Three years after leaving southern California, Buffy still marvels at seeing the leaves change in Fall.  Coasting down the highway, the sun peeking through a canopy of vibrant red and orange, she’s so thrilled by the beauty around her that she can almost forget that she’s only 45 minutes into her nearly four hour drive to her destination. Almost. Still, it beats what she’d be doing back home. Being the most senior slayer has its advantages, but it also comes with a surprising amount of grunt work. Giles and Xander do a lot of the paperwork, to be fair, but Buffy’s still called upon quite a bit to put together squad assignments, conduct performance evaluations, and train newbies at HQ. Getting out into the field is increasingly rare. Moments alone are even rarer, since she lives and works at the castle. When Dawn mentioned staying in Boston for her school’s Fall break, Buffy practically jumped at the chance to come see her.

After four days of eating and shopping their way through the city (and okay, a tiny little unsanctioned patrol—a girl’s got urges), Buffy’s feeling sufficiently relaxed and ready to tackle this side quest Giles has added to her vacation. She doesn’t really mind, truth be told, but she was happy to play like she did, if only to get Giles to agree to book her into a really nice place tonight. Room service and one of those giant fluffy bathrobes await. Tomorrow, she’ll liaise with Jenna, the junior slayer who drew the short straw on this assignment, and they’ll finish the drive to the town of Amos Springs, Virginia. It’s a tiny town no one outside of the state has likely ever heard of, but it is home to what the locals are suggesting is a Mothman. Not to be confused with the Mothman, who apparently resides exclusively in West Virginia and can’t possibly have made the trek over the state line.

For someone who’s dedicated years of her life to fighting the things that go bump in the night, Buffy’s developed some skepticism about reports of creatures lurking in the woods. They mostly seem to skulk about waiting to be witnessed by townsfolk, occasionally portending some dire event or eating local livestock. In Buffy’s experience, demons are usually smart enough not to be seen, unless they’re about to eat you. Sure, hellhounds are real. And Wendigos. But the rest of this stuff? Bigfoot and el chupacabra? Buffy thinks not. This trip is definitely going to be a complete bust.

XXXXX

Stepping off the hotel elevator, Buffy heads for the dining room and breakfast buffet. Her dream of a stack of buttery waffles is temporarily sidelined when she notices two gangly teenage boys at the end of the hall. They’re partially hidden by a large drape, but obviously looking at something through the glass wall. Buffy cranes her neck sideways, spotting the shimmering blue of the pool on the other side. She changes course, heading toward the boys on silent feet. As she gets closer, she can see the two of them jockeying for position, each trying to look through the glass while remaining mostly obscured by the curtains.

It becomes obvious why when she stops behind them. A bikini-clad woman is swimming laps in the indoor pool. Well muscled limbs cut through the water with ease, a curtain of dark hair floating behind her.

Buffy coughs lightly, and both boys nearly jump out of their skin. They turn toward her, one with an overdone innocent face and the other with guilt plain in his features. Up close, they’re younger than she expected, maybe 14 or 15, still growing into their bodies. “You boys looking for something?” Buffy asks brightly.

“Uh,” the more confident one says, “I just, uh, I dropped my wallet somewhere around here. We were looking for it.”

It isn’t remotely believable, and Buffy crosses her arms. “And did you find it?”

“Uh, no, ma’am,” the guilty one says, looking vaguely queasy now.

“Then maybe you should look somewhere else,” Buffy suggests pointedly, fighting the urge to shudder at being called ma’am. She’s not old. She’s definitely not. Not in ma’am territory yet for sure.

“Right,” the guilty one answers, seizing his friend’s arm and practically yanking him away, “we’ll do that!”

Waiting until the two of them disappear down the corridor, Buffy shakes her head, turning back toward the glass. The woman has apparently finished her swim and is hauling herself out of the water. Buffy watches her climb to her feet and reach up, gathering her hair together and wringing it out. Clean lines of muscle flex in her arms as she squeezes, and Buffy’s eyes catch on the dark tattoo covering much of her right upper arm. Before she can make out what it is, the woman releases her hair and it falls to mid back. Water drips from the ends onto her skin, catching in the dimples of Venus framing the small of her back. Suddenly, Buffy’s mouth feels a little bit dry, and she turns away abruptly before the woman inside faces her direction. She’s no better than those kids, ogling this poor woman who’s just trying to get her morning exercise in.

She’s definitely been in what one might call a dry spell lately, and maybe it’s time to get back out there and do something about it. If she weren’t leaving this morning, maybe Pool Lady could have been a possibility, she thinks wistfully, starting back down the hallway in the direction she came. There have been a couple women since Satsu, and a brief fling with a guy as well, but it’s been months now. Even Dawn had suggested that she might do with some company. Not in so many words, of course, but with a weird speech about how cookie dough is just as yummy as the fully baked thing, and oh boy had Buffy regretted ever making that metaphor. When your little sister is telling you to get laid, you know it’s bad.

Buffy’s reaching the dining room doors when she hears the door to the pool room open behind her. Curiosity almost gets the better of her, but she determinedly does not turn around. The only thing she should be focusing on now is those waffles. Get a nice big breakfast on board so she’s ready to tackle this assignment, and—

“B?”

Buffy freezes mid step, hand on the dining room door. It can’t be. She turns slowly, sure that she’s hallucinating and it won’t be Faith standing behind her. Unfortunately, she’s not experiencing a break with reality; Faith stands a few yards away, towel wrapped loosely around her, wet hair falling around her shoulders. Also unfortunately, Buffy’s eyes immediately drop to where the towel is only partially covering Faith’s cleavage. She recovers well, she thinks, plastering on a smile that only looks a little like a grimace. “Faith, hey.” Oh God, Faith is Pool Lady. I was checking out Faith. Her eyes shift to Faith’s right arm and the new art covering up the design she remembers. “I like the new ink,” Buffy adds, hoping that sounds less stupid to Faith than it does to her.

