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thisyearsgirl3 · 7 months

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98 + Fuffy

This one ended up being a bit longer than I was aiming for, sorry. A few years post-canon (but mostly canon compliant, except that I ignore the comics and that perhaps some people who die in Chosen or the final season of Angel are still alive here). Buffy POV.

Years later, she still has nightmares.

Bad ones: the kind that ... well, she's sat through enough college psychology classes in her life to recognize one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. And she was an active Slayer for almost eight years, after all. She fought ancient demons and gods and monsters; she risked her life pretty much every night. She saw friends die. Died twice herself. No wonder she’s still a little messed up.

But knowing why they’re happening doesn't ever seem to help. She still wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a minute -- or five minutes, or an hour -- she's just a scared little kid again, too afraid of the things that go bump in the dark to lie down and go back to sleep. Terrified by the weight of everything the world wants her to do. By the thought of having to be the Chosen One again.

Dawn's always telling her she should talk to somebody about them. An expert, she means. A specialist.

But -- even if it wasn't ever real -- her false memory of that time in a clinic when she was younger is too strong. She doesn't want to go back there. Not ever. Or to go anywhere even a little bit like it. She doesn't want to be a freak in somebody's lab -- poked and prodded and tested and restrained. She just wants to be herself. She just wants to be Buffy.

So she still has nightmares. Sometimes she dies: drowning alone in the dark, unable to move or cry for help; tumbling from a tower in the sky; not strong enough to drag herself out of the grave before the dead soil fills her lungs and she suffocates below the ground. And sometimes she doesn't die. Sometimes the dreams are much worse than that.

The thing is, they never seem to happen when she expects. Never when it feels like they should. Significant milestones come and go without even a bad dream -- she’d slept right through the anniversary of that last, desperate fight under Sunnydale, not even waking up once -- and then other times, without warning, she'll spend a whole week unable to sleep at all, or waking up shaking and sweating every time she tries.

It all started after she decided to step back from the Slayer Organization she'd helped set up. Half a year in charge of that was enough, she'd told herself. Living out in some remote castle in Scotland, cut off from the normal world ... that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore. That wasn’t what she’d been hoping for when she said goodbye to Sunnydale. She wasn't the one and only Chosen One any more, after all. Maybe it was time to stop pretending. Maybe it was time to grow up.

So they'd held a vote on who would replace her, made it all official. And then, when it was over – and after she'd congratulated Kennedy as sincerely as she could manage -- she'd packed her things up and moved back to California. Northern California though, this time. San Francisco. SoCal still had a few too many unpleasant memories (the bits of it that weren’t literally underground these days).

Once she’d arrived, she'd settled into that normal life she'd always told herself she wanted. Went back to college. Signed up to be an English major. Bought a house, with some of the old Watcher’s Council money that GIles had passed on to her. She'd even gotten married, a couple of months ago, just a little while after graduating, however unreal that still feels. Willow's been telling her she should look into grad school, but she’s not sure whether she wants to follow in her younger sister’s footsteps quite so soon.

So, yeah, everything's been going really well.

Except that, after a few months, the nightmares had started.

That's why at 3 AM she finds herself downstairs in the kitchen, pretending to read a book, wondering if it would be a bad idea to go out for a run. This is a pretty safe neighborhood, but still, she might get lucky. Something supernatural out there might be too stupid to stay away.

If she’d thought it would help, she’d be out there already. But would it? She doesn't really know. She doesn't know what to do.

And while she’s deliberating, a creaking floorboard reminds her that she's not alone.

"Hey, B," a familiar voice says sleepily. "What's up?"

Buffy had never asked Faith to come with her when she left Scotland. Actually, she'd kind of assumed she was leaving the Slayer Organization in Faith’s more than capable hands: the girls all still loved her, after all, all idolized her in a way they'd never quite seemed to treat Buffy herself. (The same way she remembers Dawn treating her, the first few months after Faith arrived in Sunnydale, even if intellectually she knows that that’s not what really happened.) She'd assumed it would be Faith, not Kennedy, who would be replacing her as leader. Right up until the point she told Faith about her plan to go back to the States, and the other Slayer had just nodded and asked her when they were leaving and whether she’d already booked a flight. Like it wasn't even a question whether she'd be coming with her.

