Chapter Text
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A shadow darkens the book on Buffy’s lap. Combined with her sunglasses, Buffy’s text is now impossible to read. She looks up, mouth already open, ready to admonish the inconsiderate heathen blocking all her good sunlight (because, really, what’s the point of going to college in California if she can’t take advantage of every available moment to get her tan on?). She's expecting some jock, a dude with bleached blonde hair and too much confidence, so she's surprised when that's not the case. There’s a girl standing above her, backpack slung over one should and jeans slung low on her hips. Her black t-shirt (or is it a tank top?) is tight around her midriff, a just-too-large jacket hanging off her shoulders.
“Hey,” the girl says, a wry grin pulling lips away from brilliantly white teeth. Buffy pushes her sunglasses up until they rest on the crown of her head. The girl sticks a hand out and introduces herself without preamble. “I’m Faith,” she says.
Buffy squints up at her, a little skeptical. Hesitantly she reaches out and takes the offered hand, giving it one firm shake. “Buffy.”
Faith actually has the audacity to laugh at her. “That’s one hell of a name,” Faith says through a chuckle. “Did your ma have something against you, or something? Long labor, lots of fat ankles during pregnancy?”
Buffy bristles. “Like ‘Faith’ is any better. Little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“My folks were religious. Part of that whole Boston-Irish-Catholic thing.” She tilts her chin up, one eyebrow quirked. “What’s your excuse?”
“It’s a family name,” Buffy says, even though she’s not sure that’s true. She did have a great aunt named Elizabeth, and some of her friends did call her Buffy, but Buffy has a sneaking suspicion her mom might have come up with her name because she watched too many reruns of Family Affair when she was pregnant with her.
“Sheesh, some family.”
Buffy has to fight a strong urge to roll her eyes. “Did you want something, or—?”
“I saw you talking to Big Red earlier.”
“Who…” Buffy squints— “Willow?”
“Hair about here,” Faith holds a hand up to her shoulders to demonstrate, “wears a lot of sweaters, sorta looks like a jumpy deer?”
“Kind of a rude description.”
“Kinda accurate though, right?” Faith responds with a grin.
Buffy ignores her question. “What do you want with Willow?”
“Well,” Faith says as she moves, completely uninvited, to straddle the bench next to where Buffy is sitting. Her knees poke out of her faded, ripped jeans and they brush lightly against the skin of Buffy’s bare thigh. All Buffy can think is, Who wears jeans in September? “I’m in her Intro Astro class and, wouldn’t ya know it, I totally spaced and forgot to buy a notebook before classes started. Was wondering if you’d put in a good word for me, maybe see if she’ll let me take a peek at her notes before our quiz on Friday.”
“Classes started four weeks ago.”
“Look at you, all good with the calendars.”
“You haven’t taken notes for a month?”
Faith shrugs. “I’m more a visual learner. Can’t write too fast.”
Buffy stares for several long, unblinking moments. Faith just stares back at her, looking completely unbothered. “You’re serious.” Buffy shakes her head, nearly incredulous. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“Why would I help you? I don’t even know you.”
“You know me now. I’m Faith, you’re Buffy, we’re practically bosom pals.”
"I don’t like you.”
Faith puts on an over-exaggerated pout. “Ah geez, B, that’s no way to talk to a friend.”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Not with that attitude we aren’t.”
Buffy is running out of patience. She has a Psychology exam in three days and she’s barely started reviewing the material. She doesn’t have time to deal with some slacker in a leather jacket trying to mooch off of her friends. “Just ask Willow yourself,” she tries to dismiss. “You’re the one in a class with her.”
“But word on the street is she’s your roommate. And I think it’ll sound better coming from you. Just a quick, ‘Hey, Red, you know that chick Faith? I hear she’s pretty cool, loves reading Astronomy notes for fun, maybe she’d be into reading yours.’ Easy as pie.”
In spite of herself, Buffy kind of laughs. It’s not quite as mean-spirited as she maybe intended it to be. “You’re ridiculous. Ask her yourself.”
“There’s nothing I can do to convince you? What if I buy you dinner?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I can be very persuasive.”
Buffy’s surprised, but tries not to show it. She eyes Faith a little closer now, a little more curiously. Huh, she thinks. Never would have guessed. “Sorry, I’m busy.”
“I didn’t say what day.”
“Well I’m booked all the rest of this week. Exams, you know. And I work. Nights. So, dinner, not so much. Can’t really do it.”
“I can't change your mind?”
Buffy shakes her head. “You’re charming enough when you want to be, but not that charming.”
Faith stands, unbothered and unhurried. “Well, maybe next time.”
“Sure,” Buffy deflects. She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her tongue to stop her lips from twitching up. “Maybe next time.”
“See you around, B.”
“It’s Buffy.”
Faith just winks as she strides away, totally backwards. She doesn’t let her eyes drop from Buffy until she’s halfway across the quad, when she throws up one short salute, tapping her forehead with two fingers, and finally turns to lope away.
Buffy looks down at her notes in front of her. All her diagrams have gone squiggly, and her handwriting looks cramped and indecipherable. She sighs, tips her head back and closes her eyes and lets the feeling of the afternoon sun wash over her.
.
.
Of course, she asks Willow about it the next time she sees her.
“Hey, is there a girl in your Astro class?” Buffy asks as she dumps her backpack by the door. She toes off her shoes and flops onto her stomach on her bed, cradling her head on her arms as she looks across at her roommate.
Willow tilts her head forgetting, for a moment, the papers spread out all around her. “There are a lot of girls in my Astro class.”
“Dark hair, sort of curly, wears lipstick and leather jackets a lot?”
“Oh,” Willow brightens, “you mean Faith. She let me borrow her notes after I was sick one day. She draws really good diagrams.”
“Wait, she gave you her notes?”
“You remember that weekend I had the stomach flu?”
Buffy grimaces. “Unfortunately.”