“Oh,” Faith says, lifting her arm slightly as if she’s surprised to see the changes, too. It’s a bit abstract, but clearly some sort of flower in various stages of bloom. She wouldn’t have pegged Faith as a flower kind of girl, but somehow this one seems to suit her. Its softness is tempered by bold, dark lines, and the whole thing, beautiful though it is, feels somehow melancholy. Faith lowers her arm again, hitching her towel a little tighter. She gives Buffy a tight smile. “Guessing Willow didn’t tell you I was gonna be meeting you.”

“She did not,” Buffy confirms. “Probably in the giant packet of information she emailed me last night, that I was totally intending to read.” Probably purposely buried there so I wouldn’t have the chance to say no. Not that she and Faith are mortal enemies these days or anything. Things are civil, one might even say friendly, on the few times per year they see each other. Faith spends most of her time away from headquarters doing… well, actually, Buffy doesn’t know what she does. She just knows she isn’t around. “What happened to Jenna?”

“Busted her arm on patrol,” Faith answers, looking at her searchingly. Apparently not liking what she sees, she offers, “I can bail if you want. Tell Willow to send someone else.”

“No,” Buffy says, immediately feeling like a shit. “It’ll be fine.”

There’s a definite atmosphere of awkwardness settling between them now. Buffy tries to think of something else to say, but before she can come up with anything, Faith gestures toward the elevator. “I’m gonna get a shower,” she says. “Meet you down here in 30?”

“Sure,” Buffy agrees, just happy to be able to make her escape.

XXXXX

After yesterday’s nail biting trek out of New England and into New York (the road rage is no joke up there), Buffy’s only too happy to relinquish the rental car’s keys to Faith and take the passenger seat. As Faith puts the hotel in their rearview, Buffy opens the stuffed envelope that had been waiting for them at the front desk, shaking the contents into her lap. Willow’s taken care of everything, like she always does. There are two Pennsylvania drivers’ licenses bearing the names Buffy Sullivan and Faith Ryan. Two credit cards each are clipped to a stack of professional quality business cards. Sullivan & Ryan Paranormal Investigations the cards read in neat font. Not the most creative name, but there’s a web address and phone number listed, and the cards look real enough. The phone number presumably leads to the cell phone that was also in the envelope. “Looks legit,” Buffy says, mostly to break the silence.

“Website works and everything,” Faith says. “I’d hire us.”

“Or at least talk to us about winged creatures skulking through your backyard?”

“That too.” Faith fiddles with the dial on the radio. Their options for radio stations seem to be getting slimmer since they made it into rural New Jersey. She finally leaves the dial on an upbeat tune Buffy recognizes. They think we're lovers kept under cover…

The road passes beneath them for a few minutes with only the sound of Bonnie Raitt blanketing the silence. “How’d you get stuck with this gig?” Faith asks at length. “Wouldn’t have thought following up on hot supernatural tips in Bumfuck, Virginia was part of your job description.”

“I was out here visiting Dawn so I volunteered.” Buffy shrugs. “I’ve done follow up on a couple other cases, more local ones in Scotland. What about you?”

“I brought a new girl to Rona’s team in New York,” Faith says. “Giles called and said he had a job for me.” She looks pointedly around the car, then says, “I should have asked more questions.”

“It’s not so bad,” Buffy says with a laugh. “It’s kind of nice getting out in the field, checking out some bizarre report… kind of like old times.” Immediately she feels a little silly. Faith is still out in the field, as far as Buffy knows. She’d probably prefer a vacation than a wild goose chase with Buffy.

But Faith just says, “I can see that.”

“Never thought I’d miss it,” Buffy says, a little embarrassed to be admitting this out loud.

Faith seems to be thinking about that for a minute, then she says, “I miss it sometimes, too.” She smiles ruefully, glancing at Buffy. “That time in Sunnydale… that was kind of the best time of my life. Up until… well, you know what I’m saying. Taking down vamps and weirdos at your school turning themselves into monsters or whatever. It was good.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, surprised. She’d never have suspected Faith thought of her first few months in Sunnydale as some of the best of her life. Before she can think of what else to say, Faith turns the radio up a little, flashing her a smile that clearly closes the door on further conversation.

Their first stop is another rental car facility. There, they trade in Buffy Summers’s rental and pick up Faith Ryan’s. It’s a nondescript sedan, boring and utterly forgettable. Barring any unexpected offroading, it’ll get the job done. Lunch is fast food that they eat on the go, with Buffy holding the box of fries over the console for Faith to dig into. Buffy falls asleep for a while after that, only waking up when she feels the car come to a stop. She sits up straight, blinking in confusion.

“Needed a pee break,” Faith says, putting the car in Park. They’re outside a roadside diner with a faded sign advertising fresh pies daily.

“Where are we?” Buffy asks. She rolls her neck experimentally, pleased when nothing feels tight.

“Just crossed the state line not too long ago,” Faith says. “We’re in Virginia now. We got another two, two and a half hours to go.” She fiddles with the rental keys. “I figured this diner looked okay. I’m getting kind of hungry.”

“I could eat,” Buffy agrees, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out.

The diner has seen better days. The vinyl booths have slight tearing in the seats, and the linoleum looks older than Buffy, but the food smells good, and they’re greeted by a cheerful older woman who tells them to sit anywhere they like.  Buffy slides into a booth in the corner where she has a good view of the entire restaurant, while Faith disappears to the restroom.

The waitress appears immediately, offering two menus and two glasses of water. “Give me a wave when you’re ready, hon,” she says.

By the time Faith comes back, Buffy’s already decided on a burger and a massive plate of cheese fries. She nudges a menu in Faith’s direction. While Faith studies the options, Buffy studies her. She doesn’t mean to; it’s just that there’s not really too much of interest in this place. She’s already reviewed the two elderly gentlemen seated at the counter and found them to be non-threatening. Similarly, the cook and the lone waitress seem to be on the up and up. That leaves Faith.