She'd stuck with Buffy for four years since. Not always sharing the same house, but always close by. She’d listened to her complain about her course load, or bad professors, or unfairly difficult exams, or let her rave and enthuse about analysis of poems or novels which she isn't sure Faith has ever read. It’s been good – really good, better than Buffy had expected – to have a familiar face around. To not be doing this all by herself. It’s been good for her to have Faith.

(The two of them are still going patrolling together most nights too, however retired they might be officially. She thinks that that's an itch that never really goes away for anyone. Though there weren’t many active vamps in the Bay Area even when she’d first arrived, and these days there are barely any.)

Faith’s stuck by Buffy for almost as long as anyone. And now she's here with Buffy in the middle of the night, wearing a pair of Buffy's old pajamas and a concerned look on her face, and Buffy can't even bring herself to face her.

"Glory again?" Faith guesses.

Buffy shakes her head, wordlessly. Keeps her eyes glued to the book she isn’t reading.

It's true that those are some of the worst of the recurring nightmares. Everything about that year is painful, and worse in the dreams. Dropping out of college, or being found out as a total academic fraud, as somebody who shouldn't even have been let into college in the first place. Losing her Mom, again and again, for different reasons every time. Not being able to save Dawn, or not being able to want to save Dawn. Watching her fall, or forgetting her entirely: stumbling across her broken body lying on the ground and only seeing a stranger. Thinking that she'd always been an only child and always would be. Sometimes, in those dreams, it's almost comforting when the world drifts inexorably into hell.

But those aren't the dreams she's been having lately. That's not what's keeping her from sleeping. It’s Faith. That’s who she’s been dreaming about. That’s why she can’t sleep.

"I killed you," she mumbles, putting the book down but still not quite able to make eye contact.

It all feels so real, even now. Even with Faith – the real Faith, not a dream – sitting only a couple of feet away from her, patiently waiting for her to explain.

"We were fighting, just like we ... before," she goes on. "Just before graduation. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop. And when I ... at the end, you didn't fall. I stabbed you, and you bled to death in my arms. I killed you."

The other woman shakes her head.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm tougher than I look," Faith says. "Haven't even died once, unlike some Slayers I could mention. And lucky for me, all the cool chicks dig scars."

She pulls her pajama top up slightly to demonstrate. There’s still a pale scar there, yes, even after all this time. Proof of what Buffy had done: not just in a dream, but in real life. Something she’ll never be able to undo. She reaches out, just for a second, as if she was going to touch it. To trace the faint mark she’d left across her fellow Slayer’s skin.

"Did ... does it hurt?"

It's not the first time she's asked the question. Guesses that it won't be the last.

"Sometimes," Faith admits. "A little."

She used to pretend that it didn't, Buffy remembers. But they’re more honest with each other these days. They’ve had to be.

"You shouldn't be beating yourself about this, B," Faith says carefully, sitting down next to her. "It was a long time ago, and you did what you had to do. Like you said back then, I'd have done the same if I had the chance. Hell, I did a lot worse. I think we both know that I’m the one who should be apologizing"

Buffy remembers. How powerless she’d felt, how violated, how justified she’d felt in her rage afterwards. But she’d thrown the first stone, hadn’t she? She’d crossed the invisible line first. And in truth, when she thinks about things she’s sorry for doing to Faith, the scar is only the start of it.

"It's not just the fight," Buffy admits. "It's … it’s everything about that year. I could have ... I should have done so much more for you. But I never knew how scared you were. I never realized that you were so alone. I think … I think I didn’t want to see it."

Faith frowns. Gets that look in her eyes that Buffy knows means she’s fighting down the urge to say something impulsive.

