This Is How It Goes

Faith's brow furrowed, but she followed her gaze and her face softened.

"I'm pretty sure I should be given a medal for having that entire conversation and not checking out your very obvious nudity once," Buffy said quietly.

Faith didn't answer, wasn't ready to come back to the reality of the situation. Buffy grasped her hand, led her over to the bed, pulled back the covers, and lay both of them down softly. She pressed herself up against Faith's back, molding to her body, wrapping her arms around her stomach and tried to make something warm and safe and impenetrable around them. Faith leaned back into her and exhaled deeply, shakily.

If Buffy hadn't been feeling the periodical clench and flutter of Faith's stomach muscles, she wouldn't have even known the other Slayer was crying silently.

Chapter 22: Connecting Lines

Author's Notes: First, thanks so much for all the positive reviews. I'm glad you guys enjoyed that chapter. Second, sorry for the slightly belated update. I'm in the middle of a road trip and internet is rather scarce. I'm posting quickly while I still have it. The update after this should come in the next few days, though. Hopefully.

She woke up to feel herself curled around Faith, body pressed to her back, the other Slayer's arms holding onto hers tightly. Everything was warm and pliant and soft, and Buffy sank into her and Faith like a hot bath. Sunlight was streaming into the room, making patterns on the covers and playing on Faith's bare arms. Her tattoo looked multi-colored, parts of it faded in the light.

Buffy didn't know what time it was, but it looked as if morning had passed. She felt the ineluctable tug of Slayer responsibilities, remembered the Mayor's box. God, how she wanted to just stay here, to forget the fact that someone was trying to destroy the town (again), to forget the blood on her hands and the body on the docks. She wanted to slip into their own enclosed bubble and never come out. She kissed Faith's shoulder softly, inhaled their scents deeply, and pressed in closer to her.

She felt Faith's breathing changing, quicken as she woke. She felt one of Faith's hands move to Buffy's hips, tugging them closer, the other grasping Buffy's forearm to her stomach. It was so unlike Faith to openly, unreservedly accept the comfort Buffy offered, to want to be close to her in a non-sexual way that Buffy's chest tightened with a painful tenderness. It was easy to forget what Faith truly was, to buy into that carefully cultivated image and forget how young, how vulnerable she was. Wrapped around her, Faith felt small, fragile, and Buffy experienced a powerful rush of protectiveness.

"What time is it?" Faith asked in a quiet, hoarse voice. Buffy couldn't see her face.

"Afternoon, I think," she answered.

Buffy felt the other Slayer tense in her arms. "Gotta face the firing squad eventually, right?" Faith asked softly. Her voice held a resigned sadness, a tight bitterness.

"We don't have to go right now. We could, you know, stay here for a little while," Buffy said, and tried not to sound plaintive.

Faith sighed deeply. "No, we can't. 'Cause if I stay here with you for another five minutes, I'm saying 'fuck it all' and never getting up again."

Faith gently extricated herself from Buffy's grasp and swung her feet down to the floor. Buffy felt the removal of contact sharply, and actively stopped herself from reaching out again, pulling her back in. Faith sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, her back rising and falling with deep breaths, and then stood up and groaned.

"Jesus Christ, B," she gasped, rubbing her shoulder and moving her jaw around. "You hit like a Mack truck."

Buffy sat up, cringing as well, and saw the mass of bruises on Faith's body, ugly splatters of black and blue on her legs, arms, and shoulders. Faith turned around to give her a dirty look and revealed the additional bruises on her face, the hickies on her neck.

"Oh," Buffy said quietly, guiltily. "Uh — that wasn't entirely my fault."

"Yeah, well, I also got my brains fucked out against a wall, so not really complaining." Buffy blushed. "'Sides, you look like a quilt knit by sadistic old ladies," Faith said, smirking a little.

Buffy's expression became horrified as she scrambled out the bed inelegantly and ran into the bathroom.

"Oh, God," she wailed as she saw the collection of purple covering her face. "That's — that's perfect. And with my hair, just completes the 'I got beat up and died in a dumpster' image."

Buffy walked out of the bathroom, looking petulant, and stopped, feeling a rush of fear, as she saw Faith rifling through the worn leather bag on the floor.

Faith was frowning as she rummaged through the bag, but her face smoothed as she looked up and saw Buffy's anxiety. "Don't worry, B. Not going anywhere," she said firmly, and dumped a pile of clothes out on the floor. "Just trying to find some underwear that isn't in little pieces."