It’s been a few months at least since they’ve seen each other. Other than the new tattoo partially displayed below the sleeve of her shirt, it doesn’t appear that much has changed. Faith’s still got a penchant for dark eyeliner, big belts, and leather. Buffy’s betting she can still eat enough to feed a small village. This could be Happy Burger, the two of them strolling in after patrol, vamp dust on their boots and the thrill of the hunt in their blood. It’s weird in a way, to think that she’s known Faith over so many years now. The average slayer made it one year, maybe two if she was lucky, and here they sit, the last two of the original line. Buffy’s almost 11 years from her calling, Faith coming up on 9, and there’s no reason to think either of them are going to check out soon—not with slayers all over the world.

That thought lingers with her for a minute and she suddenly feels glad that Faith’s here. Not just in the abstract—she was glad of her help back in Sunnydale, and really glad when it turned out that slayers can actually bounce back from comas—but here here, with Buffy.

Faith’s still skimming the menu, but one perfectly manicured eyebrow bends into an arch. “I got something on my face?” She asks nonchalantly.

Caught, Buffy feels her cheeks grow warm. “Just wondering if you’re gonna decide before I starve to death.”

Faith lifts her eyes from the menu, dark and amused. “You haven’t even been slaying,” she points out. “How many calories could you have burned snoring all the way here?”

“I have a high metabolism,” Buffy says with dignity.

Faith snorts. “I can be ready,” she says, twisting in her seat.

Buffy lifts her hand in a wave and the waitress notices, coming around the bar and approaching their table. She orders her burger, fries, and a coke.

Faith says, “I’ll have the same. Plus a New York style dog. And a chocolate shake.”

The waitress lifts one penciled-in eyebrow and looks her up and down. “You got a hollow leg, hon?”

“No ma’am,” Faith says sweetly, “just a high metabolism.”

Buffy waits until the waitress heads for the kitchen before she rolls her eyes at Faith.

“Don’t worry,” Faith says, “I’ll share.”

True to her word, Faith does share, asking for an extra straw for her milkshake and holding her hotdog out to Buffy after taking the first gigantic bite.

Buffy accepts the offer, her taste buds tingling pleasantly at the first hint of spicy mustard. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” she says after swallowing. She hands the dog back.

Faith’s already moved on to her burger, and she sets the hotdog down on her plate. “Work mostly,” she says with a shrug, snagging a few fries and dragging them through the cheese sauce. “Dropped Dominique off with Rona, like I said. Before that, I was in Austin. It’s mostly newbies down there, and they had a bunch of Fyarls causing problems.”

“Dominique,” Buffy repeats, wondering why that sounds so familiar. It comes to her; she’d seen the name in one of Giles’s weekly reports. “That’s the one who…” Seeing Faith’s shoulders tense up, Buffy changes what she was going to say. “…had some trouble with the law?”

“She’s a good kid,” Faith says immediately, a new guardedness in her voice. “Just needs to catch a break.”

Nodding, Buffy starts in on her burger, wondering if it’s better to just change the topic.

After a few moments of silence, Faith says, “She was living in a bad situation and she defended herself. Maybe she took it a little too far.” She’s not looking at Buffy, but at her food. “I’m not saying what she did was right, but I understand it.”

Buffy thinks about the crumbs of information Faith’s let slip about herself over the years. It’s not hard to hear what’s between the lines here and put together why Faith would understand this kid. “It’s good you brought her in,” she says softly. “Rona’s team is good. They can show her the ropes, keep her safe.”

Faith nods in agreement, relaxing minutely. After another bite of dog, she says, “There have been a couple girls like that. I’ve been thinking maybe Giles sends me after those ones specifically. Send a fuck up to recruit the fuck ups or something.”

That actually sounds very much like something Giles would do, even if Buffy doesn’t agree with the exact phrasing. “Or he sends you because he knows you’ll fight for them,” she suggests lightly. “You’re compassionate, but you won’t take any shit. You’re good at getting through to them.”

Faith seems to think about that for a minute, her eyes flicking up to Buffy’s face as though she’s assessing her for sincerity. She must like what she sees, because she holds out the rest of the hotdog to Buffy. “Maybe,” she says gruffly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, smiling as she takes it. She polishes off the hotdog, watching as Faith finishes her burger. “So,” she says when they’re both done, “you think this monster is real?”

Faith immediately nods.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Faith says. “Why not? We’ve seen all kinds of crazy shit.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, “but usually the crazy shit is trying to kill us.”

“Well, chin up, B,” Faith says, lifting the milkshake and toasting her before bringing the straw to her lips. “It still might.”

XXXXX

By the time they coast into the town of Amos Springs, Virginia, it’s dark out, and most of the town looks closed for the night. Willow’s booked them a room at the only motel in town, and Buffy’s surprised to see the parking lot totally full when they arrive. The front desk clerk, a petite man whose nametag declares him to be Charlie, fills them in. “It’s for Halloween,” he says, typing on the ancient looking computer behind the desk. He glances up, notes their blank looks, and frowns. “The Halloween carnival?” He prompts. “People come from all over the state!”

“Oh yeah,” Faith says smoothly. “Can’t wait to check it out.”

Charlie gives them a cheerful smile and returns to typing. “I’ve got you all checked in,” he announces a moment later. “Room 110.” As he scans the keycards against the little programming pad, he gives them a concerned look. “I hope you don’t mind being on the first floor,” he says. “Unfortunately we’re all full up and that’s all we have left.”

It takes Buffy a moment to understand he’s asking if they’re worried about their safety as two women traveling alone. That’s not something either of them has worried about in quite some time, but she gives him a grateful smile anyway. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she says.

