Buffy’s half listening to Dawn as her sister follows her down the stairs. Most of her attention is focused on the absolutely hideous wallpaper that is still managing to cling in relatively good condition to the entire stairwell. The walls had been peeling and crumbling in nearly every other room when Giles had first led them into the building with a look on his face that was equal parts pride and determination.

(“You bought... a haunted house?” Willow offered in confusion, as they crowded into the large front foyer, each of them surveying the damage with mixed reactions.

“It’s not haunted,” Giles replied, his voice sounding nowhere near certain.)

Six months later, and Buffy can confirm that the former boarding school most definitely is haunted—although they’ve managed to banish the few ghosts that seemed unwilling to tolerate new residents. Now they’re the proud owners of only three relatively benign ghosts. They’re also the proud temporary guardians of their first group of new residents—six newly identified Slayers between the ages of 12 and 16. The house is only interrupted by hysterical crying over ghost sightings four or five times a week.

“Buffy, are you even listening to me?” Dawn asks in exasperation as Buffy hops neatly off the last landing and eyes the door to the training suite in obvious delight.

“Of course, I am,” Buffy says reasonably, making a mental note to offer Xander her help in starting demo on the stairway wallpaper.

“Great,” Dawn chirps, calling her bluff, “then you’ll assign Erika to someone else.”

Buffy reaches for the training suite door and pushes it open. “Not a chance.”

“Come on,” Dawn wheedles, almost plowing into Buffy’s heels when she stops to pick up a towel and a bottle of water.

“Who do you want me to assign her to?” Buffy asks, glancing at Dawn seriously as she resumes her path toward the sparring gym. “We have literally two Watchers in training, and Jamie already has four of the girls assigned to her.” The sparring room is warm, the lights already on. At the far end of the room, Faith and Kennedy seem to have finished their workout and are seated on the mats, stretching. Buffy nods at them before turning to the opposite side of the room.

“I know,” Dawn says, barely sparing a glance at the other slayers. Annoyance creeps into her voice as she watches Buffy place her towel and water on a bench along the wall. “I just don’t think we can work together.”

“Look,” Buffy starts, also beginning to feel irritated, “I thought you were too young for this. Giles convinced me you could handle the responsibility. If you can’t find a way to work with the girls we assign you, maybe that was a mistake.”

“She told me she’s in love with me!” Dawn admits, lowering her voice as though that will keep the conversation private from slayer hearing.

That gives Buffy pause, but only for a moment. “You want me to transfer her because you feel the same?” She tries to clarify.

“Buffy,” Dawn says, gritting her teeth.

“Because,” Buffy volunteers quickly, “you know it would be fine with me if you, umm, liked girls. Totally fine. I’m just—”

“I want you to transfer her because I don’t feel the same!” Dawn butts in. “It’s super awkward now!”

“Oh,” Buffy says, stepping onto the mats and beginning to lightly jog in place.

Dawn waits, sure that now that Buffy understands the situation, Erika’s transfer will be forthcoming. It’s not that she doesn’t like the girl; she likes her a lot. Erika’s smart; she’s funny; she always does the reading Dawn assigns her, no matter how boring. Dawn’s just not into her that way. It’s been three days since Erika confessed her feelings, leaving Dawn to try to gently let her down. The awkwardness since then has been soul crushing. Erika looks like she’s been crying every time Dawn sees her. Something’s gotta give.

She hears the door open and close behind her, probably signifying Kennedy and Faith disappearing upstairs in search of food.

“I get that it’s awkward,” Buffy says, still bouncing up and down in warm up, “but it’s not the end of the world, is it? I mean, it’ll blow over and you guys will be fine. She’ll meet someone else.” Buffy smiles brightly at her.

Frustration finally boils over, and Dawn snaps back, “Just because Faith’s been pining over you for years, and you guys have made peace with your weird as hell relationship, doesn’t mean everyone else can do the same!”

It’s not until Buffy’s smile falters and her eyes drop back to Dawn’s that Dawn realizes Buffy was smiling at someone behind her. She turns to see Willow, dressed in sweats and apparently meeting Buffy for a workout. On the far side of the room, Kennedy and Faith are both definitely still in the room. Dawn’s head whips back to look at her sister, cheeks already coloring in embarrassment over her outburst.