"I was scared," the other Slayer admits, slowly. "You’re right. And angry. All the time. And a little bit crazy too, I think, at least towards the end. But I don't think you could've talked me out of it. Not you, not anyone. None of it was ever your fault. I think I had to figure that stuff out on my own. Had to be honest with myself about what I felt, and what I could do about it."

"I should have tried harder," Buffy says stubbornly, not wanting to let this go. Because arguing with Faith, fighting with her – that’s always been easier, hasn’t it? That’s always been something she could do.

She’d had a whole life of her own, back then. A mom, and a sister, and a big house. She could have tried to share it with her. That would have been better, wouldn’t it? But she hadn’t wanted to share. She’d refused. That was what she’d told her Mom, the very first night Faith came for dinner. That Faith trying to spend time with her was creepy.

(That was one of the only nights that Faith had ever come for dinner, she realizes now.)

"You did try, Buffy," Faith says firmly. "You were the only one who ever did. You were the first person in my life who ever tried to look out for me, even after everything I did. I'm not ever going to forget that, and you shouldn’t either."

Part of Buffy wants to believe that. She does. And she knows her friends would all agree. Vocally, some of them. But it’s too easy though, isn’t it? Too convenient. To make excuses, to find reasons why you didn’t have to help. To make yourself seem better than you ever really were.

“You came to Sunnydale looking for me,” Buffy says, putting her hand on the table, brushing against Faith’s. “You wanted to be with me. And I tried to murder you.”

They’d never talked about it at the time, not openly. But looking back, she must have seen it, mustn’t she? How much time Faith wanted to spend with her, how little she cared about anyone or anything else. How pleased she’d been when Scott Hope dumped her, how furious she’d been when she found out about Angel later. How could Buffy not have seen what was right in front of her, unless she was trying to ignore it?

"You did what you had to do," Faith tells her again, more firmly this time. She rests her other hand on Buffy’s. Squeezes it lightly, just for a second.

Buffy sighs.

"You always say that," she says, trying not to sound like she’s complaining.

"Always will," Faith nods equably. "Because it's the truth."

Buffy shakes her head.

"God, Faith, you were just a kid. If I--"

"So were you, B,” Faith says. “We all were."

She pauses, looks a little uncomfortable.

“Look, Buffy,” she says, “I dunno if it helps at all, but when I was in prison, the shrink we had at group sessions used to tell us that an apology had to convince two people. The person you’d wronged, and the person you wanted to become. So, uh.”

Buffy listens. Tries to be patient. Willow had pulled some tricks after Sunnydale – a bit of magic, a little old-fashioned hacking – and these days nobody seemed to remember that Faith was supposed to be behind bars. But Faith remembers, she knows that, and she knows how hard it is for her to talk about that part of her life.

“He used to have us write them down,” Faith adds. “I guess there are a lot of unsent letters to you back in the big house that I forgot to take with me when I split. None of them were ever good enough anyway. We were meant to write them down, and then try to imagine how the people we were going to write to might reply. Try to put ourselves in their shoes, I mean.”

Faith fidgets a little in her chair, as though she’s having second thoughts about this speech. Or maybe because putting herself in Buffy’s shoes was a large part of why she’d ended up in prison in the first place.

“The point is … maybe that’s stupid. Maybe it was only ever a way to get some of us to shut up for a few minutes. But I thought maybe we could try it. Only, instead of you having to imagine how I’d respond, you could just listen to me. Maybe copy what I said. Say it yourself.”

Buffy nods slowly. Faith was right: it does sound a little stupid. But at the same time, she guesses it can’t hurt. She manages a weak smile. Nods her approval. Waits for Faith to tell her when to start.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you more, when we were both kids, Faith,” she says, when the other Slayer gives her the signal. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you into more of my life. I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I hear you, B,” Faith says seriously, brown eyes focused on her. Gestures for her to repeat it, to keep echoing her as she continues. “I get what you’re saying. And I forgive you. I know you helped me as much as you could. More than anyone else. Way more. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I could have been happy back then unless I was the only person in your life, the way you were for me. Unless you gave up on your mom and your Watcher and all your other friends. And that wasn’t ever fair to ask of you. That wouldn’t have been healthy, for either of us.”