“If you need anything,” Charlie says, holding the keys out, “you just call down. If it’s late and you need a walk to your car, anything like that. I’m here until 11pm, but Gene, our third shifter, would be happy to help you, too.”

“Thank you,” Buffy says sincerely, taking the keycards.

“You ladies have a nice night now,” Charlie says.

As they make the walk to their door, Faith hauling both their bags over her shoulders and Buffy scanning the door numbers for theirs, Faith affects a thick Southern accent. “You sure you’re gon’ be okay sleeping alone tonight, little lady?”

“Where are you supposed to be from,” Buffy snorts, “the Alabama side of Boston?”

“That highfalutin Yankee attitude ain’t gonna serve you well down here,” Faith drawls.

Buffy comes to a stop in front of their door, rolling her eyes. “Does this even count as the South?”

“Oh, it counts,” Faith says in her normal voice.

Buffy unlocks the door and pushes it open, taking one of the bags from Faith so she can go in first. Faith stops just inside, dropping her bag to the ground and glancing back at Buffy uncertainly.

It becomes apparent why when Buffy closes the door behind herself and comes to join Faith. The room is older, the furnishings worn, but it smells clean and appears tidy enough. A queen bed is situated dead center of the room, covered in a beautiful patchwork quilt. Several fluffy pillows sit atop it. “Guess I won’t be sleeping alone tonight after all,” Buffy deadpans.

“Red definitely requested a double,” Faith says.

“Well, the guy said this was the last room,” Buffy points out. “It’s fine. We can share, right?”

Faith stares at the bed another moment, then she strides over to the nightstand and lifts the corded telephone. She presses a button, then raises the handset to her ear. “Hi,” she says after a beat. “Yeah, we just checked—yeah, no, it’s great. I’m just wondering if we can get a rollaway or something? We wanted the two beds.” She listens for a minute, then glances at Buffy. “Okay,” she says. “Yeah, thanks.”

Buffy waits expectantly.

Putting the phone back in the cradle, Faith runs a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “They’re out of cots,” she says. “Lot of families staying right now apparently.”

“It’s not that big a deal, is it?” Buffy asks, confused by how put out Faith seems. “I swear I don’t bite.”

Faith cracks a smile. “Sure, but I bet you hog the blankets.”

“Guess you’ll find out tonight.”

“You hog ‘em, and I might have to cling to you for warmth,” Faith says lightly.

There’s a strange fluttering in her stomach at that, and Buffy viciously shoves it down. She picks up her bag, hauling it onto the end of the bed and unzipping it. “Then I might bite after all,” she says, starting to dig around for her toiletries.

Flopping on the opposite side of the bed, Faith watches her down the bridge of her nose. “I really can’t tell if that’s a threat or a promise.”

Picking up a shirt from the top of her bag, Buffy flings it at Faith’s face with deadly accuracy. “I’m gonna get a shower,” she says, as Faith catches the shirt. “You need the bathroom?”

Faith shakes her head.

Once she’s fresh and clean, Buffy wraps her hair in a towel and puts on pajamas. It feels a little strange, knowing that Faith is going to see her in her pre-bed state, makeup free and wearing candy corn pants. She’d been stoked about them when she found them, but in the ugly fluorescent lighting of the hotel bathroom, she thinks they look stupid. It’s too late to do anything about it now, so she squares her shoulders and opens the door, emerging with a cloud of steam.

Faith looks up from where she’s sitting at the desk, eating chips from a single serve bag while she channel surfs. One of her dimples appears as the corner of her mouth curls slightly upward. “Cute,” she says, her eyes twinkling as she looks at Buffy’s pajamas.

“I would’ve gotten you a pair,” Buffy says, “but they didn’t come in leather.”

“Shame,” Faith says. Across the desk, there’s an assortment of candy and snacks. Faith seems to have purchased the entirety of the vending machine stock. “I got plenty,” she says. “Help yourself.”

Not one to pass up free candy, Buffy makes her selection, then takes it to the bed with her laptop. Willow has been thorough, and it takes Buffy some time to go through all the information she provided. There’s an interview schedule along with the provided witness statements so far. She included a list of demons that match characteristics reported by the witnesses, so they can whittle down likely candidates. There’s a short history of the town with contact information for the Mayor and the police chief. Next, there’s an overview of the Mothman case in Silver Springs, WV, with noted similarities and differences from the current case. All the way at the end of the package, there’s a short note from Willow indicating that Jenna won’t be able to come meet her and Faith will be coming in her place. Information I could have used this morning before I accidentally checked out Faith, Buffy thinks.

By the time she’s done reviewing everything, Faith’s disappeared into the bathroom, and Buffy can hear the sounds of her brushing her teeth. She closes her laptop and takes it over to the desk, plugging it in to charge. She shakes her hair free from the towel and retrieves her brush from her bag, combing her hair out. The bathroom door opens as she’s finishing, and Faith stops in the doorway, as if surprised to find Buffy’s moved. “Hey,” she says. “Homework all done?”

Buffy nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I think I got the gist anyway.” She glances at the bed, rumpled on the left where she was sitting. Soon the two of them are going to be in bed together, and she feels a little of the weirdness that Faith must have been feeling earlier.  “You, umm, ready to turn in soon?”

“Yeah,” Faith agrees. She takes her dirty clothes over to her own bag, setting them down.

In contrast to Buffy’s Halloween themed pjs, Faith’s wearing baggy shorts and a t-shirt. As she digs in her bag for something, the shirt tightens and stretches over her back. No bra lines, Buffy thinks with a slight edge of panic. Chill out, she tells herself. Of course she’s not wearing a bra to sleep in. Who does that?