"Oh," Buffy said again, quietly. The flood of worry faded a little, replaced by awkward guilt as she saw the underwear in question littering the floor in several different places.

Faith pulled on (intact) panties and jeans, and then picked up her belt from the floor and began buckling it. Buffy watched her silently, a multitude of thoughts and emotions whirling through her.

"Are you staying?" Buffy asked abruptly, quietly. She wanted to touch her again, to make sure she was still here.

Faith raised her head sharply. There were several moments of silence, the two Slayers simply gazing at each other. Something roiling and chaotic was progressing in Buffy's stomach.

"Yeah, B, I'm staying," Faith said shortly, finally. Her eyes looked incongruously soft in the tightness of her face.

Buffy smiled and walked over to help Faith put her clothes back in her dresser.

~ — ~ — ~

Angel was sitting on the worn, red couch in the mansion, engrossed in a book, when Faith walked in. Her pace was quick, controlled, nothing like the easy, arrogant saunter she usually used. He glanced up, and his expression of expectant hope transformed into mild shock.

"Faith?" he asked uncertainly.

"Angel," she said shortly. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed, her body tight and anxious. Her eyes flicked randomly around the room, sliding across Angel's face and lighting on the jagged marks on the walls.

He stood up slowly, unthreateningly, looking at her closely, and put the book down.

"What — what happened?" Angel asked, gesturing at her bruised face. It had been a day or so, and the bruises had taken on that sickly, yellow, in-the-process-of-healing color.

"Uh, B and me, we kinda had a disagreement," Faith responded uncomfortably.

"Over who could be beaten unconscious first?" Angel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Somethin' like that," she replied shortly.

"Is she here with you?" Angel asked, brow furrowed, and she jerked her head. "Then, uh, is there something I can help you with?"

Faith didn't answer him for several moments, shifting her weight awkwardly. "I'm not really sure why I'm here," she said rigidly. "I just — I don't really have anyone else to talk to about this shit."

"We — we're not — this isn't going to be some awkward relationship question about Buffy, right?" Angel asked, slight panic coloring his voice.

"No. I mean, she's involved, but this ain't about her," Faith responded. She began pacing quietly. "I don't know how — did you hear what happened?"

Angel shook his head, confused.

"There was ... an accident. During our fight. I — uh, I killed someone. A guy," she said, her voice uneven.

Angel stared at her closely for several moments, his face smoothing in comprehension. He put his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed. "And I'm the only murderer you know."

Faith met his eyes directly for the first time. "Yeah," she nodded. "Although, I was gonna use a nicer term, something like 'life-taker, heart-breaker.'"

Neither of them smiled. "What did you want to know?" he asked, moving slightly closer.

Faith let out a sardonic half-snort, half-laugh. "Gosh, I don't know. When do I stop seeing him every time I try to sleep? How do I look Buffy in the face? Why do my hands shake when I'm alone?" Her voice was loud, bitter, and then nakedly desperate.

He shook his head. "Faith, I — I can't answer those things."

"Why the hell not?" she asked quickly, her body language shifting to something more aggressive.

"It's not my -" he began, but Faith cut him off.

"What, your place? This conversation make you uncomfortable, Angel? Do you not wanna talk about all the people you've killed?" Her voice was harsh, scornful.

Angel looked at her steadily, his expression unchanging in the face of her vitriol. Faith closed her eyes, shook her head violently. "I'm sorry. I — I didn't mean that. Everything's ... fucked up right now."

He moved another step closer. "Faith, I can't answer those things because I don't know," Angel said, his voice deep and firm. "You're not like me. I killed without remorse for hundreds of years. Did things to men, women, children that you can't imagine." Faith's body was taut, humming at his words. "I will never stop repaying for my crimes. I will never not see those faces. But, you," he said softly, and moved so that he was only feet away from her. "You didn't murder, Faith. You made a mistake."

"A mistake?" she asked incredulously, snapping her head up to reveal blazing eyes. "A mistake is calling out some random chick's name during sex. It's — it's picking up Pepsi instead of Coke at the grocery store. It ain't supposed to have a body count," Faith said vehemently, her voice breaking. She sneered at him. "How do you even know it was a mistake, huh, dead-boy?"

"Because of how it's tearing you up," Angel responded shortly.