“Yeah, well she was really nice about it. Didn’t even ask me to do her homework for her or anything. Just, ‘Oh, here you go, heard you were sick.’ I brought her a fuzzy pen the next day to say thanks.”
“Huh.” Buffy shakes her head. She rolls over onto her back tucks one arm under her head, staring at the ceiling.
“Why are you asking about Faith?”
Buffy shrugs. “She asked me today if I could get you to lend her your Astro notes.” She turns her head, watching Willow’s expression carefully. “She said she hasn’t taken any since the start of the semester.”
Willow frowns. “That doesn’t sound right. Maybe, though; she sits behind me and I don’t exactly look at what other students are doing in class. Professor Graham talks really fast. Her diagrams are really complicated.” Buffy has turned back to look at her ceiling. She hears Willow shift next to her, the sound of rustling papers being pulled into order. “Weird, though,” Willow says next.
“Yeah,” Buffy agrees. “Weird.”
.
.
“You didn’t need Willow’s notes.”
Faith grins lazily and uses her thumb to flick a bit of gathered ash off the tip of her cigarette. “Hey, B,” she says, looking disgustingly cool and composed. She has a pair of sunglasses on and she’s lounging with her head pillowed on soft grass. She crosses one leg over the other, her boots kicking together. “How’s it going?”
Buffy shakes her head. “You didn’t need Willow’s notes. You lied to me. I wanna know why.”
“Technically, I didn’t lie.”
“You told me you didn’t have any notes.”
“I said I didn’t have a notebook. And that I wanted to look at her notes. All that’s true. Just wanted to compare and contrast, make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
Buffy huffs. She’s never been a fan of semantics and technicalities. “You made it seem like you wouldn’t pass the class without her.”
Faith raises onto her elbows. Her shirt pulls up, away from her jeans, and Buffy pointedly does not look down at the bare skin of her stomach. “I think that might have been some of your preconceived biases, B. You saw a hot babe in a leather jacket and assumed I’d be a freeloader.”
Buffy can’t help the flush that rises on her cheeks. “I didn’t— you misrepresented yourself.”
“Didn’t lie though, did I?”
“God you’re annoying. Is this like a part-time job of yours? To annoy me at every opportunity?”
Faith grins. “Why, are you hiring? I could be into that. Follow you around and annoy you for a living. The gig pay well? Could I get dental, too?”
Buffy rolls her eyes. She’s done with this. Faith might think she’s suave and charming, but Buffy knows better, and frankly she has more important things to worry about than someone who seems hell-bent on pissing her off. “Goodbye, Faith,” she says simply, and she sees Faith’s eyebrows raise as she pushes herself into a full sitting position. She opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but Buffy doesn’t stick around to listen to her. She turns on her heel, bag slung over her shoulder, and marches away with her head high.
Good riddance, honestly.
“Hey, hold on!” Faith calls. Buffy can hear the sound of her boots as she jogs after her. Buffy wants to ignore her — she desperately wants to ignore her, tries to force herself to keep marching forwards, in fact — but her traitorous feet slow her to a stop. She glares down at them, as if they’ve personally offended her.
Faith skids to a stop in front of her and Buffy, arms folded over her chest once again, just snaps: “What?”
“I wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
Buffy blinks. After a moment, when Faith doesn’t immediately crack another joke, she says, “I’m sorry?”
“That’s why the whole ‘can I borrow your roommates’ notes’ thing. I don’t need help with Astro. Actually, I’m great at Astro. But you knew Willow, and I knew you knew Willow, so… here we are.”
Buffy taps her foot, pondering. “That’s stupid. You could have just talked to me. I’m very friendly.”
Faith laughs. “Yeah, not really the impression I got from you. You tried to bite my head off back there.” Buffy opens her mouth, thinks about arguing, but finally shuts it without a word. Faith looks entirely unbothered. “But that’s alright,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t really like friendly people.”
“You like Willow.”
“Well, that’s different. She’s a whole different breed of nice. Being mean to her would be like being mean to a puppy. I am sorry, though. About the notes thing. I’m not… good with this stuff.”
“What, talking to people?”
“Kinda. But also you’re not people. You’re Buffy Summers. You’re hot and kind of intimidating.”
Buffy almost laughs. The fact that this girl, someone who wears leather and pants (and sometimes leather pants) in the middle of summer, could find her intimidating is as close to ridiculous as Buffy’s ever heard. It’s laughable, really. But something about the way Faith is smiling sheepishly at her doesn’t make Buffy want to laugh at all.
“I’m not intimidating,” she tries to protest, though it’s half-hearted and a little unsure.
“Course you are. But I like intimidating. I like a little danger with my pleasure.” Faith’s voice sounds dipped in honey. Buffy bites on her tongue, suppressing a shiver. Faith, annoyingly, seems to notice anyway. She smirks and shoots Buffy a wink. “Play your cards right and you might be around to figure that out.”
“I’m so not interested in your pleasure.” Faith raises one eyebrow. “That came out wrong.”
“You can keep telling yourself that, B. But I’ll win you over one of these days. I’m very hard to resist. I have it on good authority that I can be pretty charming, when I want to be.”
“I knew saying that was a bad idea. If your head gets any bigger you won’t be able to fit through your bedroom door.”
“Thinking about my bedroom, now?”
Buffy sighs, but it’s more like faux-exasperation than real annoyance. She can’t help herself. She’s a little charmed. She doesn’t want to be — Faith is still annoying as anybody’s business — but she’s witty, and sharp, and easy to talk to. She might be a liar, sure, but so is Buffy, when it suits her. And maybe she can’t take a hint, and her determination borders on pushy, but honestly the attention is a little flattering. And Buffy can’t help it, she’s only a girl; she’s easily flattered. “I have to get to class,” Buffy says, and that part is at least true.
“So that’s a no on me buying you dinner?” Faith calls out to her from across the quad, once Buffy has gotten a fair distance away.