Edging around the bed, Buffy gives Faith a wide berth as she makes her way to the bathroom. She closes the door behind her and, taking a calming breath, sets about brushing her teeth. Once she’s done, she looks at herself in the mirror. She is wearing a bra, which seems unnecessarily uptight now that she knows Faith isn’t worried about it. Decisively, she reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra, tugging the straps out through her sleeves. She pulls the bra from under her shirt and looks in the mirror again, immediately feeling self-conscious.

“B?” She hears Faith call through the door. “You want the side you were on?”

Giving herself a firm shake of the head, Buffy opens the bathroom door and steps out, flicking the light off. “Yeah,” she says, “if that works for you.” She goes by her suitcase, discreetly dropping her bra in it and flipping it closed.

“Fine by me,” Faith says. She sets a small toiletry case down on the bedside table, then turns down the covers on the right side of the bed, hesitating just a moment before she slides in.

Buffy turns off the desk light, then goes to the opposite side of the bed. She gets in quickly, not looking at Faith. She stays on her side, facing away, until she smells something sweet and glances back over her shoulder.

Faith’s working lotion into her hands, the bottle sitting on the quilt between them. Buffy gets fixated for a second, watching her fingers weave together then pull apart, startling when Faith asks, “You want some?”

“Sure,” Buffy says. “I like the way it smells.” She rolls over so she’s facing Faith, carefully keeping space between them.

“It’s got cocoa butter,” Faith says. “That’s probably it.” She flicks open the tube, waiting for Buffy to offer her an open palm before she squeezes a dollop free. 

“Thanks,” Buffy says, beginning to rub her hands together.

Faith puts the tube in her toiletry bag, then flicks off the light, leaving them in the relative darkness of the room.

With the light extinguished, it feels like all her senses immediately hone in on the fact that Faith is lying right next to her. Buffy tries to concentrate on the sound of her own breathing, but try as she might, she still keeps hearing Faith’s. As her eyes adjust to the dark, Buffy can see Faith’s chest rising and falling slowly. The blankets rustle as she stretches out a foot. It accidentally hits Buffy’s, and Faith all but yanks hers back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, closing her eyes. Faith once said that maybe the two of them were never meant to exist together. It was a moment Buffy’s thought of several times over the years. It would be easy to reduce it to a slayer thing—a fork in a linear pathway—but Buffy doesn’t really believe that. Sometimes she thinks it’s actually the opposite. Water wants to return to water, and so does the slayer line. They come together over and over, but they always draw apart. That’s not the slayer line’s fault; it’s Buffy’s.

“Tell me the truth,” Faith says lightly, and for a moment, Buffy’s afraid she was thinking aloud. Then Faith says, “You’re bummed you’re not rooming with Jenna, right?”

Oh. Buffy snickers. “Nah. Something tells me Jenna kicks.”

“I might kick.”

“Yeah, but I can beat you up if I need to. Giles frowns upon me wiping the floor with the juniors. Says it’s not good for morale.”

“Such a stick in the mud, that guy,” Faith says, not bothering to argue over who can beat up whom. “Sparring with you always boosted my morale.”

“Yeah?” Buffy asks, smiling slightly. “Mine, too.” A little of the tension bleeds out of the room. “Faith?”

“Mhmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

It takes an extra second for Faith to respond, and without being able to see her face, Buffy’s not sure why. “Me too,” Faith says. “Goodnight, B.”

“Night,” Buffy says.

XXXXX

Morning comes slowly, the sun struggling over the horizon like it does on Fall mornings, burning away traces of fog that developed overnight. It’s slower still to reach Buffy, but when it finally does, she ignores it for a few minutes, content in her warm cocoon of blankets. Eventually she cracks an eye open, blinking against the sparse amount of light filtering through the curtains. She’s momentarily stumped by the slender wrist she can see disappearing under her pillow, then it clicks. Her eyes follow the tiny blue veins in that wrist up to the soft bend of an elbow, then to the bicep partially covered by a faded gray t-shirt. It’s Faith’s shirt, pulled tight around her shoulders where they’re bowed together. She lies on her side, facing Buffy, lips parted and relaxed in sleep. Her dark hair streams across the pillow behind her.

Faith’s other arm is partially around Buffy’s waist, her slack fingertips just brushing Buffy’s spine, and Buffy freezes, unsure what to do. Instead of moving, she finds herself just watching Faith sleep. It’s creepy, and she should definitely look away before Faith wakes up, but Buffy doesn’t remember ever having seen Faith like this. She’s bare faced, hair pulled back from her face, with none of the armor she wears so well in her waking hours. Buffy catalogues all the details she’s never noticed before: the wispy strands of hair along her temples, the fan of her dark eyelashes against creamy soft cheeks, the delicate lines of Faith’s neck. She has one solitary freckle near her ear. One foot is kicked free of the covers, her bare toes basking in a stray sunbeam that’s hit the end of the bed.

The thought that she’s definitely woken up to worse sights drifts into her mind, and Buffy indulges it for a moment, thinking about what it would be like to share a bed with Faith in different circumstances. Just as quickly as she thinks that, she shuts it down. Faith’s a friend, of sorts. She’s a coworker or an acquaintance, or… something. She’s Faith, and it’s just disrespectful to entertain even a relatively innocent fantasy about her. The polite thing to do is gently extract herself from Faith’s hold before she wakes up, then pretend this never happened. Besides, Buffy wouldn’t be interested in finding herself in Faith’s bed anyway. Definitely not. And okay, fine, she evidently felt safe enough to sleep right through Faith cuddling up to her, when she knows damn well that her slayer senses would have had her leaping out of bed if she felt the slightest bit off. But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s just gotten comfortable with Faith as a non-enemy, almost a friend. That’s all. It’s only natural that having a purely accidental snuggle with a friend would feel so nice and warm and soft and make her think about—No. Not going down this road. Get out of bed. Get out of bed now.