Faith looked at him silently, her eyes holding something jaggedly painful and unstable.

"You make mistakes, Faith. You're fallible. You're only human."

"Am I?" she asked him, eyes narrowing. "Human beings punch through brick walls?"

Angel didn't answer and Faith continued rigidly. "You know for sure, Angel? You know for sure that B and me, we don't have some demon parts? 'Cause, unless all teenage girls got a hidden homicidal urge and can bench-press 650, there's gotta be something not entirely normal with us."

He stared at her intently, appraisingly. "Would that change anything?" he asked abruptly. "Would being inhuman make what you did better or worse?"

Faith blinked, shook her head. "Shit, I don't know." She ran her hands through her hair, shoulders slumping. Started pacing, muscles twitching frenetically, opening her mouth and closing it, trying to prepare for saying something.

"It's — just — when I killed him, there was a split second where I ... I felt ... good. Powerful." She let out a strangled half-laugh, half-sob, not even looking at him. "It makes me wanna throw up. And it makes me think that I'd at least have ... a reason. If there was something demon in me." Faith raised her head, stared at him desperately. "'Cause, otherwise, it's just me. Getting off on sick fucking things."

Angel looked at her with his brow furrowed, but his eyes were soft and understanding.

"I can't — I don't even wanna be around B. She's a goddam genuine hero, you know? She belongs on that fucking pedestal," Faith said, and another emotion entered her voice when she talked about Buffy, a tenderness. "And sometimes I don't think I deserve to even be talking to her, and other times, I just wanna drag her down, to my level."

Pacing continued. Angel was still watching her.

"Part of me hates how perfect she is, how controlled and noble and perfect. 'Cause I'm never living up to that, and it kills me every day that I see her. And part of me wants to lock her up in some protective cage," she clenched her hands, "you know, and make sure she never changes. That she's always that golden girl. 'Cause that's how I love her," Faith said the last part so quietly that Angel wouldn't have been able to pick up on it with human hearing.

Faith stopped talking and pacing. She stood with her back to Angel, her head down, her eyes screwed shut. He could see her take deep, steadying breaths, trying to repress the shaking in her voice, in her body.

"Such a fuck-up," Faith said brokenly, quietly.

Angel walked up to her, put his hand gently on her shoulder. She didn't turn around.

"I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this shit," Faith said, her voice holding a measure of bitter amusement. She surreptitiously wiped her palm across her cheeks.

"Maybe because I'm the only semi-human in Sunnydale who's dated Buffy and killed people. And those are pretty specific qualifications," Angel responded softly. He grasped her shoulders, gently turned her around. Faith's face was a mass of tight lines.

"I know how you're feeling, Faith. He died, and something inside you felt high with it. That you could just end an entire life, an existence, with your hands. It makes you feel like a god." His voice grew rougher, saturated with a deep understanding. His eyes weren't looking at her, lost in a distant, painful memory. "But the feeling isn't what's important, Faith," Angel said, snapping his eyes back to the Slayer. "What's important is how you deal with it. That you acknowledge it and not get sucked into it, not drown in it. Move on to what you're supposed to be doing."

"And what am I supposed to be doing, huh?" Faith asked aggressively, sneering slightly.

"Being a Slayer," Angel said shortly. "Being there for Buffy. She needs you, more than you know."

Faith's face loosened at his words. They stood there, feet apart, looking at each other, and found common ground, connecting lines between them.

"That man's face is going to be with you for a long time, Faith," Angel said softly, still grasping her shoulder. "And you know why? Because you're a good person."

"No, I'm not," Faith responded quietly, shaking her head. "I'm a fucking asshole. But, when I'm with her, I don't feel like it." She paused, seemed to reflect on what she had just said, and frowned. "Or, I feel like more of a fucking asshole. Depends on the day, you know?"

Angel gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, I know."

Faith raised her eyes sharply. "Guess you do," she said softly, looking at him intently. "Maybe we do have some shit in common after all, big guy."

He continued to smile gently at her.

Faith cocked her head, looked at him appraisingly. "You know, if I didn't have some snarky little blonde waiting for me, and if you weren't B's ex and I didn't hate you on principle, I might be trying to hit that." There was a small smirk on her face.

Angel looked taken aback for several moments, and then laughed lightly. "I'm going to ignore all those 'if's' in front of that and take it as a compliment."