BIDING TIME
Coming back from the dead isn't really what she expected. Not that she expects everything to be kittens and sunshine—she saw what it was like for Buffy, after all. Even knowing that, she jumped at her chance to come back. Between Heaven and Willow, it wasn't even a contest.
She wasn't expecting there to be someone else in the picture now. There's never been anyone in her picture except Willow. And it's still so soon after her death. But it doesn't matter what she was expecting. Kennedy's here, sitting next to Willow, touching Willow's hands and her back and her face. She doesn't do it to hurt Tara; she's under the redhead's spell. Tara remembers what that's like.
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Coming back to Sunnydale is exactly what Faith was expecting. They find a dying girl on the ride in, and Buffy punches her in the face before she says hello. She could have said no when Willow asked her to come. But all the witch had to do was say Buffy needed her, and the choice was made. There's never a choice when it comes to that little blonde bitch slayer, Faith just reacts.
She smells Buffy when she goes to the basement to sit with Spike. She tries not to think of the blonde touching him, her fingers gliding lightly over his dead skin like they never did to Faith. She doesn't know what's going on with them, but whatever it is, even she can see it's intimate. She doesn't blame Spike for falling in love with Buffy. He was powerless to resist her, and Faith knows exactly what that's like.
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Tara can't stand to be around Willow, but she can't seem to stay away. They find themselves bumping in to one another in the kitchen and the hallway, standing shoulder to shoulder in the increasingly panicked group meetings. Once, Willow backs into her, making her drop the books she's carrying. They drop to their knees and clumsily pick them up. Tara doesn't miss the way Willow's hands linger on hers. Or the flinty anger emanating from Kennedy when they stand.
She knows she should leave the house. Seeing Willow disappear behind the door to their bedroom with Kennedy every night is almost more than she can bear. But Buffy folds Tara in her arms and says no, Tara, you're family, you have to stay. She thinks about family. Willow gave her the family she wanted, and she came back from the dead to get it back. So she stays in the house, ignoring the warnings in Kennedy's eyes and the pain in Willow's.
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When they patrol, Buffy and Faith fit seamlessly together, like two halves of the same deadly machine. Each of their moves is perfectly coordinated, whirling and spinning at speeds that make the potentials dizzy. Faith loves it, loves the fresh air and the freedom, and the gracefulness of Buffy's every move. But patrol has to end sometime. When the slayer masks fall away, the shoulder Buffy gives her is so cold it's practically iced over.
She watches the other slayer walk away without a sound, and she wonders why she came to Sunnydale. Why does she care so much about someone who barely tolerates her presence? She doesn't belong here. As far as Buffy's concerned, she never will. But still Faith can't bring herself to leave. She doesn't know if it's about redemption or if it's about Buffy. It doesn't really matter either way; it all blends together. Her whole life is a futile shot at the unachievable. She might as well stay.
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She's aching and exhausted, laid up in bed after leading her whole team into a trap. She's not in the mood for company. But Tara says, hey, and she figures she can use a break from the self flagellation she's doing anyway, so Faith waves her in. Tara sits beside her on the bed. They sit in silence until finally Tara looks at her from the corner of her eye.
"It's the most horrible feeling in the world, isn't it?"
"What?" Faith asks.
"Being so close to the person you love but knowing you can't have them."
Faith doesn't bother to get angry and deny it. Choking a Scooby is not in the 12 step redemptive plan Angel's outlined for her. She gives the slightest nod, so small she can deny ever doing it later if she has to. Turning her head, she looks at Tara for the first time, really looks at her, in a way she doesn't bother to do with most people. She sees the bowed shoulders and the tension in her neck. The countless other marks this kind of defeat leaves on someone's body without them knowing. Faith knows the signs; she wrote the book on bone deep hopelessness.
She reaches out a hand, gentle but sure, and places it on Tara's forearm. She's not worried about rejection. It doesn't matter how Tara responds because this isn't about her, not really. The blonde turns toward her all the same, allowing herself to be tugged down against Faith.
The slayer is slow and careful when she moves. Her body's still healing, and Tara doesn't look like the kind of girl who's going to take comfort in rough sex. Faith is, always has been, but this time it's not about that. She feels Tara's cool fingers slip between her legs and returns the favor, pushing aside the long skirt and demure panties in her way. They don't speak; just let their hands do the talking. Rocking back and forth, they fall into an easy rhythm together. Tara stares at her like a drowning woman, and Faith finds she can't look away. She doesn't want to anyway; there are too many ghosts in this room with them, and she doesn't want to think about them right now.
When it's over, they lie side by side. Tara's thigh trembles against hers, and Faith strokes her fingertips soothingly over it. "Okay?" She murmurs.
Tara inhales, takes stock, and nods her head. "Yes, are you?"
Faith thinks, brushing her mouth across Tara's shoulder. She isn't quite yet, but she thinks she will be. They both will. "Five by five," she says.