This Is How It Goes

Willow stretched out an arm and took Buffy's hand in her own as she reached them, giving it a gentle squeeze. Buffy smiled weakly at her, the gentleness and compassion in her friend's face causing, for the first time tonight, an obstruction to form in her throat. Surrounded by people she loved, she could feel the diffusely numbing shock dissolving, could feel that expanding ball of emotions threatening to rise up, and she accepted it. She could deal with them now.

"He's gone?" Willow whispered, eyes crinkled in empathy.

"Yeah," Buffy responded quietly.

There was a moment of silence until, typically, Cordelia shattered it.

"Well, I for one vote to leave this crap-hole of a school and never look back," she said, crossing her arms, eyebrows arched in that somehow reassuringly snarky way.

"Second," Xander contributed, standing up, still holding a bandage to his forehead.

"Three years," Buffy said, remaining where she was. "Three years of imminent danger, averted apocalypses, and biology labs that were obviously devised by some Buffy-hating demon."

They followed her gaze, expressions resembling nostalgic, and then, as one, snorted, turned around and began walking away.

"God, how I'm not in any way gonna miss that place," Xander said vehemently, shaking his head. "Whose genius idea was it to build a place commonly associated with hell over hell itself?"

"I'm going with my Buffy-hating demon," Buffy responded.

"Right, because every problem in the world is actually part of a massive Buffy-hating conspiracy," Cordelia said sarcastically. "Center of the universe much?"

"And I think we should all take a moment to appreciate the marvelous concept of Cordy accusing someone else of self-centeredness," Xander threw in.

Cordelia smacked him lightly, but she was smiling. There was an air of exhausted triumph, the kind of delirious, inordinately relieved happiness that only comes from escaping a near-death experience. Buffy could feel a smile forming on her own face, watching them interact, feeling the monumental victory, and unable to actually muster the energy to be pissed off at Cordelia.

They walked over the grass away from the school, the rubble still gently smoldering. Buffy stopped abruptly, brow furrowed. Willow turned around with a quizzical look, her motion stopping the person her hand was attached to. Oz looked back as well.

"I think I'm gonna head over to the hospital," Buffy said quietly.

Willow's eyebrows creased in concern. "Are you hurt?" She began looking frantically over Buffy's body. "Is there internal bleeding that I can't see, and of course I couldn't see it 'cause it's internal, but Oz has a van and -"

Buffy shook her head, cutting off Willow's slightly panicked run-on sentence. "I — I just want to see her."

Willow exhaled, her expression smoothing out in relieved comprehension. "Oh," she said quietly, and smiled at her a little sheepishly. She watched as Buffy walked away from them.

Chapter 36: The Day Faith Wakes Up

Author's Notes: So, this is it. The ending. Conclusion. Finale. Bottom line. It has truly been a learning experience for me. Thanks so much to everyone who even briefly participated in this little excursion. Special thanks to those who reviewed. You guys kept me posting. And here it is. Will Faith ever wake up? Will Buffy have to carry out a relationship with a comatose ... oh. Maybe I should have named this chapter something a little less obvious. Hm.

The day Faith woke up, Buffy was helping Willow hang a Cibo Matto poster in their dorm room at UC Sunnydale. The windows were open in their room, a soft, balmy breeze blowing in and making it difficult to do anything remotely productive. Their things were scattered aimlessly around the room, boxes and suitcases stuffed with their possessions, and every time Buffy looked at them she had a sudden, burning desire to run outside and frolic. Decorating the walls was one thing, but engaging in genuinely responsible behavior was not on the menu today. Buffy had heard some pretty melodramatic horror stories about college dorms, but this, well, this was friggin' fantastic. Rooming with her best friend, closet space for her weapons' trunk, living in a building with the highest mortality rate on campus — really, what more could a girl want?

They were giggling helplessly, for no particular reason except for the nervous giddiness that inevitably accompanies a new environment. Buffy was smoothing out the poster and the Dingoes were playing in the background, Devon's deep, rock-god croon floating through the room. She still didn't understand how someone as dick-headed as Devon got to have a voice like that, but she supposed that was just the universe's sense of humor manifesting itself in strange ways. They were making fun of him and commenting on the profundity of Oz's guitar chords, conversation frequently dissolving into irrational, uncontrollable laughter.