Buffy’s mouth drops open, then closes again. It opens again and something resembling a mouse’s squeak comes out. “Huh?” Buffy’s eyes dart to Faith, expecting to find her laughing.

Faith falters temporarily in folding her knuckle wraps, then resumes her motion with practiced, steady hands. She glances up as all eyes in the room concentrate on her, but her face remains curiously blank. When she’s finished rolling the wrap, she drops it in her small gym bag and looks at Kennedy. “Same time tomorrow?” She asks, voice calm.

Kennedy nods, glancing nervously between Faith and Buffy, as if expecting them to come to blows at any moment.

“Cool,” Faith says, picking up her bag. She leaves the gym, shoulders straight and loose, head held high, without a further word.

XXXXX

“Move!” Xander barks, sending two young slayers scuttling toward opposite sides of the stairs as he barrels toward the basement. At the next level, Giles preemptively slides against the wall, hearing the clattering of metal weapons fast approaching. Xander careens by, unfettered throwing stars falling from a pouch on his hip. He’s gone from sight in a moment, disappearing around the next landing. Giles sighs heavily and stoops to begin gathering the serrated metal discs.

Xander races toward the training suite, skidding to a stop long enough to throw open the door to the sparring gym rather than run right through. Panting, he lets most of his gathered weapons drop beside the door, hoisting a short sword aggressively. “I’m here! What’s the emergency? Vampires? Demons? Ghouls?” He spies Buffy, lying face up on a training mat, blinking at the ceiling as if dazed. “Oh my God, did you get shot again?!”

“It’s not that kind of emergency,” Willow remarks dryly, from where she sits on a bench along the wall. She looks calmly down at Buffy’s prone form.

“What?!” Xander demands, letting the sword droop. “Buff, you texted me, ‘Need you in training—EMERGENCY, in all capitals, nine-one-one, nine-one-one, hurry, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point.’ What the hell was that about if there’s no impending demon invasion?”

“I didn’t add the stake emoji though.” Buffy points out. She sits up, rubbing a hand over her face as she does, before focusing what can only be described as ‘crazy eyes’ on Xander. “Xander, if I told you that Faith’s in love with me, you’d think that was crazy, right?”

Xander blinks in surprise. The sword tip meets the floor, now dangling from his hand. He glances at Willow who gives him a pained grimace. “Uhh, I...”

“You knew, too?!” Buffy accuses, before flopping back against the mat. “How is this possible?” She mutters under her breath. “How does everyone else know about this?”

“We have eyes,” Willow offers matter of factly.

Xander points to his one remaining eye. “Even I can see it.”

Buffy stares back at them, brow crinkled as she thinks. “But… how?”

“You see,” Willow answers in a sing song voice, “when two slayers like each other very, very much, and then one of them goes evil, and they try to kill each other a few times, but never quite succeed…”

“And sorta don’t look like they even want to succeed,” Xander adds.

“And then the evil one reforms herself and comes back to where it all started because the non-evil one needs her help…”

“And looks hotter than ever.”

“Totally hotter than ever,” Willow agrees with more emphasis than Buffy finds strictly necessary.

Xander resumes talking. “And then they move into a boarding school together to train newbie slayers, even though the totally hot one has never been the settling down type and probably was going to ghost everyone…”

“Except that you asked her to come with, and so she stayed...”

“It usually means something,” Xander finishes with a pointed look, taking a seat beside Willow on the bench.

Buffy looks back and forth between her two best friends. “I’m sorry--why is she the totally hot one?”

Xander sniggers.

“Buffy,” Willow says, “focus.”

“Right,” Buffy agrees. She sits up fully, folding her legs like a pretzel. “Focusing. You guys really think Faith… has feelings for me?”

They nod in unison.

“How come you never said anything?” Buffy asks.

Xander and Willow exchange glances. Xander speaks first. “I kinda assumed you knew and just didn’t want to deal with it.”

“You do have a tendency to avoid,” Willow adds helpfully, trying not to shrink when Buffy’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t give me that face! You do!”

“I don’t!” Buffy retorts. “Or if I do, I wasn’t this time! Why would I ever think Faith felt like that? I thought she hated me!”

“Hated that she wasn’t getting some of that sweet, sweet Buffy lovi--oww!” Willow’s elbow meets Xander’s ribs indelicately.

“Xander’s right, in his own gross way,” Willow says, with a severe look in his direction.

Buffy sits with this a minute. “So you think… the whole time?”