Faith pauses, face serious, waiting for her to finish repeating that all back to her. Leans in a little closer, like she’s sharing a secret.

“Plus,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, “You kind of looked amazing when you stabbed me. Total smokeshow.”

“Faith!” Buffy protests, feeling herself starting to blush the way she had when she was younger. “I am not repeating that.”

Faith smirks, and Buffy lets herself think. it still seems kind of stupid, even without that last part.. She’s not naive enough to think it will fix everything. But at the same time, she thinks that maybe it was useful. A little bit, anyway.

“Thank you,” she says. “That helped.”

For a minute neither of them says anything. The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock over the kitchen table. Faith still hasn’t let go of her hand.

"Still … if I could go back and change things, I would," Buffy admits. "Back to the beginning, I mean. I wish that I--"

She doesn't finish the sentence. You don't spend years of your life in touch with Anya, on-again and off-again vengeance demon, without realizing it might not be a good idea to make open-ended world-changing wishes out loud in the middle of the night. (She thinks Anya’s mostly human these days, but it’s hard to keep track. Maybe she should write more.)

"It … uh. It hasn't been all bad, has it Buffy?" Faith asks her, suddenly sounding almost nervous. "There's some things you wouldn't change, right?"

She’s looking at one of the rings she’s wearing, Buffy sees, on the hand that’s resting on top of her own. A silver one.

Faith's always loved wearing rings. Has done ever since Buffy met her. She’s got a whole collection of them. This one is a little different though. Brand new, something Faith’s been wearing all the time for weeks now. This one Buffy helped pick out herself; a perfect match to the ring she's wearing on her own hand. It turned out Faith was a bit of a traditionalist that way.

"You wouldn't change this, would you, B?" Faith repeats softly, staring down at the ring on her left hand.

"You know I wouldn't," Buffy says firmly. "That goes without saying."

She pauses. Faith’s looking at her expectantly. Waiting for her to take the lead.

"But you want me to say it anyway, huh," Buffy realizes.

Well, she can do that. She guesses it’s her turn to be the one doing the reassuring anyway. Buffy steps up, leans in, wraps her arms around the other Slayer and kisses her softly on the forehead the way she knows she likes. Feels Faith shiver slightly under her touch, leaning into it the way she always does. Remembers suddenly just how thin those pajamas are; how little Faith is wearing underneath.

"I've made a lot of decisions in my life that I regret," Buffy says softly, "But you, Mrs. Summers, are not one of them."

Faith was a bit of an unexpected traditionalist about that as well. Buffy had been all for both of them keeping their names, or hyphenating them, sharing them, but the other Slayer had insisted. Had, finally, admitted that she just didn't like her old last name at all, that there was a reason she'd never used back in Sunnydale, why it had taken Buffy so long to even learn what it was. "Faith Summers, though,” the other woman had said quietly, "I think that's a name I could be proud of. That's someone I'd like to be."

The ceremony itself, back in June, had been a pretty small affair.

They’d only allowed themselves a handful of guests each. Willow and Kennedy; Xander and Andrew; Dawn and Amanda. Faith had spent weeks threatening to invite Angel to play the part of her best man – especially once she realized just how mortifying Buffy found the prospect – but in the end she'd opted to be merciful and just invited Gunn and Fred and Wesley up from LA, plus Robin from wherever he called home these days. Buffy has a feeling neither Angel or Spike minded missing out on this experience.

And Giles had been there too, flying out of England for the first time in almost two years. She'd been so pleased he could make it. It was a little bit like ... well. He was family, wasn’t he?

"Your mother would have been very proud of you today," he'd told her at the airport, when she’d rushed up to meet him and totally embarrassed him with a hug. "Proud of you both. As am I. But then, I hope you already knew that."

