short: We were at the Bronze once, checking out girls and one of them was wearing these really nice, really tight leather pants," I stop and smile sheepishly, "a-and I wondered how she possibly could fit underwear under it? That's when he said, that she probably isn't and I asked him to name me one person who doesn't wear underwear...So..." I look away, feeling pretty stupid. "Well, I was young and innocent."

"How young?" she smirks.

"20," I say and look away, my face by now probably as red as my hair.

She puts a soft hand on my cheek and makes me face her. "It's okay. And anyways, I don't usually wear any. It's just the middle of winter in Ohio and that's even cold for my little ass!"

I smile at the imagery of Faith and her little ass...before I snap out of it.

I pull the shirt over her head with a little help from Faith. Whoa, that's a very nice view, thank you...'okay, chauvinist much? Your task is helping an injured woman, not checking her out!' myself scolds me. 'But-But I'm still a breast girl', I answer.

I motion her to lie down. This way it's easier to get working on her black boots and dark brown baggy pants...that's right...baggy pants. She doesn't usually wear those skin tight leather pants any more...that often. Only on special occasions, like a night out or something. We should have more of those nights...

I pull off the boots and notice her socks: Snoopy Socks...in light blue. I raise an eyebrow at her. "What? They're warm!" I smirk and strip her of her pants. She indeed wears underwear, though not much...a tiny black thong matching her black lace bra. I move to my drawer and try to find some not too girly and cute things for Faith to wear for the night.

I finally settle on a pair of black biker shorts and my red-white football shirt. I help her into them and tuck her in. The sleepiness is back, I can see it. I give her a soft kiss on the cheek, grab my nightwear and head for the adjoining bathroom.

"Red?" comes the sleepy voice.


"Did you call me 'sweetie' earlier?" Oh, so she heard it...I hesitate shortly, before smiling, "Maybe," and wink and step into the bath.

20 Minutes later I come back into my bedroom. I look over at where Faith is slumbering peacefully in my bed...and can't believe what I'm seeing. She is curled up on the left side of the bed and clutches Piglet in her arms.

I climb under the covers and just lie there...watching her for a while. So content, so carefree. She smiles and mumbles something that I can't quite make out. I wonder what she's dreaming.

Sometime later...again I can't really say, how long I spent watching her...sleep eventually gets the better of me and I slowly drift off.

I wake up from the sound of small whimpers. At first I can't make out where they come from until I turn around and see Faith. Her face pain-stricken and a small tear rolls down her cheek.

I move closer and wipe the tear off. Immediately she relexes into my touch and her sobs stop.

I put my arm around her, careful not to disturb her wound and pull her close to me, whispering reassuring "It's okay's" and "I'm here's".

We lie there, Faith, Piglet and me; and only when I'm sure that she's really calmed down, I try to catch some more sleep.

I'll ask her in the morning what her dream was about.

I wake up the next morning and find the bed beside me empty. At first I'm worried, thinking she went out or something, doing who knows what. But then I hear the toilet flush and relax.

She steps out...no, wait...she shuffles out of the bathroom...what an unique sight: the almighty Slayer, clumsily rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, the hair all tousled-up...and my clothes, the boxer shorts, the far too big football-shirt and her Snoopy socks...sock? Where is the other one? Nevermind.

She yawns, sees me awake and smiles "Morning, Will. Hope I didn't wake you."

"No, not at all," I reply and pat the bed beside me, motioning her to accompany me. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually. Thanks to you," she replies lying down.

"Let me have a look at the wound?"

She grins mischieviously.

"What?" I ask and can't keep myself from smiling in return.

"Sure you don't just wanna check me out?"

"No, you big goof!" I reply, slapping her on the arm and she pouts. "OK, maybe that, too..."

"Knew it," she laughs.

"So," I start, "can I check you out now?" and she gives a a sultry look.

I pull her shirt up and take the scissors to cut away the bandage. "It's healed up pretty good already. We can pull the stitched out in a couple of hours," I say, unconsciously tracing light patterns around the wound, and just when I recognize what I'm doing she starts to giggle like a little kid.

"Stop that," she says slapping me lightly on the hand and laughing.

"Huh, little Fai is ticklish, who would have thought!" I smile and start to tickle her for real now. She writhes beneath my touches and seems undecisive whether she wants to scream or laugh. But suddenly, before I can even react, she grabs my wrists, flips me on my back and straddles me, therefore rendering me unable to move and tickle her any further.

"You little tease," she growls through clenched teeth, but unable to supress the smile.

"Well, I bet that I'm not the only ticklish person in this room," she threatens as she takes my wrists in one hand and pulls them over my head, allowing herself a clear access to my abdomen.

She starts at my left flank and I try desperately to get my hands out of her grasp, but of course it's no use. "That's unfair. You're using your slayer strength on me!" I pout while trying to throw her off of me with a quick movement of my hips. She remains of top and continues her actions at my belly button until I'm laughing with tears in my eyes and begging her to stop.

Faith stops tickling and releases my wrist. I need a few moments to catch my breath again.

"You OK?" she asks me, apparently a little concerned.

"Yeah," I reply.

"Good," she grins, "'cos I'm far from done with you," she remarks and now uses both her hands to attack me mercilessly. But now that my hands are free again, I try my luck as well.

And soon we're rolling around on the bed, giggling like teenage girls, each of us trying to get the upper hand. This time she doesn't use her slayer strenth which gives me a fair chance. I'm careful not to disturb her wound while I discover her most ticklish spots.

We finally end up in an extremely peculiar position with my hands around her wrists (you wouldn't believe how sensitive the inner sides of her wrists are) and her hands resting on my sides.

She's lying half on top of with my legs intertwined with hers. Our faces only mere inches apart, so close that if one of us would move just a little forward our lips would touch.

I look into her eyes and she stares right back into mine. But her look goes right through them, you can see that she's thinking about something.

I love those big brown eyes. They're so dark you can't tell pupils from retina.

I let go of her her left wrist and move my right hand to her cheek. Her eyes focus in on me and she lowers her mouth to mine. Just when we are about to kiss...the phone rings.

"Ugh, bloody hell..." I mutter. Nice way to ruin a perfect moment.

She lets her head sink to my shoulder and chuckles. "Nice language. I think you hung around Giles for too long."