“The whole time,” Willow agrees. “I didn’t totally realize it back then, but in hindsight… yeah, Faith had it bad for you from Day One.”

Xander nods too. “Everything she did was about you, Buff. Think about it. Everyone she wanted to hurt was to get to you. When she woke up from her coma, where did she go? Right back to you.”

Buffy’s starting to see their point, but… “That was a long time ago though.”

Willow slides off the bench, coming to a seat in front of Buffy. Placing her hand on her shoulder, she says, “What do you think she’s staying here for now? It’s not for me. It’s not for Xander.”

“The girls…”

Willow shakes her head. “You know as well as I do she could be in the field finding girls. She’d be great at that. But you asked her to come, to help you get this off the ground, and she’s here. That means something.”

Buffy doesn’t respond, turning Willow’s words over and over in her mind.

“What brought all this up?” Xander asks curiously.

Willow’s eyes nearly roll out of her head. “Dawn mentioned it. Right here. In front of Faith. About 40 minutes ago.”

“Gah,” Xander says, wincing in sympathy. “What’d Faith do?”

Willow shrugs. “She took it in stride. Didn’t say anything, just left.” She turns back to Buffy, her voice gentle. “You’re going to have to talk to her.”

Stiffening immediately, Buffy turns pleading eyes to Xander, who shakes his head. “Will’s right, Buff. Even if you don’t feel the same, you can’t leave her hanging like that. It’ll only get more and more awkward.”

Buffy nods reluctantly.

“Unless,” Willow starts cautiously, her voice quiet, “maybe you do feel the same?”

Buffy opens her mouth to immediately respond that she doesn’t--no way--no how, but something stops her. “I, umm, I gotta go. Raincheck on the workout?”

“Sure,” Willow agrees, with a soft smile. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Buffy says, getting to her feet. “Both of you.”

XXXXX

Buffy has a whole plan laid out. She will lock herself in her room, climb immediately into a bubble bath, and she will spend the rest of her life there so she never has to think about what to do next or what to say to Faith. This is a really solid plan and she’s feeling very good about her decision making skills; that is, until she makes it to the third floor, exits the stairwell, and almost plows straight into the person she’d most like to avoid.

“Faith,” she squeaks, taking a quick step back so she isn’t crowding Faith’s space.

Faith seems to be suppressing a deep sigh. “B,” she says noncommittally.

Buffy waits a beat, looking at her intently, as if suddenly small cartoon hearts will begin erupting from Faith’s eyes to confirm what everyone else has said.

“I was going to come talk to you,” Buffy starts to say, but Faith shakes her head. “What?”

“We don’t have to talk about anything,” Faith says.

“Uh… okay?” Buffy’s heart has begun beating slightly irregularly, and her palms are sweating. She’s more nervous than she can remember being in recent memory, and Faith’s standing here looking cool as a cucumber.  

“Look,” Faith says, reaching up to tuck some of her long hair behind her ear. “Your sister’s got a big mouth on her; that’s all. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” Faith drops her hand back to her side and tries to rub her palm along her jeans discreetly, not wanting Buffy to know how uncomfortable she is. It’s not like the kid was wrong, but Faith also didn’t realize that anyone else was onto her. Sure, maybe when they were younger, maybe she’d flirted a little too obviously with Buffy. Maybe the others had been able to read into why Buffy keeping secrets had hurt her so badly. But that was a long time ago. She’s still trying to figure out what she’s doing now that lets Dawn of all people see right through her.

A door opens behind her, from the opposite side of the hall. Faith glances over her shoulder--watching two of the baby slayers spill into the hallway, laughing loudly. This seems like as good a cue as any to get out of dodge, so Faith moves to step around Buffy and continue on her way downstairs. Hopefully Buffy will get the picture that she doesn’t want to have this conversation and drop it. She lets herself believe that for a second, but the feeling of Buffy’s hand wrapping around her wrist brings her back to reality. She doesn’t mean to react the way that she does--intellectually Faith knows that Buffy has no intention of hurting her--but old habits die hard, and even if Faith’s mind is on board with their fledgling friendship, her body remembers a time when those hands were trying to hurt her. Faith freezes, tension flooding her body. She manages to not tear her arm from Buffy’s grasp, but just barely.

Buffy sees this and immediately releases her, dropping her hand back to her side.