Buffy starts to shift away, trying to roll slowly onto her back without waking Faith up. That only migrates Faith’s hand to her stomach instead, and Faith makes a sleepy grumbling sound, her fingertips twitching suddenly.

Buffy freezes again. After a moment, she gently takes Faith’s hand, intending to move it to the bed and make her escape before Faith even wakes up.

Her plan is foiled almost immediately. As soon as she grips Faith’s hand, Faith opens her eyes, blinking at Buffy. “Hi,” she says in a gravelly voice.

“Hi,” Buffy whispers back, just as Faith seems to notice the position of her hand.

Faith’s eyes widen, and her hand darts away from Buffy’s skin, back to her own side of the bed. “Sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to.”

Is Faith’s face a little red? “It’s okay,” Buffy assures her. “I’ve shared beds with Dawn. She’s like an octopus. You’re tame in comparison.”

Giving her a small smile, Faith says, “Want to get up and find some breakfast?”

That’s a good idea. An activity will definitely distract from the awkwardness. “Yes, please,” Buffy says.

XXXXX

Faith is making a determined effort to focus on their job today, and not on how she woke up this morning, but it keeps creeping back into her mind. Buffy’s been studiously looking at every photo in this woman’s living room since the moment the lady went to the kitchen to get refreshments for them, so it’s obvious she’s doing the same thing. Faith knew the hotel room would be a problem—she knew it. She should have told Giles she’d need her own room if she was going on this trip. Now, not only do they have to share the same room but the same bed, which honestly, would be an HR lawsuit waiting to happen if she worked for any kind of normal company. Fucking sacred duty.

“Here we go!” Mrs. Lucy Covarrubias says cheerfully, coming back to the living room with a tray in her hands. Buffy jumps in to assist her in setting the full tray down on the coffee table, making polite sounds of interest as Mrs. Covarrubias tells them about the scones she baked herself.

Mrs. Covarrubias pours a mug of tea for each of them, and Faith accepts hers with thanks before setting it aside to cool. She waits until the older woman has sat all the way back on the couch before she speaks. “So,” Faith starts, “tell us about the Mothman.”

Mrs. Covarrubias gives her a pointed look, picking up her mug and blowing into it delicately. “I never said Mothman,” she clarifies. “The people in that podunk over in West Virginia said they had Mothman there, but I don’t believe that for a second.”

This, Faith was not expecting. For one thing, Point Pleasant, WV has about double the population of Amos Springs. If this ain’t the pot calling the kettle a podunk… 

“You’re saying you don’t believe Mothman was real?” Buffy asks, picking up her own mug. An open notepad rests on her knee.

Sniffing in disdain, Mrs. Covarrubias says, “Ms. Sullivan, if you really thought you had a monster in your backyard, would you throw a festival in its honor every year?”

Buffy nods as if that’s a good point, taking a sip.

“How would you describe what you saw?” Faith asks, hoping to stave off further commentary on the goings on of a town they aren’t even in.

“Well,” Mrs. Covarrubias says, wrapping both hands around her cup, “I was driving home from my girlfriend’s place—she lives out on the other side of I-99 and it’s real wooded along there—and that’s when I saw it.” She takes a drink, squinting as if she’s trying to picture the scene again. “At first I thought it was an animal. It was dark, and I just saw these deep red eyes. But as I kept driving and got closer to it, I could make out its shape.” She pauses, grimacing. Then her eyes meet Faith’s. “It was like no animal I’ve ever seen.”

“You got a good look?” Faith asks. She skimmed the research Willow provided (the important parts anyway), so she knows the red eyes can be explained by a few animals, as well as about 20 different species of demons.

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Covarrubias agrees. “It was basically shaped like a man, you know, two arms, two legs. But tall. And then as I drove by, these giant wings opened behind it.” She grips her mug tighter. “I must have floored it for the next 10 miles,” she says in a softer voice. “Never seen anything like it in my life.”

“Was that the only time you’ve seen the creature?” Buffy asks, picking up her pad and making a few notes.

Mrs. Covarrubias nods.

“Do you think you can point out for us on a map roughly where you were?” Buffy asks.

Mrs. Covarrubias agrees, so Faith pulls a map of the area free from her bag and hands it over, along with a red marker. The two of them wait, sipping tea and munching on scones, as the witness finds what she thinks is the right place and marks it.

“Thank you,” Faith says, as she accepts the map and marker back. “Is there anything else you can remember? Anything strange that happened before or after you saw this thing?”

Again, Mrs. Covarrubias nods. “Well, yes,” she says, “my father died.”

That wasn’t in the report. “When was that?”

“The next day,” Mrs. Covarrubias says. Her lips press together in a worried line. “I did wonder if it was related. The others who’ve seen him… things have happened to them too.” She looks searchingly between the two of them.

Buffy closes her pad and offers the woman a small smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Covarrubias says, bowing her head slightly.

“We really appreciate you taking the time to talk with us,” Buffy adds. She sets her mug down carefully on the coaster in front of her.

“Oh,” Mrs. Covarrubias says, getting to her feet, “before you go, I have something else that might help.”

Faith shoots Buffy an inquisitive glance as the woman hurries from the room. Buffy shrugs, closing her notepad and tucking it back in her purse. She settles her purse strap over her shoulder, looking more professional in her blazer and blouse than Faith thinks the average paranormal investigator does. Faith thinks Buffy also looks decidedly hotter than was probably needed for the job, but that’s neither here nor there. For her part, Faith cleaned up with a nicely pressed button down and dark jeans. She’s sporting a messenger bag to keep up appearances, but there’s nothing in it except a new notebook, some pens, her fake identification, and some gas station candy for when she gets peckish later. She adds the map and marker back to her collection.