A few students turn to look between them and Buffy goes a little pink, but it’s not really embarrassment. She bites her lip and tugs on the strap of her bag. “Maybe next time!”
.
.
Buffy takes her job very seriously. It doesn’t pay much — barely above minimum wage, and she only works a couple hours a week — but Buffy cares about the gym. Sure, her mom was a little skeptical when she wanted to join a gym nicknamed ‘The Hellmouth’ — because of its somewhat dingy facilities and the weird old cages in the corners, usually used to store extra weights and exercise mats. (It's really called ‘The Health Mount’, which if Buffy is being honest is not much better, as far as names go. She can think of a dozen or so different puns off of that, so Giles should be grateful he got something as hardcore as Hellmouth.) And sure, it doesn’t have state-of-the-art equipment or anything like that. It's dingy in comparison to the gym at the university. But it's decent enough, and as a paid employee Buffy doesn’t have to pay a membership fee or anything.
So maybe it’s not a stellar place of employment, and maybe it’s not exactly a career path for her, maybe she’s ‘wasting her time’ as her mom likes to say. But Buffy likes The Hellmouth. Giles is funny in that flustered, fussy way of his; she gets to train for free; and yeah, sometimes fights break out in the locker room and sometimes Buffy has to throw out some shady character, but The Hellmouth has soul, and Buffy wouldn’t trade it for any other shitty part time gig.
And she likes the time she gets alone. Without Willow and Xander, without her mom, without anyone to bother her or any homework to do. It's relaxing. She can just keep her Walkman blasting in her ears, hitting the bag or going through her ab circuit without having to talk to another human being. It's some of the only time she gets by herself all week.
So imagine her surprise when she’s doing a round with the bag one Thursday evening, and Faith shows up completely out of the blue.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, as if stalking is a cute personality trait and not totally psychotic.
Buffy grabs the bag, stopping the swing with a heavy shoulder. She takes a few heavy breaths, wipes at the sweat that’s collected at her brow. Faith flexes her hands in their white wrappings and smirks. She’s wearing a short pair of running shorts and a sleeveless undershirt. Buffy can’t believe she’s here. In Buffy’s gym. Looking like that.
“Stalk much?” Buffy says through labored breath.
Faith rolls her eyes. “Oh, sorry, didn’t know you owned this gym. God forbid anyone else tries to get a workout in.”
Buffy opens her mouth, ready to argue (it’s not that Buffy owns the rights to working out at The Hellmouth, but the fact that Faith is here, when she’s sought Buffy out three times in the past two weeks, has to be something more than a coincidence) when a shout interrupts her train of thought.
“Buffy!” A small boy, maybe 8 or 9 with floppy over-long hair, runs up to her and throws his arms around her legs. Two more run after him, adding to the dogpile. Buffy stumbles for a second before she can steady herself.
She smiles down at them. “Hi, guys. You ready for our lesson today?” They peel away from her, nodding excitedly. “We’re doing high kicks. Go stretch out on the mats and I’ll be there in a second.”
“Can we do meditation today, too?” Benji asks, and the two children by his side bounce on the balls of their feet, nodding like crazy.
Buffy fights a smile. “Sure, at the end we’ll all take five minutes to meditate. I want you all to really focus on your breathing today. No horsing around like last time, Charlie.” The little girl looks only a little apologetic as she shifts on her feet. Buffy waves them towards the mats in the far corner. “Now go stretch, I’ll be there in just a minute. Benji, you’re the stretching captain today. Make sure everyone gets warmed up. And the late arrivals, too; we don’t want anyone pulling muscles.” Benji puffs out his chest, his back straight. He nods, seriously, before striding across the floor with the other two in tow.
Buffy can’t help the way her smile grows as she watches them settle in.
Faith just blinks at her. “You teach kids? That’s your night job?”
It’s Buffy’s turn to shift, now a little defensive. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I started an after school program a few summers ago. I know the owner of this place. He’s this fussy British guy, doesn’t know the first thing about fighting, but he’s weirdly committed to helping ‘lost souls’, or something. I don’t know.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah.” Buffy watches her students stretch, and for a minute she’s not thinking about anything, really. She watches them and is proud. She can’t help it. She’s proud of them and the work they’ve put in; the way they’re improved since she first met them. “Kids who need an outlet for their extra energy and… anger. I help teach them how to channel it. I had a lot of trouble growing up and it wasn’t until I started fight training that I managed to pull my grades up and stop getting kicked out of school. I found this gym when my mom and I moved to Sunnydale, and I’ve been working a few nights a week since high school.”
Buffy shakes her head, coming back to herself. She glares in Faith’s direction and says, before she can speak, “You don’t have to bother with the teasing. I’m not embarrassed to work a couple hours a week here. And Giles lets me use all the equipment after I lock up for the night, so it’s a sweet deal, and you’re not gonna make me feel bad about it.”
Faith holds up her hands in defense. “Hey, I’m not here to tease. I think it’s cute, what you do for them. I coulda used something like that when I was growing up; you mighta stopped me getting kicked out of a couple schools myself.” Buffy’s surprised at that, but she does her best not to show it. She looks at Faith a little differently, for a moment. With her hand wrappings and easy grin, the loping way she walks, the casual, easy way she lounges even now, standing still in front of Buffy with one hip cocked and her shoulders relaxed, Buffy never would have figured her for the angry-outburst type. “Never really been into martial arts myself,” Faith continues, cracking her knuckles a bit for show, “but I’ve got a mean right hook. We should spar sometime.”
Buffy has to laugh. “No offense, but I don’t think you could keep up.”
“Oh? Is that a challenge?”
“No, it’s a warning. I’d wipe the floor with you.”
Faith laughs. “You don’t know that. I box. I’m scrappy. Great fighter. I’ll give you a run for your money.”
“Okay, if you’re really so confident. Come back here at 8:30, after I’m done sweeping. We can take a go in the ring. See how that right hook holds up.”
