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A week’s worth of junk mail piled up under the door, a couple of bills she didn’t want to pay, the door trying to stick - cheap hotel room, home away from home. Or maybe just home - not like her digs in Boston or Cleaveland or anywhere else had ever been much better. She kicked the doorjamb loose, threw her jacket on the bed, then went to shower off the blood and sweat from the road. Demon blood was always stubborn about coming off - like it didn’t want to let her go.
The hot water cleared her head, as well as her skin.
When she came out, towel wrapped around her waist, she caught the blinking red light on the cheap hotel answering machine and sighed. Probably more shit she could do without. She flopped down on the bed, snapped off the light, then her eyes popped open again. Stayed that way.
She sighed, rolled over and slapped the play button.
Beep.
“Hey, Faith.” Buffy’s voice sounded causally cheerful if you didn’t know anything about Buffy. “I’m having a little get-together for my birthday at my house on Saturday, you know, cake and bad movies and ridiculous amounts of snack food. Let me know.”
Beep.
“Hi.” A sigh. “So, birthdayness might not happen. I haven’t been feeling well lately...” A tiny hitch in her voice. “Anyway, I still want to hang out once I’m feeling better. You cannot escape the bad movies.”
Beep.
“Oh look, you’re gone. Still.” Sarcasm-guilt combo punch: score. “I hate sounding like a responsible adult, but it would be nice to know where you are or at least when you’re coming back. So I know when it’s been too long and I should go on a slaying rampage to find you. Being the Chosen Two isn’t something I can do by myself, you know.”
Beep.
“God, sorry, I don’t want to be that girl with the guilt trips and stuff. I know you can take care of yourself. I just...” a little pause. “Well. I hope you’re having a nice vacation-like thing. Call me when you get back.”
Beep.
“So...” There was a pause long enough that Faith thought it might be the entire message. “I know the timing really sucked with the Angel stuff. I wanted you to know that the distant soulful-gazing thing is where we are now and probably the only place we’re going to be. Emphasis on the ‘distant.’” The creaking sound the phone always made when Buffy was pulling the phone cord too tight around her fingers. “I’m sorry it bothers you. I wish...” A swallow, like she was only just fighting off tears. “I want to see you.”
Beep.
“Hi Faith. Those assholes fired Giles because he was less than a complete bastard to me. Can we quit? Or maybe strike? I think we need some picket signs.” Faith smiled. She could practically see Buffy’s angry pout.
Beep.
There was a yawning sound. “On the off chance that you’re in town and conscious this morning, we’re having birthday-slash-life-affirming pancakes at my house. Mom’s even letting me put chocolate chips in mine.”
Beep.
“Faith...” More than in any other message, she could hear the pain in Buffy’s voice. “I miss you. Please.”
Silence.
Faith lay in the dark, staring up the ceiling, and tried to remember how angry she’d felt a week ago when she found out Buffy was hanging around Angel again. When Buffy’d called him her boyfriend. When Xander and Willow had been gossping about it, and she’d just wanted to scream at them that Buffy was with her. Hers. That she’d been in Buffy’s bed Christmas Day, and where the fuck had Angel been? When she’d felt cheap and stupid and shut out in the cold.
It wouldn’t come. Just the cold ache that had been eating her up for the last three nights. Stubborness kept her flat on her back and picking out patterns in the scraps of light on the ceiling for another twenty minutes before she gave up. “Fuck it,” she told the phone, and grabbed her jacket. Slammed the door on her way out, though - that was satisfying-ish.
She was used to the walk to Buffy’s place by now. Almost as used to the climb up the tree that led to B’s window. Nice, easy, familiar. It only hurt a little bit knowing it was Angel’s usual way in and out, too. She was used to hurting a little bit.
Five, six seconds to get the window open. Easy.
She landed lightly on her feet, bouncing a little, and walked over to the bed where Buffy was tucked in and looking ridiculously sweet and adorable. It made her want to do wonderfully naughty things to the blonde.
Ditching the jacket and boots, Faith tip-toed up to the bed and grabbed the comforter.
Only being alert and having really good dodging skills saved her from getting a new, extreme heart piercing. The quick sequence of determined anger, surprised terror, and annoyed relief on Buffy’s face made it worth it.
“Faith! God, don’t do that, I could have staked you.” Buffy sat up and shoved Mr. Pointy back under her pillow. Her arms lifted in a reflexive hug but then remembered that they were not on relational Easy Street and wound up awkwardly circling through the air. Faith laughed, very softly, and pressed Buffy into her arms tightly enough to make the other girl’s ribs creak.
“Oof.” Buffy smiled into Faith’s shoulder. “Can I consider this a make-up crushing?”
“Yeah. Guess so.” Faith’s hand tangled gently into the soft gold of Buffy’s hair, and her breath trembled in her chest as she drank in the bright sweet scent of her - printed it into her skin and her bones. Admitted to herself, even if it was silently, that she’d missed this. Missed it enough to come back, every time. She reached down and brushed the cut on Buffy’s forehead, then breathed out a little trembling sigh of a laugh. “You got into trouble without me, huh?”
“I did not get into trouble.” Buffy pulled back the comforter and patted the mattress in invitation. “The Watchers’ Counsil, with help from Giles, threw me and Mom headfirst into trouble.” A throwing gesture accompanied her rekindled anger. “You know, as a sort of Slayer SAT. They were awesomely condescending in congratulating my success.” She glared into the distance. “Those bastards are seriously lucky they’re on the other side of the Atlantic.”
“Motherfuckers,” Faith growled, and had to fight down the urge to jump to her feet and charge for the airport. She was going to find every last one of those wrinkled old sons of bitches and when she got her hands on them, she was going to....
“Careful there. Your homicidal rage is showing.” A gentle hand took Faith’s arm. Buffy turned the other Slayer to face her. “Yeah, we owe them a beat-down, but for now I think we can leave it at that.” The younger girl might have protested that, but the warm kiss that followed was much more effective at getting Faith’s mind off murder.
England was a long flight, anyway, and she knew how to wait.
Buffy shivered when Faith’s rough fingers brushed a bruise, and Faith felt her voice drop to a murmur that started somewhere down in the base of her chest. “Want me to kiss it and make it better, B?”
The blonde girl wrapped her fingers firmly in Faith’s shirt, pulled her down to the mattress and hissed in her ear, “I have a better idea.”
As it turned out, she did.