“We’re good,” Faith says firmly, not quite making eye contact. “Okay?”

Buffy nods, seeming reluctant.

Faith doesn’t wait for her to change her mind, just disappears down the stairs before the baby slayers catch up to them.

She steps out onto the first floor, eager to put distance between herself and the newbies, before they can start talking to her. She’s headed toward the kitchen, already thinking about the snack she’s going to get, when she hears Dawn’s voice ahead of her. Faith immediately backpedals. Dawn is a close second to Buffy right now on the list of people she’s not in the mood to talk to. Dawn’s voice drifts closer. Apparently she’s done in the kitchen. Faith backs up, passes the staircase again and ducks into the first door on the right. She closes it softly behind her just as Dawn’s voice becomes clearer. Faith can make out the whole conversation Dawn and Jamie are having as the two of them pass in front of the door.

Sagging against it for a moment, Faith decides to let them get further away before she tries her luck in the hall again.

“Who are we hiding from?” Giles asks in a stage whisper, causing Faith to startle. She’d been so focused on avoiding Dawn that she hadn’t noticed the room was occupied.

“Giles,” she says, “hey.”

“Hey,” Giles says back, his voice dry. He’s seated behind a large desk that must be a new addition to the room. Faith doesn’t recall having seen it in here previously. This is one of the smallest rooms on the floor. The light from the solitary window doesn’t quite penetrate all the way into the recesses of the room, casting it in gloomy shadow now that the sun's going down. He’s making notes on a lined pad, stacks of books surrounding him on the desktop.

“You moving in?” Faith asks, taking in the open box on the chair across from the desk.

Inclining his ahead agreeably, Giles says, “I thought I could use this space for a little office. We have the shared research space down the hall, but sometimes it gets a little...”

“Technologically advanced?” Faith suggests, thinking of the last research meeting they’d had, with Willow, Dawn, Jamie, and all the newbie slayers firmly glued to laptops and tablets.

“I was going to say loud, but yes,” Giles agrees, “that too.” He sets his pen down, and leans back in his chair. “Are you going to tell me who or what you’re avoiding in the hall?”

Faith could just leave now, spare herself the embarrassment of getting into the details with Giles, but something about the little dark room is oddly comfortable. It somehow already smells like the Sunnydale Library, old books and freshly brewed tea, with a hint of fresh lemon biscuits stashed away somewhere. She tucks herself gingerly onto the small loveseat diagonal to Giles’s desk and shrugs. “Dawn, Buffy, Willow, Kennedy, take your pick.”

Raising his eyebrows, Giles opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out a small tin. He pulls back the lid and holds it out to Faith.

Score. She wasn’t imagining the lemon biscuit smell. Faith snags two and goes back to her perch. Giles waits patiently for her to continue. After a moment’s thought, Faith says, “Dawn announced in the middle of the gym that I’ve been “pining” after Buffy for a while. Direct quote.”

She half expects him to immediately shut down the conversation, but Giles just nods, biting into his own biscuit.

“Now B wants to talk about it.”

“And you don’t,” Giles surmises. “Hence your current hiding spot.”

“Not much to talk about,” Faith says, with forced casualness.

“Isn’t there?”

Faith squints at him. She polishes off her first cookie while shaking her head. “I just can’t figure out why Dawn would say that.”

“She’s a perceptive young woman,” Giles says levelly.

Faith eats half the next cookie in one bite.

Giles watches her silently for a few moments, before he appears to make up his mind about something. “Faith,” he says seriously. “I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve seen you grow. I’ve seen you become the slayer, the person, that you are today. You are a magnificent fighter; you have on occasion made me laugh until I’ve thought tea would squirt from my nose; and I know without a doubt that you would give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it. You’ve come into your own; but, the one thing that hasn’t changed is that you still can’t lie worth a damn.”

“What?” Faith asks, taken aback, mid mouthful of cookie.

Giles smiles fondly at her. “I see the way you are with Buffy. You go out of your way to make her laugh, and you light up when it works. I see you two together in the kitchen most mornings. You always get a second mug down and you remember how she takes her coffee. You come late to every meeting we have, but you somehow almost always end up sitting beside her. You hang on every word she says, even when she ends up going on a tangent and I don’t understand half of it.”

“I listen to you too, you know,” Faith says defensively.