“Perfect,” Faith beams. “It’s a date.”
Buffy is flushed when she finally makes it back over to her students. When Charlie asks her why she blames it on all the pushups she did before they arrived.
She only realizes later that she should have probably told Faith that this wasn’t going to be a date. But she shakes off that thought. It doesn’t matter too much, anyway. Besides, working out in an abandoned gym isn’t anyone’s idea of a first date. So it was probably just a turn of phrase. Faith likes to tease, after all. And Buffy’s straight, and Faith definitely knows that, so there shouldn’t be any mixed signals. At least on Buffy’s end. She’s not entirely sure about Faith — half the time she seems to be antagonizing her, the other half flirting with her (though maybe that’s also antagonism).
Well, for what it’s worth, after Faith goes a couple rounds with her in the ring, there’s absolutely no way she’s going to keep flirting. Buffy knows Faith’s kind; she’s dated a fair share of them in the past. (Not women, obviously. She isn’t gay. But Faith’s particular breed spans across gender lines, and Buffy’s long learned to be wary of it.) She talks a big game, all swagger and dark clothing and leather jackets and boxing habits. She’ll go on about how she likes dating ‘tough’ girls (by which she means ‘argumentative’ and ‘has a personality’), but in reality she wants someone she can take care of. They all do. Angel was the same way, and Spike after him, and even Scott, her briefest of high school boyfriends… in the end that’s all they wanted. A girlfriend to take care of. Someone to hang onto their arm and ooh and ahh about their fancy cars. Someone who wasn’t afraid of walking home alone at night but who wanted her boyfriend to walk her home, anyway. God forbid Buffy actually hold her own. God forbid she stand up for herself, fight back.
As soon as she proves herself, they all run for the hills. Scott dumped her three days after they were caught up in a failed mugging attempt. Which failed because Buffy broke their would-be mugger’s wrist before he could even finish waving his knife around. (He had really terrible form, and Buffy wasn't about to lose her new Guy Laroche bag to someone who couldn't even hold a knife properly.) When he was breaking up with her, Scott said she was ‘a different person than the girl he started dating’.
Angel changed as soon as sex came into the picture. Like once she lost the appeal of her virginity, he lost all the sweetness that had defined him. He turned cold, aggressive, even angry. When he told her mother they were having sex, Buffy knew that was the last straw. And when he came back groveling only a few months later, Buffy knew she could never take him back.
As for Spike… well, Spike was just a mistake. A fling to piss off her mom; bring home the British punk rocker with bleached hair and painted nails just to give her a heart attack. Spike at least had been into Buffy’s fighting. He even came to a couple of her tournaments. But he kept weird hours, slept all through the day and only wanted to hang out at night. And the sex was great, sure, but he was a little too into the rough stuff, and Buffy doesn’t mind taking charge in bed, she’s happy to do it on occasion, but Spike started escalating his asks and eventually she just had to draw the line (it was something about a bullwhip and candle wax, and Buffy’s no prude or anything, but she’s never been into inflicting pain during her sexy times, so she called it quits right before sophomore year started).
Buffy has no misgivings about the fact that Faith, for all of her blustering, will rapidly lose interest the second she steps into the ring with Buffy. They all do, metaphorically speaking. Her kind can't stand to lose fights.
And Buffy never loses a fight.
.
.
Buffy leans the broom against the door to the supply closet, wiping at her brow.
Faith is taking some lazy swings at the hanging bag next to the ring. She’s been there since Buffy’s lesson ended, more than forty-five minutes ago, and her shoulder muscles ripple with every strike, and her shirt is sticking to her stomach, and Buffy knows she must be showing off, but she also knows that a forty-five-minute round with a bag right before a sparring match is a pretty stupid idea.
It’s been the downfall of every person Buffy’s ever fought: they never think she’s a real threat. It’s a blessing as much as it’s a curse. Buffy knows what she looks like — small, blonde, cheerleader, weak, ditzy. No one ever thinks she can hold her own.
It’s why she always wins.
She leans against the ropes, watching Faith take a few more swings. Faith’s form tightens up and her strikes land a little more forcefully, so Buffy knows she’s aware of her presence. She’s still showing off, and Buffy has to admit, Faith is stronger than she looks.
But so is Buffy.
She clears her throat, and Faith stops the swinging of the bag before she turns towards her, already smirking. She’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling like she’s just run a considerable distance, and Buffy has to fight off her own smirk. This is going to be easy.
“You ready?” Buffy asks, gesturing towards the ring.
“Sure thing. You don’t need to take a couple practice swings?”
“I’m warmed up. Thanks.” Faith rolls her shoulders and bounces on the balls of her feet, like a boxer prepping for a fight. Buffy keeps her hands at her sides, watching her. “Ground rules?” she asks.
“Sure. Don’t draw blood. No hair pulling. Keep kicks below the belt.”
“I can agree to that. Is there some word you want to set, for when you’re ready to give up?”
Faith smirks. “Like a safe word?”
“If you want.”
“I think I’m good.”
“Alright,” Buffy shrugs. “Your funeral.”
Faith takes a swing and Buffy sees it coming a mile off. She twists before Faith’s even halfway extended, grabbing her forearm and wrenching with her body. Faith’s feet leave the ground as she flies over Buffy’s shoulder. She hits the ground with a loud “Ooph,” and Buffy stands over her, hands on her hips.
Faith blinks up at her, upside down. “Neat trick,” she breathes.
Buffy laughs. “You telegraph your hits. And you already told me about your right hook.”
Faith chuckles, clambering to her feet. “I didn’t know we were allowed judo throws and shit.”
“Thought you didn’t know martial arts?”
“I said I was never a martial arts gal. Not that I don’t know them.” She rolls her shoulders again, and fixes her stance. “Okay. Let’s go again.”
“You sure?”
“I underestimated you, B. But I’m too smart to do it twice.” She flexes her hands, already balanced on the balls of her feet. “Let’s go again.”
