Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Fragments	By : neytirijade Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > FemmeSlash - Female/Female > Buffy/Faith Views: 5197 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. He also continues to get paid for it. I own a Washburn acoustic guitar and deathly adorable Pomeranian, and get paid through nothing but Social Security benefits.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Prompt #9: Anything

"Tell me something."
Dark eyes dart over to yours, and she crinkles her brow. "Huh?"
You shrug, laying on your side to face her. Any other time, you would have been hesitant to touch anything in the motel, much less lay on her bed. Not because of her. You just knew how rare it was to see a thoroughly clean motel room, especially among the cheaper ones.
But when you decided to stay with Faith and hang out- really, you're not sure why this was the first time- she jumped up to retrieve a plastic bag from the closet, and pulled out a crisp white bedspread to lay over the questionable motel linens where she had just been sitting. When you gave her a nod in thanks, she shrugged it off.
"I'm used to this kinda stuff," she commented, gesturing toward the squalor of the motel. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna make you deal with it though."
She laughed it off, and you smiled before joining her on the new spread.
You'd flicked through the small amount of watchable TV channels, both of you commenting on some of the programming. Once or twice, you had both paused, a flicker of interest in what was on the new channel. Faith stopped at Jerry Springer, and you both laughed and cringed watching two girls catfight over a guy. It surprised you when she flicked on the Discovery Channel; some program about indigenous tribes in the Amazon.
Again, she shrugs. "The whole living off the grid thing seems cool," she'd said. "Cool weapons and outfits, too."
When the Discovery Channel flickered until there was nothing left but static, she started scrolling through channels again. You were casting glances her way, still thinking about trying to get more out of her; you'd never really known much about the brunette next to you, and never really tried to. When she mentioned that she had experience in lower living conditions before the motel you sat in now, you remembered the other comments she'd make, here and there, about her life; you were slowly putting the pieces together, and saddened that she'd had such a rough start in life.
You wanted to know more about this dark beauty perched by your side, clad in leather with sanguine-tinted lips and dark shadowed eyes.
It was almost cute, her confusion when you decided to go for it. You get it was out of the blue, and a lot of people would react the same. But you just smile at her, getting comfy among the soft down comforter.
"I don't really know you," you say, praying you can slip past those walls that she shields herself behind, "I wanna change that, you know? I want to know more about you."
Her eyes darken a bit, and flick over to the TV before switching it off and looking back at you. "There's some things you prolly don't wanna know, B." She stops you as you begin protest. "You've had it pretty easy, and that's not your fault; but you're sweet, and a good person… People like you shouldn't have to find out about some of the awful things in the world, yunno?"
Faith moves to lay on her side as well, and you watch her quietly until she finally meets your eyes. You try to forget how her "sweet" comment awoke a few butterflies within you.
Holding her gaze, you touch her hand lightly. "I'm a Slayer, Faith. I know about the evil in the world; natural and supernatural."
She hesitates, looking over your face for a few short moments. You're almost certain what she's doing; "Why does she want to know? To make fun of me? To hold it against me?" And you try as hard as you can- a comforting caress to her fingers and a gentle look in your eyes- to make her understand you're the last person in the world who would steal her secrets from her, or exploit them for any reason.
Her eyes finally soften, and you can almost see one of those walls come down.
"What do you want to know?" Faith asks, quieter than you've ever heard her speak.
You smile at her. "Anything. Everything."
That night, you tried to keep it simple. Her favorite color is deep purple, and not black or red like you once may have guessed. She loves The Beatles; she wants to believe there is that kind of love and peace in the world, but it's hard for someone to believe it when they've never seen or felt it themselves.
You held her hand as she told you about Cera, a pit bull puppy she'd found on the streets and took care of for eight months. When Faith briefly explained that her mom was an alcoholic and drug addict, her eyes lowered and her voice got quiet again, so you cradled her hand in both of yours now. You gripped it tight and moved closer when she told you her mom was high as a kite one day, angry at Faith for some ridiculous reason and locked her in a closet for an entire night. It had been winter, and the ten year old version of the girl with you now had shivered through nearly 10 hours in the darkness. When she was let out, Faith went in search for Cera only to find her puppy's lifeless body on the front porch; left outside in the cold with nowhere else to go.
Her voice burned out by the end, and after you told her you were sorry about Cera- about going through something like that- you asked her what her favorite movie was.
As she told you about some action movie you'd never heard of, you decided not to let her tell you anything else painful unless she truly wanted to. She shouldn't have to relive those things because of you.
Every once in a while, you'd ask again. "Tell me something. Anything."

You were surprised when the reply letter arrived. You opened it with some hesitance, but couldn't help pouring over every word once it was unfolded.
B,
There's a girl here- drug charges I think- who has scars all over her. She made them herself.
By the time I was 13, I'd had sex more times than I can count. The psychologist here says it shouldn't be considered sex if it's nonconsensual.
I'd had dreams about you before I was called. That Master guy was fugly as hell.
I'm happy you're alive again, but I know something's up. That you're really not happy to be alive yourself. I'm sorry about that. Sorry you gotta come back to this fucked up world.
I miss the hell out of your mom. She was such a badass, and sweeter than candy. Guess I know where you got it from.
I miss you.
I'm sorry.
Faith
You cried that night. For Faith. For your mom. For your emptiness since you'd returned from the dead.
For missed chances and wasted opportunities with the girl who once stood by your side with a smirk, a stake and a whole lot of attitude; who now sat alone in a prison cell.

You smiled when you remembered. Taking a seat next to Faith- away from the bustle of the newly called Slayers- you turn to her.
"Tell me something."
Her eyes turn to you, almost in surprise. That you remembered, that you still wanted to know. She leans closer to you, and her hand brushes your cheek.
"I'll tell you anything, B."
She tells you more than she could ever say when her lips first meet yours.
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Fragments