Giles quirks the corner of his lip at her, undeterred. “Yes, but last time I had a date, you didn’t break two of the heavy bags in the gym.”

He’s got her there. Faith scoffs. “When’s the last time you had a date?”

“Last week,” Giles says wryly, taking a sip from the mug on his desk. “The basement was intact when I returned.”

Faith returns for another cookie, sitting back on the loveseat bonelessly as she takes a bite.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Giles says generously, “but I don’t think it’s the worst idea to talk to her.”

Faith swallows, pursing her lips briefly in thought. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, Giles, but me and B don’t exactly have the best communication skills.”

“I’m very aware,” Giles says, voice dropping in amusement, “but somehow I think you can muddle through.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” Faith finally grumbles, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Great,” Giles says. “Now, as long as you’ve chosen my office for your hideout, perhaps you could help me organize some of my collection.”

Faith manages to keep most of her ensuing groan contained, before getting to her feet. “Fine,” she says, dusting the cookie crumbs from her hands. “Where do I start?”

XXXXX

Faith’s fingertips feel dry and somehow exhausted by the time she makes her way back up to the third floor some hours later. She’s shelved countless books. She’s been on the receiving end of a very thorough explanation of the Colon classification system, Giles’s preferred method of cataloguing and storing all his books, as well as a very spirited critique of the Dewey Decimal System. (“Overly simplistic, needlessly didactic, and the man was a raging misogynist to boot, so of course Americans would fancy him the Father of modern library classification.”) Faith did not previously know of the library classification system wars, but, oh boy does she now. She’s looking forward to slinking into bed and falling asleep before her head even hits the pillow. That’s what’s on her mind as she rounds the top of the stairs and begins lightly walking down the hall, mindful of the time. She hesitates when she sees a light glowing from under Buffy’s door, but keeps walking, softening her footsteps more if possible.

She’s nearly made it by, when the door creaks open and Buffy calls out after her, “Faith?”

For a brief, unhinged moment, Faith thinks about running the rest of the way to her room and diving inside, but she forces herself to slow, then stop, turning part way to face Buffy. “Hey, B,” she says softly, like Buffy seemingly laying in wait for her at 1AM is a normal part of their lives.

“Hey,” Buffy says, crossing her arms under her breasts as she leans against the doorjamb. “I know you said we didn’t need to talk, but I feel like I do,” she admits. She pushes her door open a little further. “Would you, umm, just come in here for a few?”

Faith wants to say no, but she finds herself nodding and drifting closer to Buffy’s door.

Buffy moves back for her. Hesitatingly just slightly, Faith follows her inside, looking around as though cataloguing the exits as Buffy closes the door behind them.

“You can sit down,” Buffy offers, mentally patting herself on the back for having used some of her nervous energy to clean her bedroom up. She backs up toward the bed, sitting toward the head, so there’s plenty of room left for Faith.

Faith sits on the edge of the bed warily, as if she doesn’t know what Buffy’s going to say but somehow knows it will be terrible.

While she was laying in bed, waiting for the sound of Faith’s footsteps in the hallway, Buffy thought a lot about what she should say whenever she and Faith sat down to talk. Somehow it’s all completely gone from her mind. She tries to think of a clever way to start this conversation, comes up short, goes with, “I guess Dawn was right then?”

Faith chuckles low in her throat, not looking at Buffy. There seems to be little point in denying it. “Yeah, I guess she was.”

It’s not that she doubted what Willow and Xander told her earlier, but hearing Faith confirm that Dawn was right is somehow still surprising. Buffy’s mouth goes dry. “But you never said anything,” she says, a question in her voice.

Faith shrugs. “Wouldn’t have changed anything if I did. Anyway, I thought you knew.”

That seems to be the answer of the hour. Everyone else had seemingly known, and they all assumed she knew too. But she hadn’t, had she? Buffy looks at Faith, really takes this opportunity to look at her, as Faith deliberately keeps her eyes anywhere else in the room. Looks at Faith’s full lips, fading red gloss still present from this morning, and remembers a fight in Angel’s mansion, Faith grabbing her head and those lips pressing into her forehead for a brief moment. Buffy eyes the tattoo on Faith’s bicep and thinks about her own fingers running over it, as they danced close together in the Bronze, belly to belly, arms intertwining as they moved. She looks at Faith’s hands, remembers them drawing a heart on the window of her science class, remembers those hands when they were her own, remembers how it felt to walk around in Faith’s skin. “Maybe I should have,” she says softly. “Maybe it would have changed something if you told me.”