To Faith’s credit, the second round lasts much longer than the first. Faith doesn’t have nearly the same level of skill and experience that Buffy does — that much quickly becomes apparent — but she’s quick on her feet, and her blows are powerful. She’s more frenzied than Buffy, which makes her unpredictable, and she’s strong, which makes her dangerous. Buffy is breathing hard by the fifth minute of their spar, and neither one of them has hit the ground yet.
Faith smiles as she ducks Buffy’s high kick. “Thought we said kicks stayed below the belt?”
“Not my fault you aren’t flexible.” She kicks again, and this time Faith catches her leg. She grins and pushes up, like she wants to throw Buffy onto her back, but Buffy manages to get her other leg up, bracing quickly against Faith’s thigh. She uses the momentum to flip backwards, and when she lands upright on her feet she’s met with Faith’s open mouth.
“No way,” Faith breathes. “That’s so not fair.”
Faith is a better fighter than Buffy originally thought. She leans a little too heavily on boxing, but she lands a couple good hits. She sweeps Buffy’s feet out from under her twice, and Buffy knocks her over three more times, too, and before she knows it they’ve been trading blows for almost twenty-five minutes, and Buffy is close to gassed. She hadn’t expected a match this even. She’s definitely the better fighter — it’s only a matter of time before she gains the upper hand or Faith calls it quits — but there’s not as much of a gap in their fighting abilities as Buffy anticipated. There’s even a few times when Faith catches her off-guard, when she flips her feet and her hands and throws out a hit Buffy hadn’t expected. She wonders if Faith is used to fighting with a knife. She jabs like she is.
It’s her right hook that does her in. It’s her favored hit, so Buffy is almost always anticipating it, and after nearly thirty minutes of fighting Faith isn’t nearly as fast as she started out. Buffy catches her easily, and in a move that mirrors their first encounter, she ducks her shoulder and throws, and they both fall to the floor in a wild heap.
Buffy lands on top of her. She’s got one arm over Faith’s throat and her hips trapped and Faith looks up at her with flushed cheeks and pupils blown wide. Buffy can’t help her smirk. “Sorry, F,” she teases. “Looks like you’re pinned.”
“It’s not so bad," Faith gasps, clearly winded, "bein’ pinned under you. There are worse places I could be.”
They don’t move for several long seconds. Faith licks her lips, her eyes glancing down to rest on Buffy’s mouth, and Buffy feels reckless, for a moment; like she might just lean down and—
She clears her throat and clambers off. Reaches a hand down to help hoist Faith to her feet. “Good match,” she says, looking anywhere but Faith’s eyes. “You’re better than I thought.”
Faith grins, her chest puffed out, unnecessarily proud. “Thanks, B. You’re not too bad yourself.” Buffy hums, already collecting her things. “This was fun,” Faith continues. “Now I’m all amped.”
“Amped?” Buffy asks, still not looking at her.
“Yeah. Isn’t it crazy how fightin’ just always makes you hungry and horny?”
Buffy flushes. “Sometimes I do crave a low-fat yogurt after a workout.”
“Great.” Faith’s eyes are bright and mischievous. “So you agree. How about that dinner?”
“It’s 9:30.”
“Yeah, and I’m starved. C’mon, I know this great late night diner. Only a couple blocks from campus. It’s totally on the way back. We’ll have you in bed by 11, Big Red won’t even have time to send out the search dogs.”
“You…” Buffy hesitates for a moment— “still want to buy me dinner?”
“Yeah?” Faith looks confused. “Why would I not?”
“Maybe because I just kicked your ass?”
“Woah, hey now, I wouldn’t call it a kickin’. But you beat me, fair and square. Rules are that means I owe you something.”
“But I don’t want anything from you. When are you going to give up?”
“I’ve been tryna give you a free meal for three weeks, now. When are you finally gonna take it?”
Buffy shakes her head. “I really should get back. I have an 8am tomorrow.”
Faith pouts. “You cut me deep, B. I’m gutted.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“And I’ve got a smarting ego. But I get it. You’re not ready yet.” She pushes her hair out of her face. “We’re five-by-five.”
Buffy shoulders her gym bag and when they get outside, without speaking about it they both linger. Buffy shivers a little as the cool air hits the sweat on her skin. She wishes she brought a hoodie with her, or at least a sensible wrap. She looks at Faith, still in her shorts and tank top, at all the bare skin of her shoulders and legs. “You’re not cold?”
Faith just shrugs. “Nah. Weather out in Cali doesn’t really bother me. I’m from Boston, so this is balmy for me.”
“What’s Boston like?” Buffy asks as they fall in-step, side-by-side. Campus is only about a fifteen-minute walk away, and Buffy is more than capable of walking by herself, and after their sparring match she’s sure Faith is, too, but… well, it only makes sense, really. Who really wants to walk alone?
Faith shrugs again. She does that a lot. Like nothing in the world can bother her. “It’s alright. Great sports. Shit teams, but great sports anyway. Good bars, nice public transportation. California should get on that, by the way. I miss the trains.”
“Sure, I’ll let the government of California know ASAP.”
Faith laughs. “I’m just sayin’. Things are a whole lot more convenient when you can hop on a train to get everywhere.” The smile lingers on her lips. When she speaks next she sounds wistful and far away. “I miss the seasons. That’s the part I miss most. It’s almost October, and the leaves should be changing. Man, I love when the leaves change. Everything gets all orange, and crackly. No one loves Halloween the way the city of Boston loves Halloween. I think it's all that business with the witches. But when the trees turn, it's like they're celebratin' too. And I miss the snow. Fuck, it was so cold — cold like you wouldn’t believe out there — but it was beautiful when it snowed. If we get enough the whole city just… shuts down. Kids should grow up in a place that has snow. If we were lucky enough to get a day off school we’d build snowmen and if the river was frozen over we’d skate on that, even though we weren’t supposed to.”