The day Faith woke up, the hole inside Buffy's stomach that had appeared when Angel left and Faith took up residence in a hospital bed — well, it wasn't quite as unbearable as it usually was. She felt like at least half of her summer had been spent beside Faith's vulnerable, small form, sitting in that horrendously uncomfortable chair that smelled vaguely of disinfectant and staring at those diplomatically off-white walls. She had sat there, sometimes tracing the lines on Faith's pallid face, sometimes whispering things to her, sometimes simply staring at her with every molecule in her entire being willing her to wake up. Faith was strong, Buffy knew. But she didn't know where Faith was putting her strength, what course she was pursuing. Pretty sure there's more than one way this can go, she heard Faith's softly resigned voice saying. She knew Faith didn't like to surrender, but she liked to have things on her own terms. And she didn't know what those terms were.

The day Faith woke up, Buffy and Willow stepped back, tilting their heads and staring quizzically at the poster's utter lack-of-straightness.

"Cibo Matto's a bunch of rebels, anyway," Buffy rationalized, brow furrowed. "I'm sure they'd appreciate our refreshing take on the concept of horizontalness."

Willow tilted her head more, examining it. "It looks straight if you do this."

They stood with their necks bent at unnatural angles, Buffy feeling like she was about to surrender to another round of hysterical giggling, when a shrill ringing sounded throughout the room. Their heads swiveled around quickly, Buffy jumping a little at the unfamiliar noise. They had just connected the phone that morning and it was, under extreme levels of persuasion by Buffy, a hideous pink color that made Willow wince every time she looked at it. They focused on it and then exchanged a happy glance.

"Our first communication with the outside world," Buffy said in a high-pitched, excited voice. "This is momentous."

She walked over to it, steps a little bouncier in the face of technological progress.

"Hello, you've reached Buffy and Willow's humble abode," she said brightly, picking up the phone. "How may we help you?"

"Buffy -" Giles began.

"Giles!" she interrupted loudly, looking at Willow and gesturing wildly. "You called!"

"Yes, uh, obviously. I need to -"

"Willow's here too. We're decorating our room. I think we're trying to go for a more relaxed femininity, you know? Nothing too glittery or pink — well, except for the phone, which you really should see 'cause it's wonder -"

"Buffy!" Giles cut her off. She stopped talking, frowning and finally absorbing the level of urgent seriousness in his voice. "It's Faith," he said, more quietly, and Buffy's overexcited brain froze. "She's awake."

Buffy stood holding the phone in limp hands, Giles' words sinking into her. Faith. Awake. Her breath was suddenly loud in her hears, her heart skittering erratically against her chest. She was experiencing a curious sensation of sharpening, of everything becoming bright and focused.

"Is he dissing our phone?" Willow asked curiously.

~ — ~ — ~

Buffy sat in the back of Giles' shitty little car, hands clasped and twitching. She felt like she couldn't sit still. Her stomach had decided to mimic a two-year old with ADHD and was currently running around frantically. Faith. Awake. It still hadn't properly sunk in. It wasn't as if she hadn't imagined this moment every day for the past three months, but she hadn't thought it would be quite so ... anticlimactic. She thought it would happen as she was holding onto Faith's weak, cold hand, whispering "Wake up, you asshole," over and over again. She thought it would be the sort of perfectly-timed, Hollywood reconciliation. But, no, of course Faith had to take her sweet, precious time.

And the weirdest thing about it? The one, overwhelmingly dominant emotion she was feeling? Nervousness. Sure, there was happiness and a strange uncertain sadness and scorching anger, but the one prominent emotion? Your basic, mundane performance anxiety. She was nervous about seeing Faith again. What would they say? Could she go sit in that sickeningly familiar chair, look in those deep, chocolate eyes that she had been dreaming about for months, and say, "Gee, thanks for almost sacrificing yourself to save my vampire ex-lover, and I know there was that whole debacle with demon possession, but could we maybe go steady again?" Would Faith still even want her?

Buffy felt a hand descend on her shoulder and jumped. Willow removed her hand, unsurprised at Buffy's startled reaction, and peered at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. Buffy saw Giles turn his neck slightly, listening to them.

Buffy inhaled and ran a hand through her hair. "Let me get back to you on that," she muttered. She shook her head, said, "I've been thinking about this moment since graduation, and now ... now I don't know what to do with myself."