Faith looks at her then, for the first time since they entered the room. Buffy’s heart has firmly settled into arrhythmia. “What would have changed?” Faith asks. The calm facade Faith’s been maintaining seems to fall. Her look is piercing, and it’s been a long time since Buffy’s felt herself on the receiving end of one of these looks from Faith.

“I don’t know,” Buffy admits. “Maybe nothing.” Because 17 year old Buffy? She was not prepared to hear that. “Maybe everything.” She’s spent a lot of time thinking tonight. Pulling up the memories she’s kept fastidiously tucked away. Of her and Faith when she first came to Sunnydale. The exhilaration and joy and freedom that she’d felt when the two of them were together, fighting side by side. The softness of Faith’s skin under her fingertips whenever Buffy made an excuse to touch her. The flint of rage and hurt in her stomach when Faith finally betrayed her. “Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you needed to go to the Mayor.”

Faith doesn’t even give that a moment to settle, just shakes her head immediately. “I made the choices I made, B. They’re not on you.”

Buffy inclines her head in acknowledgement.

“Maybe it would have been even worse,” Faith says, after a moment.

“How?” Buffy asks confused.

Faith thinks for a moment. “Even with every horrible thing I did, there was always some part of me that was holding on to you. I mean, I knew, in my head, that I had no real shot at you, that you’d never feel like I felt, but I don’t know what I’d have done if I didn’t have that thought to hold on to. If I’d told you, and you’d laughed at me, or--”

“I never would--”

“I know,” Faith says impatiently. “I just mean I was barely holding on to some semblance of sanity and I don’t think I could have handled being rejected, like, for real. We’d fight, and you’d say ‘you can still change your mind, it’s not too late,’ and whatever, and I knew you didn’t really mean that, but it was like a lifeline that I knew was there.”

“I did mean it,” Buffy says firmly. She scoots a little closer on the bed, stopping when she sees Faith lean back.

Faith nods, her chin tilting down so her hair sweeps along the side of her face. “It’s all water under the bridge now,” she says, flexing her shoulders back. She eyes the door. “Sorry little sis brought this up and made things weird. I can leave if you want.” And she’ll do it, if that’s what Buffy wants. Everything Giles said to her is true, about growth and change and who she is now, but when it comes to Buffy, some part of Faith is always going to be standing on a rooftop in LA, trying not to cry while she says, just tell me how to make it better.

“What?” Buffy asks, alarmed. “Why would I want you to leave?”

Faith shrugs, her unmoved facade slowly falling back into place, “This is your home. You shouldn’t have to feel awkward in it. This wasn’t what you bargained for when you asked me to move here. I don’t want to make you feel--”

“Stop,” Buffy cuts in, frustrated. “Stop telling me about how I feel. Stop telling me everything would have gone horribly apocalyptically wrong when you still don’t know--you haven’t even asked me--how I feel.” She realizes her voice has been rising when she sees Faith’s eyes sweep her, looking for signs of imminent threat, and she forces herself to sit back, to appear non-threatening.

“Okay, Buffy,” Faith says, her tone flat, obviously thinking she already knows everything Buffy’s going to say, “tell me how you feel then.”

She can tell Faith is seconds from getting up and walking out the door, maybe out of the whole house never to be seen or heard from again, after this conversation. Buffy’s brain is a giant mess of thoughts, some of which have been very firmly buried for a very long time, but she knows she has to say something, no matter how disorganized and confusing it comes out. “I cared about you,” she says. “I know I did a shitty job of it, but I did. I was 17. I had only ever liked boys. I didn’t know… how to define what I felt about about you. It was big. It was scary.”

She has Faith’s full attention now, wide brown eyes studying hers intently. “I was scared too,” Faith says softly.

“I get that now,” Buffy acknowledges. “But back then, not so much. Then Angel came back from hell, and everything went to shit, and you started working for the Mayor, and I just… I couldn’t deal with any of it. So I shut it down.”

Faith angles toward her on the bed. She wants to believe everything she’s hearing, but some part of her still doubts it. Never in her wildest dreams had she really thought that Buffy freaking Summers would be interested in her. Not even for a fleeting second.