Returning with something in her hand, Mrs. Covarrubias stops short of Faith’s elbow and holds out a sheet of thick, high quality paper. Faith takes it, holding it up so she and Buffy can both view it. Mrs. Covarrubias is an artist of some talent, if this drawing is anything to go by. She’s sketched exactly what she described to them, and the creature looks ready to leap off the page. The eyes hold her attention for a moment. They’re the red of fresh spilled blood, and something about the way she’s drawn the shape of them denotes awareness… intelligence even. “Do you think the creature saw you?” Faith asks.

“Oh, yes. It looked right at me.”

“But it didn’t try to follow you.”

“No,” Mrs. Covarrubias agrees. She looks anxiously between the two of them. “You’ll let me know what you find out?”

Buffy nods, smiling politely. “We’ll be in touch,” she says.

XXXXX

They grab dinner at a place called Patty’s, which seems to be really the only restaurant in town. The waitress assumes they’re there for Halloween, and they don’t disabuse her of that notion. The service is prompt, and they have enough time for Faith to polish off a giant piece of the German chocolate cake that caught her eye on the way in. By the time they finish up, it’s time to meet their next interviewee.  

Melvin Langly, age 49, is a lifelong resident of Amos Springs and the owner of the Iron Horse, apparently the town’s one and only bar. He’s requested they meet him there, promising it won’t be so busy that he won’t have time to speak with them. As they step through the door, Faith has no trouble believing it. The place is nearly empty, with just two bar stools and one booth in the small bar occupied. Buffy takes the lead, approaching the bar. A dark haired man stands in back, drying a glass and chatting with one of the men seated at the bar. He looks up as they approach, flashing them a wide smile. Excusing himself from the customer he’s chatting with, he makes haste toward them, calling out a greeting. “Hi there,” he says. “What can I get ya?”

Buffy gives him an uncertain look. “You’re not Mr. Langly, are you?”

“Oh!” The barkeep says. “You’re those gals coming to talk to Uncle Mel about the”—he lowers his voice substantially—“thing he saw?”

“We are those gals,” Faith confirms dryly.

“I’m Mel’s nephew,” the man says, sticking his hand out. “Alex.”

They dutifully shake his hand, and Alex continues, “He said to let you know he’s real sorry. Aunt Terr broke down out on 99 and he had to run and pick her up. He asked if y’all can come back tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Buffy says agreeably, “not a problem.”

Alex smiles again. “He also said to give you a drink on the house for your trouble.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, glancing at Faith, “we don’t—”

Faith’s already leaning over the bar to see the selection. “You got the Oktoberfest on tap?”

Buffy rolls her eyes, then looks back at Alex. “Cranberry vodka, please.”

They take the corner booth. Faith takes the side that leaves her with a clear view of the bar. It’s not exactly a hole in the wall; it’s too clean for that. The furniture is old, but the whole place has a warm and well-loved feeling. The wood is polished, the dart board new. A 70s style jukebox sits against the front wall, a goliath lit up in neon lights. Someone seems to have queued up a whole playlist, as it hasn’t gone quiet since they got here.

“So,” Faith says, once they’ve refreshed their drinks a few times, and she’s pleasantly buzzed enough to let her tongue loosen, “you like chicks.”

Across from her, Buffy chokes on a sip of her drink, coughing loudly. Her face turns red, whether from embarrassment or choking, Faith doesn’t know. “So?” It comes out in a wheeze but still manages to sound confrontational.

“Just didn’t see it coming,” Faith says. She really didn’t. Buffy Summers of yore was as straight laced as they came. Hell, she’d barely believed Buffy had gotten her naughty on with Spike; even that sounded too wild for the Buffy she knew. Overhearing a bunch of newbies talking about how Buffy and Satsu were doing the nasty had been the shock of a lifetime.

“Guess you don’t know everything about me,” Buffy says sassily.

Faith grins. “Guess I don’t,” she admits. “What triggered your a-ha! moment?”

Buffy thinks about that for a minute, toying with the little cocktail straws in her drink. “I think it was a lot of little moments, not one big one,” she says. She glances over, looking a little bit more timid now, and Faith gestures for her to continue. “I guess in retrospect, there were some girls that I liked, I just didn’t know what it meant at the time. Like my best friend in LA… we spent all our time together and we were really close, until we weren’t. She got close with someone else, and I was totally crushed.”

It’s such a textbook baby gay experience that Faith almost laughs, but she catches herself. Buffy will definitely take that the wrong way. She confines herself to a little smile that Buffy returns, still looking slightly embarrassed.

Buffy says, “There were also times when I’d think like, wow, that girl looks really hot… I just thought all girls had thoughts like that.” She drops her eyes to her drink, taking a sip.

“For me it was the 1992 cinematic masterpiece Poison Ivy,” Faith says decisively. “I saw Drew Barrymore and Sara Gilbert kissing and I wanted in that sandwich.”

Buffy’s mouth falls open in obvious surprise. “What?”

“What?” Faith asks, laughing now. She traces lines in the condensation on her glass.

“I didn’t know you were…” Buffy fumbles, seeming unsure which word to choose.

“Gay as a maypole?” Faith suggests lightly.

Buffy half nods. “Was it… I mean, were you, before prison?”

Faith blinks at her incredulously. “You know the saying is ‘gay for the stay,’ right? You don’t convert for life.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Buffy protests.

Ignoring her, Faith continues, “I did pick up a few new tricks though.”

Buffy pauses. “Really?”

“No,” Faith says, deadpan, “I’m fucking with you, B, come on.”

The slap isn’t unexpected, but Buffy’s had maybe just a bit too much to drink, because she doesn’t pull her force as much as Faith expects. “Ow,” Faith complains, shaking out her arm. She sees Buffy’s pouty face and decides to give her a real answer. “I’ve known since I was like thirteen,” she says.

“So, you’re bi?”

“Eh,” Faith says, “I prefer women.”

Buffy nods, clearly processing this (somehow) brand new information. She’s quiet for a minute, sipping at what has to be little more than melted ice at the bottom of her glass.