"Well — and this is only my humble opinion," Willow said, putting her hand on her own chest, "I think you should walk in there and say, 'I'm glad you're not in a coma any more.' Direct, to the point, simple."

Buffy sighed, brow creased. "Is it really?" she asked quietly.

Willow frowned. "Uh ... translation?"

"Is it really that simple?"

Willow smiled a little. "Let's find out."

When Giles pulled into the hospital parking lot, Buffy was biting the inside of her mouth, jaw working. She stepped out of the car, went through the sliding hospital doors and didn't even really register her surroundings until she was directly outside of Faith's room. God, she hated this place. The smell, the walls, the cold, shiny floor, the twist she got in her stomach the moment she stepped inside. She had come here because seeing Faith trumped the hospital's unpleasantness, but she still absolutely loathed it. It was a place of sickness, of death and helplessness, of everything she hated and shied away from. Most of all, it felt like a conclusion, like finality. People came here — Faith came here — to die. Except she didn't. She was alive. Buffy's heart thumped, and she imagined Faith's thumping along with it.

She stopped outside of the doorway and turned to see Giles and Willow standing behind her, watching her. She swallowed, drew courage from their supportive, empathetic gazes, and stepped through the doorway.

Faith was lying on the bed, same pale, hospital garb, same limp, supine position, same facial expression. Her eyes were closed and the first thing Buffy felt was a rush of weakening fear. Oh God, she wasn't awake. They had made a mistake, or lied, or gotten it completely wrong. Buffy took a step forward, her throat closing up in pure panic, and Faith opened her eyes.

Buffy froze, inhaling sharply. They stared at each other for a couple moments in silence, just absorbing each other. It was recognition and awe and re-discovery. Buffy looked into Faith's eyes, looked into that soft, enveloping brown, and fell in love all over again.

"Buffy?" Faith whispered finally, her voice hoarse and unused. She was looking at her like she wasn't sure if she was actually real.

And something happened to Buffy that hadn't happened the entire summer. She started crying. Something inside of her collapsed and she started crying. She hadn't let herself truly cry, let go, for the past three months. Not even after the Mayor, not even when everything in her body was aching for emotional catharsis. Not when she was sitting beside Faith's comatose form, wringing her hands and staring at her with the kind of intensity gamblers stare at slot machines with. She took every urge to break down and squashed them until they were under layers and layers of suppression and self-deprecation. She didn't cry because she didn't think she deserved to. Angel, Faith, all the people she loved — she hurt them, drove them away. She did it. Everything came down to her own actions, to her own failures. So Faith opened her eyes and Buffy started crying, not realizing she hadn't or why until tears were sliding down her cheeks.

She held a hand to her mouth and stood there, sobbing, breath coming in short, uncontrollable pants, shoulders heaving. She felt like she was being turned inside out. She was crying because it was salvageable. Because, just this once, she hadn't utterly ruined it. Because Faith was alive and she was so happy and relieved she could hardly breathe. Faith's expression changed to painful bewilderment.

"Buffy," Faith croaked. "B ... don't cry. Please."

Faith pushed herself up, grimacing a little, and swung her legs onto the floor, flinging the sheets away. She stood up and Buffy saw that she didn't even shake. She walked over swiftly, purposefully, not stopping until she was inches away. Faith didn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around Buffy and pulling her firmly towards her, covering her, creating something warm and safe around them. Buffy felt her arms snake around the other girl on their own volition, tightening around her waist and back, feeling bones protruding where there was muscle and skin before, feeling how Faith had shrunk. She pressed her face into Faith's shoulder and cried at feeling her again. At feeling her warm and alive and here. Buffy became aware of all of the minute sensations filtering through her, of Faith's rhythmic, rapid heartbeat, of the rustling of her paper-thin hospital robe as she moved her hands, of the sharpness of her shoulder blades under her fingertips, and of the trembling exhalations coming from her own mouth.

She drew back after several moments, after her crying had dissolved into sniffles and shaky breaths. Faith looked at her with bright eyes, slowly moving her hand to stroke the blonde's hair.

"I missed you so much," Buffy whispered.

Faith smiled a small, reluctant smile. There was an undercurrent of sadness in her expression. "I missed you, too," she said hoarsely. They were only inches away. There was a moment where Buffy unthinkingly leaned in, wanting that warmth she had been denied for months, and Faith inhaled sharply and stepped back.