And then – because of course nothing could go smoothly for long – they'd had to reschedule the whole thing almost at the last minute; pushing everything back by a week so they could all make an emergency trip to Cleveland.

Even though she and Faith were pretty much retired now -- and even though Kennedy was too, as of last year, along with Amanda and Rona and most of the other former Sunnydale Potentials -- they still got called up for the main events. For the real apocalypses, when the Organization needed its biggest guns. This time it had been the Sisterhood of Jhe again, Buffy thinks. Trying to open another Hellmouth, almost ten years after the first attempt. Their timing had sucked, but at least she'd been able to take her frustrations out on a few big demons. She's sure Faith had been a lot more vicious than usual in her Slaying too. Between them, they hadn't really left much of anyone to interrogate afterwards. Maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t something either of them had to worry about anymore.

(Buffy had met Kennedy's replacement as head of the Organization briefly in Cleveland, while they were being briefed before the mission. She was a nice kid called Satsu, who had been gratifyingly starstruck at meeting both of the original Slayers, but who had still kept her head enough to give them their orders just like everyone else. It was good to know that the other Slayers -- the new ones, the ones young enough not to have retired yet -- were in competent hands. And Buffy knows that they have been, all along, whether that means Kennedy or Satsu or whoever will come after her. That's part of why Buffy doesn't regret her decision to step back from that side of things. Not for a minute. Even if it has meant a few more sleepless nights. Nobody can carry that much weight for long.)

And a week after Cleveland, that was it: Faith and Buffy, married. Not because of a wish, or one of Willow’s spells gone wrong, but for real. Forever. Legally binding, recognized by the State of California and everything (although a lot of awful people seemed awfully unhappy about that). When Buffy had been younger, she could never have imagined any of this. She'd thought that being a Slayer meant that anything like this was impossible. That this was something only normal girls got to have. And she'd never thought that she’d want it quite so much: her own parents’ marriage hadn’t exactly endeared her to the institution as a whole. Even a couple of years ago, she’d never have admitted to anyone quite how happy it would make her.

And she is, Buffy realizes. Even with the odd nightmares. She’s sitting in her kitchen with the love of her life, waiting for the sun to come up and a new day to begin, and she’s never been happier. She thinks her younger self would be delighted to know that, somehow, everything had worked out okay.

Maybe she's been looking at things the wrong way all this time. It's not that the nightmares started when she moved out here. It's that the waking nightmares – the real world nightmares, the kind with teeth and names and minds of their own – had become rare enough she finally started noticing the other kind.

"Look, B, I've got to get back to bed or I won't be any use for anything at work tomorrow," Faith says, fighting back a yawn, shooting an apologetic look at the clock on the wall. “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be. Good thing I’m still wicked hot.”

Buffy nods absently. She's still not sure what she's going to do next. Whether she's heading off for that late night run, or ...

"I'll see you in the morning before I head out for work," Faith promises. "Unless, uh."

Buffy makes a decision. Stands up.

"Well," she says slowly, "I guess it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to leave my wife alone all night, would it?"

Faith grins at her wolfishly. Just the way she had when they'd first met. Like a co-conspirator; a partner in crime. As if the two of them still had a secret that nobody else could share. And for a second, it's like no time has passed at all. Like they could still be dancing together back in the Bronze, just the two of them, or out on patrol looking for vampires in some forgotten Sunnydale cemetery that's long since been buried deep in a hole in the desert. When it seemed like high school was going to last forever. When they'd both only been able to focus on the present; on the immediate demands of the here and now. Finding the next vamp, dusting it, and moving on to the one after that.

Buffy puts her arm around Faith's waist, fingers resting carefully just below her scar, walks with her towards the stairs. Maybe they weren't so wrong, back then. Maybe this is what matters. Maybe this is all that ever did. Just the two of them, just the present moment. And when the other Slayer looks up at her, when she leans her head to rest on her shoulder, something in her eyes makes Buffy sure they're both thinking the same thing.

"There's my girl," she breathes.

#love this <3 #fuffy

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