Some nights, Faith holds Willow for hours and hours, and sings songs
neither of them really know.
"It's evening time, the sun she closes her eyes, she closes her eyes
the moon open his, and as she sets she sings something la la la la la la,
I will always stay near..."
Willow smiles inside. "Isn't it usually the moon that's female?"
"Eh, everybody knows women are always hotter." Nuzzling Willow's
"That doesn't seem to stop you from... you know."
A little silence, Faith's hold not as natural and Willow wants to wriggle
just enough to set them right again, but afraid that if she does Faith
will let go entirely and... Willow can't handle that right now.
"Does it bother you that I'm, well, fucking your ex?"
And does it? A little, but... it's different. "I like that you go back
forth between us, so that I can feel him, smell him. And maybe he feels
a little of me, too."
"Yeah, me and whatsisname. Big nose. Poetry."
"Is he the one always running errands and never getting what he
"Yeah, but Faith..." A shrug, but even though Faith is spooned up against
her back Willow knows she's not really looking at her.
"It's OK. You guys have this history thing. Doesn't go away in a
"Faith, I... I need *you*. Not Oz. I just... when it comes to Oz I'd
to know that we're... going somewhere. Good. No pain."
Faith squeezes her. "There's *always* pain, Wills."
"Not with you..."
Purred into her ear. "That's just 'cause we haven't played rough yet."
"Oh..." Memories of sinking enspelled fangs into smooth, white skin,
brush of too many knuckles inside her and Willow... there's the system.
Thinking of the bad things is allowed to make her feel bad, thinking of
the good things is not and.... it had been *good* with Drusilla and
Faith... Oh, Faith is dark, too and Faith always holds her as she goes to
sleep and never *does* anything.
Zorbetted her belly a few times, kisses her hair and her forehead and
her dirty short fingernails and Willow *wants*.
"Why don't you touch me, Faith?"
"I suppose I can't stall by mentioning that I *am* technically touching
"You just did."
"All right, all right. I'm a little scared, girly. Of what happens when
when we fuck."
"Oh." Words and images, Willow screaming and crying and needing and
clinging and never ever letting go and she isn't sure they aren't true
because Faith... She's so good. Part of the earth. Earthy and fresh and
warm and sweet and strong and sexy. "I... I understand. Um. It's OK?"
"Willow, Willow... you're so pretty and *so* fucked in the head. Look,
I've *been* the girl who had too much happen and it's just... you don't
wanna go too fast. And I don't wanna be the one who takes you too fast."
"Sometimes I cry..."
"Shh, I know, baby."
"I mean, I cry when I... when I'm aroused. Because I'm afraid, too."
Faith rolling her over, face-to-face now, and she can picture it, the
contrasts blending in, Willow's scars pale against pale, Faith is
warm-colored and filled with sunshine. Willow's never ever cold with
Warm hand on her face, rough with work. Violence and blood, too, and
"She's dead, you know. All gone. Never coming back. But I wish I could
go back just to pop a squat on her ashes."
Shocking a giggle. Sometimes Willow thinks about keeping the laughter
locked away just so Faith will always break in but "ewwwww."
"She's inside me, Faith. No matter how much Holy Water you guys slip
into my Poland Spring. You think I don't notice how *spicy* the water
is around here?"
"I *told* Giles, but he insisted. Just be happy I kept the crumbled
communion wafers out of your corn flakes."
Giggling hard now, so that it's hard to see out of her squinched up
happy eyes. Dangerous that way, wide eyes see everything, but Faith's
there. It's OK.
"There's my girl," and Faith is playing with Willow's hair again,
twisting it into locks that she'll brush out tomorrow, or maybe the next
day, or maybe steal Oz's gel and spike it for real.
Faith has promised to give her a good, old-fashioned, weed-whacker 'do
just as soon as nobody's around to protest.
Willow doesn't like having smooth hair anymore, it sits too close to
face, binding her in, a little. The weed-whacker will be very short, and
safely away from her face. It'll go well with Faith's clothes, that sit
baggy on her, the way she likes them. Safe and aware and also safe.
The soles of her sneakers are all in dirt and grass, and also safe.
Sometimes Willow knots belladonna around her wrists in tiny braided
ropes. It keeps her from biting.
And Faith has her eyes closed, and is breathing more and more slowly.
Heart beating steady as a Swiss watch. Willow sometimes thinks about
being a Watcher. Her eyes would be wider than anyone else's.
Willow knows she's sleepy, but this part is still hard: One thing to
snuggle close in wakefulness, but to sleep next to Faith... she could move!
Or Willow could move, and wake her up and she wouldn't be happy, even if
she did kiss Willow on the nose and --
"Go to *sleep*." Mumbled command, complete with sleepy grunt, like Faith
can feel Willow's mind race and it's annoying her.
"I love you." And there, she said it and Faith is holding her tighter.
And mumbling something into the pillow that sounds a lot like
Which makes Willow smile, because she knows *that* much is true.