“It sounds like you love it, there. Why’d you leave?”
“Why does anyone leave anywhere? I had nothin’ keepin’ me. Just a buncha people who’d rather see me dead than alive.” Buffy blinks a few quick times. She thinks about doing something, like grabbing Faith’s hand or pulling her into a hug, but they don’t really know each other, and Buffy’s sort of gotten the impression that Faith isn’t the kind to welcome comforting hugs. So they keep walking, and Buffy doesn’t do anything more than lean a little closer and let her elbow brush against Faith’s.
After a few moments of silence, Faith continues, softer than before, “I just… had to get out of there. That town was poisoning me. My folks were useless, always drinkin’ and getting pissed every time I so much as looked at them funny. I didn’t live in a good neighborhood. By the time I was in high school most of my friends were getting tied up in drug running, for gangs or the mob, who knows. Started getting in more fights, getting kinda violent. And then people I knew started dyin’, and… that was it. I had to leave. And I knew that no one was gonna save me; if I wanted out, I had to do it myself.” She shakes her head. “That kinda shit… it leaves an impact on you, y’know? Like under your skin. It’s like… you think you matter and you think you’re a part of something, and then you get dumped. And it’s like the whole world is moving but you’re stuck. Like those animals in the tar pit. It’s like you just keep sinking a little deeper every day and nobody even sees.”
“Faith,” Buffy says, putting a hand on her shoulder, drawing her to a stop. Faith turns to her a little dazed, eyes a little unfocused. “I’m sorry. That sounds lonely. I’m sorry you had to go through it alone.”
“Yeah, well… it’s no big.” She looks up and seems to realize where they are. “Oh. This is me,” she gestures with her chin at the large brick building looming above them.
“The Cedar Apartments? Aren’t you a freshman? How’d you swing that?”
“I told you, I can be very persuasive.” The tension cracks a little, and Buffy laughs, relieved that the heaviness of the moment has seemingly passed them by. Faith smiles, and her eyes are soft, softer than Buffy’s ever seen, and there’s something in them that makes Buffy want to fall forward. “You need me to walk you back to your place?”
“I’m only in Broward.”
“We’re practically neighbors.” Buffy stays on the sidewalk as Faith walks to her front door. When she turns around and sees that Buffy’s still waiting out there, watching her, she smiles, secretive. “Goodnight, B.”
“Yeah,” Buffy says, after the door has already swung closed behind her. “Goodnight.”
.
.
The Bronze is packed on the first Saturday of October. A band Buffy’s never heard of is premiering some new work, and everyone in the club has been clamoring after the lead singer since they got here. Buffy couldn’t care less about the music. She got her Psych midterm back yesterday and now she’s here with Willow, Xander, and a couple fake IDs hoping to drink away her sorrows. She finishes off her second beer of the night while Willow and Xander watch her, clearly a little nervous.
“Hey, Buff, you’re really going to town on those." Xander eyes her empty bottles.
"Mind your own business."
"Yeah!" Willow interjects. "We're young, single women. We're in college. We're—"
"Going to fail Psych," Buffy says, morosely.
"Don't say that." Willow shakes her head. "You'll pass the next one, Buffy. You just need to study more. Do you need me to make flashcards for you?"
Buffy pouts. "Flashcards would be nice."
"Okay, we'll start tomorrow. No way I'm letting you fail Professor Walsh's class."
“Wowza,” Xander says loudly next to them, rubbing at his eyes comically. “Who is that girl?”
Buffy and Willow turn, following his gaze, and Buffy’s stomach does a strange little flip-flop when she sees who’s caught his eye. Faith is in the middle of the throng of bodies. She has a hand loosely wrapped around the collar of one guy’s shirt, and another is dancing close behind her, their hips moving in time together. Buffy’s stomach sinks a little, like a stone through water. She can understand why Xander was so taken by her. There’s a magnetism to the way Faith moves. She throws herself into the music, her hair flung behind her and her eyes closed. The bodies pressed against her are of little interest to her; she uses them for balance, for warmth, for something to feel, maybe. But when one of them leans forward, his lips finding the pulse point of her neck, Faith shoves him away, already turning, searching for the next one.
Buffy swallows and looks down at her empty bottle and wishes desperately that she had something else to drink.
“That’s Faith,” Willow calls back over the blaring music. “She’s into Buffy. Well,” she says after a moment’s pause, her eyes finding Faith on the dance floor once again, “I guess not tonight.”
“No kidding?” Xander’s eyes flick back and forth between the girl on the dance floor and Buffy, sunken sullen into the couch. “You’re… and she’s…” He shakes his head a few times. “Hubba hubba. That’s hot.”
Buffy reaches over and punches his shoulder. If she hits him just a little harder than is usually advisable, well that’s not really her fault. Xander whimpers and retreats, clutching at the smarting area. “Don’t be gross.” Buffy shoots him a glare. “I’m not doing anything about it.”
“But why not? I, for one, speaking on behalf of the red-blooded male population of Sunnydale, think it would be a great idea for you to—”
“Knock it off, Xander, okay? I said I’m not interested.”
Xander and Willow make eye contact. Willow shrugs.
Buffy stands abruptly, too annoyed to stick around. “I’m getting a drink. Do you two want anything?” Xander opens his mouth to answer her but Buffy storms away before he can get a word out. She drops her empty beer bottles on the bar and holds up two fingers to the bartender, gesturing for more. She stares down at her hands as she waits for him to return, her bad mood souring worse and worse with every passing minute. She just wants to get drunk and forget this entire week even happened.
A body leas against the bar next to her, and Buffy can tell who it is just by the waft of perfume that drifts towards her. She scowls. “That looked like a fun conversation.”
Buffy shoots Faith a look. The hair around her forehead is a little damp, and her lips shine bright red under the light. She grins at Buffy, who does her best to look as annoyed as she feels. “Again, stalk much?”