Buffy’s still talking. Doing that nervous babble thing that Faith’s always found cute. “I didn’t know how you felt, Faith. Not back then and not before today. It’s been better, with us, since we moved here, but still, I thought… honestly, I thought you resented me. Not that I blamed you, after everything.”

“I didn’t,” Faith says. “I don’t. I never did.” She reaches across the bed and puts her hand on Buffy’s knee, slowly, carefully. Letting it settle there a moment before she squeezes.

Buffy hesitates, like she’s debating how much more she should say about this. She puts her hand on top of Faith’s gingerly. “Sometimes everything seems great with us, and then other times I feel like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me,” she says. “You’d rather train with Kennedy most of the time.”

Faith runs her un-occupied hand through her hair, a small laugh breaking free from her lips. “Sometimes I feel like if I spend one more minute with you, I’m going to do something incredibly stupid, like kiss you,” she admits. “It’s hard to train with you. It’s hard to touch you and pretend like I’m not wanting more.”

A blush is creeping up from under the collar of Buffy’s shirt.

“It’s hard watching you go out with other people,” Faith adds.

Buffy’s flush deepens indignantly. “But that’s my whole point. I didn’t know how you felt. You just send me these weird mixed signals. It’s not fair for you to now just be like, ‘Okay, B, I love you and now that you know, I’ll move to Siberia, easy peasy lemon squeezy.’” Buffy ignores Faith repeating easy peasy lemon squeezy incredulously under her breath, persisting in her speech. “You haven’t even given me a chance to react. You’ve never even asked me on a freaking date like a normal person. You’re just assuming--mmph.”

Buffy immediately shuts up as Faith all but dives toward her, threading her fingers into Buffy’s hair and pulling their mouths together forcefully. Buffy’s hands flail uselessly in the air, cut off mid impassioned gesticulating, before settling calmly on Faith’s shoulders like they’ve done this before.

For probably the first time in their shared history, Faith feels zero hesitation. Zero nerves. Zero anxiety. There’s just Buffy’s soft hair tickling her cheek, and Buffy’s lips recovering from the shock of Faith’s presence, pressing eagerly back against hers. Faith’s tongue lightly sweeps against Buffy’s lower lip. Her teeth nip softly a moment later. One hand gently rubs Buffy’s hair between thumb and index finger, as if in disbelief that it’s found its way there. She pulls back too quickly for Buffy’s liking, eyes opening wide and peering at Buffy from a nose’s distance away. “Go out with me,” she says, somewhat breathless.

“What?”

“A date,” Faith clarifies, fingers still in Buffy’s hair. “Go on a date with me. Like normal people.”

Speechless, Buffy nods. Her hands are still on Faith’s shoulders. She realizes her thumb sits against the bite mark that mars the smooth skin of Faith’s throat, and runs it over the scar lightly.

Faith turns her face toward Buffy’s hand and dips a kiss into her palm. “Tomorrow?” She asks, hoping that her voice doesn’t sound as desperate to Buffy as it does to her.

“Yes,” Buffy agrees, brain still trying to catch up to this turn of events.

“I’m sorry,” Faith says, “I cut you off.” She doesn’t move back, doesn’t give Buffy an ounce of breathing room. “Did you still have more to say?”

“I… I think that was it,” Buffy says, honestly unsure whether she did have anything else to say or not. Faith’s eyes are soft now, softer than Buffy’s ever seen them. She lets her hands slowly trail down Faith’s arms until their hands are together, sitting on Faith’s lap.

“Good,” Faith says, squeezing Buffy’s fingers. “Good talk.” She licks her lips unconsciously, wanting to kiss Buffy again. Wanting to press her back into the pillows and see where that goes. Instead, she sits back, gives them both a little breathing room. “I should go,” she says quietly.

“Okay,” Buffy says, although Faith leaving right now feels decidedly not okay. She shuffles to her feet alongside Faith, and walks her to the bedroom door.

Faith puts her hand on the knob, then hesitates. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, her voice suddenly shy.

Buffy’s smile lights up her face. “Can’t wait.”

Grinning back, knowing she looks like an idiot, Faith ducks out the door.

Closing her door gently, Buffy looks at her empty room for a long minute. Then she pulls her cell phone from her pocket, opening up her text chain with Giles. Need to talk tomorrow about switching watcher assignments, she writes. Hitting send, she opens a text to Willow. Gonna need a raincheck on tomorrow's training, she writes, then smiles.