“Actually, I think I was here before you. So if anyone’s stalking…”
“What’s with you?” Buffy shoots, rounding on her. Faith blinks but doesn’t take a step back, which is disappointing, because Buffy was really hoping to get her on her heels. “Didn’t you ever learn what the word ‘no’ means?” Buffy snaps.
Faith blinks at her again. She frowns, although it’s only slight. She tilts her head, her eyes scanning Buffy’s face. Buffy turns away from her, an uncomfortable heat climbing up the back of her neck. “Sure,” Faith says quietly, “I know what it means. Haven’t heard you say it yet, though.”
Buffy turns to her, a rebuttal on her tongue, but at the expression on Faith’s face she softens, somewhat against her better judgment. “Oh,” she says, lamely.
“Do you want me to leave you alone? Because I was kinda under the impression we were doing like a bit here, with the banter and the teasing and the flirting. But I don’t wanna stay where I’m not wanted. So just say the word, and—”
“No.” Buffy cringes at how loudly the word shoots from her mouth. She clears her throat and tries again. “No, you—you don’t have to— it’s fine. Really. You can stay.”
Faith’s smile is back, though it looks much more muted than her usual smirk. “You sure?”
Buffy’s cheeks are pink. She can feel the way they burn. “Don’t make me change my mind.”
Faith chuckles. “You don’t really seem like the indecisive type to me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Sure I do. You’re just like me.” Buffy’s stomach bottoms out. Faith leans in, her breath hot on Buffy’s ear, and Buffy shivers and clutches onto the bar so hard the wood creaks under her fingers. “You’re just holding it in.”
Faith leaves her leaning against the bar and Buffy stares after her, trying to decide whether she should be indignant or unsettled. Her heart settles somewhere in the middle, her stomach an anxious twist of terrible feelings.
You’re just like me, Faith said, stopping Buffy’s heart. You’re just holding it in, she continued, stealing Buffy’s breath.
How dare she say that to her? How dare she speak those words into existence into Buffy’s ear, how dare she drop them into her brain like she isn’t throwing Buffy’s entire world off-balance.
Buffy walks around the Bronze in a daze. She never picks her beer up from the bar, and she doesn’t return to Willow and Xander, though she can feel their eyes following her between throngs of bodies, past columns and through crowds. She slides through the dance floor, feels hands glide over her hips and sides, but she doesn’t stop for any of them. She circles back to the bar, thinks about talking her way into another drink. Doesn’t.
You’re just like me. You’re just holding it in.
She finds Faith outside, leaning against the brick exterior of the Bronze, smoking a cigarette. She has one foot propped up and her boots are black and shiny, gleaming under the lone light bulb above her head. She isn’t surprised to see Buffy — she smiles when Buffy finally stumbles out of the Bronze — and Buffy hates herself for her predictability. She hovers for a moment, considers going back inside, but Faith takes another drag of her cigarette and the smoke curls out form her nostrils and her eyes seem to glow through it, brown and endless.
“What did you mean by what you said in there?”
Faith takes another lazy pull. She flicks a glowing ember off the tip of her cigarette. Buffy watches it fall to the ground with something like reverence. “What did I say?” Faith asks, innocently.
“You said I was like you. That I was… holding something in.”
“Sure. You need to cut loose. Knew that the second I met you.” Buffy looks at her but doesn’t speak. Faith smirks at her silence and tilts her head. Buffy still doesn’t move. “Y’know, you think too much.”
“Keep talking and I’m going to change my mind.”
“Change your mind about what?”
Buffy takes a step forward. Faith’s eyes widen, like she hadn’t expected that at all. Her hand falls to her side and her cigarette falls to the ground and Buffy takes another step and Faith falls back, connecting hard with the brick behind her. “About what I do next,” Buffy says, almost too soft to hear.
Faith swallows. Buffy likes the way it makes her throat bob. “Y’know,” she says carefully, “I have a very simple philosophy in life.”
“You can’t shut up, can you?”
“Want,” Faith says, as if she’d never been interrupted. “Take. Have.”
Buffy licks her dry lips. “Want, take…”
“Have. Yeah.”
Buffy swallows. Licks her lips again. Faith is so close, just a breath away, and trapped between Buffy’s body and the wall. She’s taller than Buffy, and has a couple extra inches because of the boots, but she doesn’t make a move to leave or twist away, and she doesn’t look uncomfortable. Her hand moves slowly, so slowly, like she’s testing the waters, and when her fingers slip over Buffy’s hip Buffy shivers, but she doesn’t withdraw.
Buffy’s head is thick, full of smoke. She thinks it might be from Faith’s cigarette, but it’s hard to say. “And… what do you want?”
Faith’s eyes rake down her body. “I think you know what I want.” And God, yeah, she does. She can see it in Faith’s eyes, in the twitch of her lips; she can feel it in the breath ghosting over her lips, in the fingers flexing lazily at her side. She’s known since the minute they met. It’s never been a secret, what Faith wanted from her. If Buffy pretended not to know that was on her, not Faith.
“What do you want?” Faith asks, and it dawns on Buffy that she’s not sure anyone’s ever asked her that, before.
“Your place?”
Faith’s eyebrows quirk up. “You sure?”
“I told you to stop talking before I change my mind.”
“I just wasn’t expecting this. Gotta make sure I’m not being punked or anything.”
“If you don’t want me to come back with you—”
Faith’s other hand shoots out, and she grabs Buffy’s wrist before she can pull away. “I want you to,” she reassures. One thumb brushes against Buffy’s pulse point, the other against her hip bone. The air has gotten progressively cooler. Buffy’s starting to understand the logic behind Faith’s leather jacket look. “I want you to want to, also.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t talk me out of this.”
Faith smiles and twists her hand until her fingers lace with Buffy’s. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Buffy thinks that if the walk back had taken longer than ten minutes, she might have changed her mind again. She already almost turns back twice, just in those ten minutes. But Faith’s hand, warm and steady in her own, keeps her walking forward.
Faith’s apartment is small, just big enough for one person, but it has its own kitchen, which means it beats Buffy’s dorm room by about five miles. She only has a moment to look around before Faith shuts the door behind them. They look at each other then, and Buffy’s surprised to see that Faith looks about as nervous as she feels. She would have thought Faith was used to this — bringing girls home all smooth and nonchalant, guiding them into bed with just a smirk and a tilt of her head.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Buffy says before she cringes. She’s going to sound like a total virgin, now. “I mean with a girl. Obviously. I’ve had sex before. A lot of sex.” Faith’s eyebrows raise. “I mean not a lot of sex. A regular amount. A good, normal amount for someone my age. With boyfriends. Not like I’m some floozy. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a floozy, just, y’know… I’m not.”
“If you just wanna crash here, that’s totally fine," Faith says, like Buffy hasn’t just humiliated herself, which Buffy thinks is very kind of her. “I’m not expecting anything just cuz you came back here with me. If you wanna leave I won’t take it personal.”
Buffy takes a breath, a little shaky. “And… if I want to stay? What would happen then?”
Faith takes a step forward, then another, until she’s right up against Buffy, again. They’re toe-to-toe, and Buffy wishes she had thought to wear a higher shoe, so that they’d be more the same height. “I’d probably try to kiss you,” Faith says, her eyes searching Buffy’s face. “Hopefully wouldn’t get slapped for it.”
Buffy chews a bit on the inside of her lip. “I wouldn’t slap you.”
When Faith kisses her, Buffy is the one who feels slapped. Faith’s lips are soft and sure, and surprisingly sweet. She tastes like cigarettes and rum — a combination that, if you had asked Buffy twenty minutes ago, she would have assured you she found repulsive, but which now causes an ache between her legs. She smells like leather and smoke and lavender, and when her hands cup Buffy’s cheeks Buffy falls fully into her.
She’s not sure who gets naked first, only that it’s a very short amount of time until they both are, sprawled on Faith’s unmade bed with the sheets thrown to the ground. Faith hovers above her, looking down like she can’t quite believe this all is happening, and Buffy has to agree with her. She can’t quite believe this is happening either.
She wants to slow down, take more time in the moments between their kisses, spend more time feeling Faith’s tongue on her neck, her fingers tweaking her nipples, the thigh she has pressed between Buffy’s legs. She wants to remember this carefully, since she’s sure it will never happen again, and if she’s going to have a college story about having sex with another girl she wants to at least remember all the important details.
But Faith’s lips close over the peak of her nipple and Buffy’s brain stops being able to form words.
When Faith licks inside of her, Buffy keens. When her fingers replace her tongue Buffy’s legs shudder and fall further open. Faith sets a blistering pace, almost brutal, with her mouth latched to Buffy’s clit and her hand pounding inside of her and it only takes a few short moments before Buffy is coming, embarrassingly quick.
Buffy’s not usually one for multiple rounds. There were a few times with Spike, maybe once with Angel, but usually she’s a one-and-done lady. So when Faith flips her over and yanks her hips up, so Buffy is face-down in a pillow and her back arched, she trembles. When Faith buries her face between her legs again, her tongue slipping inside Buffy’s clenching pussy, Buffy’s hands scramble for something to grab onto. “Jesus, Faith,” Buffy breathes, burying her face in one elbow. Faith hums against her, and the vibrations make her legs twitch. She bites down hard on the skin of her arm and lets Faith fuck her, holding on for dear life.
Two orgasms later and Buffy collapses, boneless, onto the mattress. Faith smacks her on the ass, once, barely hard enough to sting and Buffy moans and shifts away from the pleasure. “Don’t,” she hisses, reaching back to grab Faith’s hand and pull her down next to her. “Too sore.”
Faith chuckles and presses a kiss to Buffy’s bare shoulder. Her lips and chin glisten and Buffy blushes looking at her, at the evidence of her arousal painted over Faith’s face. Faith smiles at her and Buffy leans up to kiss her, because she can’t quite help it. She’s never tasted herself before, but the taste of her mixed with the taste of Faith sends nice tingles down to her toes. Faith hums into her mouth and her kiss is languid, easy, and Buffy loves it, the feel of it, the wetness (her wetness) coating her own lips and tongue. Their kiss deepens, growing messier, and by the time Faith collapses onto the bed beside her Buffy is already feeling energized enough for another round. Which is unheard of, for her, so that’s quite a testament to Faith’s kissing abilities.
She moves so she’s lying on top of Faith. Their skin is hot, and Buffy’s coated with sweat, so they stick together a little, though it’s not uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to,” Faith whispers when Buffy’s hand slips between her thighs.
“Please. Like I’d let you do all that work and not get anything in return.”
“It’s not like it’s a competition.”
“Faith.” It takes a second for Faith to open her eyes. Buffy looks at her, seriously. “I want to. Please.” Faith swallows and nods, shifting her legs apart. “I’ve never done this before,” Buffy whispers when her fingers brush against wet heat.
“Take your time. I’ll tell you what feels good and what doesn’t.”
Buffy doesn’t have the gusto or confidence of Faith, but she does have enthusiasm, and she’s nothing if not a quick learner. Faith’s fingers guide hers over her clit, help her find the right pressure and the right motion. When Buffy tries to slip inside of her Faith grabs her wrist and shakes her head, and Buffy doesn’t ask, just moves back to what she knows feels good. Faith’s breathing gets slower, more labored, the longer Buffy slides against her. It’s gentle, unexpectedly so, and Buffy continues to places wet kisses along Faith’s jaw, to nibble softly at her neck, and when Faith comes it’s with a soft shudder and a quiet moan.
She opens her eyes and Buffy kisses her, softer than expected.
The outside is dark but Faith’s apartment is warm, and they fall asleep together like that, naked and sated and wrapped around each other, and Buffy doesn’t stop to think about what it all might mean.
She can deal with that in the morning.
____________________