Even after all this time, Faith easily reads Buffy. She might as well have a neon flashing sign on her forehead that says, I’m upset. “Why’s this throwing you so much?” Faith asks curiously.

“It’s not,” Buffy protests.

Faith lets that go, giving Buffy a moment to see if she has anything else to say. She finishes clearing away the condensation on her glass before bringing it to her lips. She looks at Buffy from the corner of her eye, watching her drain the bottom of her own drink.

“You never told me,” Buffy finally says, meeting Faith’s eyes.

If this were a few years ago, Faith might respond and say it wasn’t like Buffy tried very hard to get to know her. These days, she takes a more measured approach to Buffy. Other things matter more than their ancient history. Let the past stay in the past. She shrugs, keeping an air of casualness. “You didn’t tell me either.”

“Well, yeah,” Buffy says, “but I figured everybody knew already, including you. I wasn’t hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding it either,” Faith says, willing herself not to get annoyed. She’s beginning to get the feeling that Buffy’s one of those people who gets emotional when she drinks. Deliberately softening her tone, she peers at Buffy closer. “And you know now, right?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, still looking troubled. “I guess it’s just… here’s this huge thing about you, and I never knew. I know we’re not, like, best friends or anything, but I thought things were different now.” She pushes her hair behind her ear, looking away. “Better… whatever.”

“They are,” Faith assures her. To prove it, she reaches across the table and puts her hand over Buffy’s. “You wanna know about me?” She asks in a teasing voice, shaking Buffy’s hand a little. “Ask me anything. I’m an open book.” It’s unlikely anyone would ever have described Faith as an open book, and that’s probably because, in spite of all the ways she’s grown as a person, she still prefers to keep her shit mostly private. But if it’ll get that look off Buffy’s face, she can play 20 Questions.

Buffy brightens, but before she can say anything, Alex calls over to them. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” He asks politely. “I’m closing up shop here in a minute.”

Glancing at the clock, Faith sees it’s not quite 10 o’clock, but it’s a weeknight in a small town. The poor guy probably wanted to close up two hours ago. She glances at Buffy, tilting her head toward the exit. When Buffy nods, Faith calls back, “No, we’re good! Thanks, man.”

Faith slides from her side of the booth and gets to her feet. She plucks Buffy’s jacket from the hook it’s hanging on, holding it open when Buffy stands up.

“Thanks,” Buffy says, sliding her arms through the sleeves. She smiles at Faith over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Faith says, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the way that smile just made her face go warm.

XXXXX

When Faith comes out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and wearing loose shorts and a t-shirt, Buffy’s already curled up on the side of the bed furthest from the door. She’s similarly dressed, at least as far as Faith can see above where the blanket is tucked around her. The light on her side of the bed is still on, leaving the room softly illuminated. Faith shuffles over, thinking that it should probably feel weirder, that there’s her side and Buffy’s side of this one bed. She probably has her old friend Sam Adams and her new friend Alex Something who’s good at pouring and bad at totaling a tab to thank for that. If she weren’t somewhere between buzzed and drunk right now, she’d probably be dwelling harder on how wild it is that she’s sliding into bed next to Buffy again. Even when they were kids and they were something like friends, she never got invited to do that girly sleepover shit that Buffy and Willow, and even sometimes Xander, were into.

They aren’t kids anymore, but sometimes Faith still feels like she is when she’s around Buffy. She still has the power to make Faith feel small with just a pinched, disappointed look. But the opposite is true, too. When they see each other and it’s good, like tonight, Faith feels on top of the world. She doesn’t know if it’s a slayer thing, or a trauma thing, but something in Faith feels imprinted on Buffy. All the time she spent in prison, knowing she was doing the right thing—making amends, accepting punishment—nothing she did made her feel like she had a chance to be good again until she was needed back in Sunnydale. Her biggest regret is still destroying her relationship with Buffy. She’ll never tell anyone that—what kind of person feels worse about losing a friend than literally killing someone?—but it’s the truth.

“Faith?” Buffy asks softly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You gonna turn out the light?”

“Oh,” Faith says, “yeah.” She reaches up, flipping the switch and plunging the room into a pleasant, soft sort of darkness. The heater hums quietly from across the room, and she can hear Buffy’s even breathing so close beside her. It takes Faith a minute to get comfortable in the overly soft bed, finally lying on her back with her left arm up, palm tucked under her head. She glances across the space between them. The room is dark except for grainy light bleeding through the thin curtain, but Faith can make out the minute details of Buffy’s face. Her eyelashes are long and dark where they rest against her cheeks, her lips just slightly parted. Somewhere beneath all Faith’s introspection, another feeling from her misguided youth bubbles up. Want, hollowing out her stomach and coiling in her throat. Swallowing it down, Faith looks away, at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Faith says quietly, “Buffy.” Buffy’s full name always feels strange in her mouth, and this time is no different.

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said tonight,” Faith says. “Things are different with us now, you know? Better?”

Buffy doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then the sheets rustle, and she slides closer. Faith thinks she’s just getting more comfortable, but she keeps coming, her head nestling into Faith’s shoulder. Buffy tucks her hand against her own stomach, not putting her arm around Faith, just resting against her side.

Confusion is the reigning emotion Faith feels, but close behind that is something warm and strangely tender. Have they ever hugged? Has there ever been a time in their history when Buffy being crowded against her would have felt safe or comforting? Faith doesn’t think so, but there’s a first time for everything. Tentatively, she stretches her arm out and takes a deep breath.  “Don't bite me,” she whispers, only half joking.

“I won’t,” Buffy says, so Faith brings her arm down until her fingertips brush Buffy’s back.

A soft exhale from Buffy hits Faith’s throat, and she can feel her skin tighten into goosebumps. She finds her way to Buffy’s hip and lets her fingers curl around it.

Faith’s not really sure what’s going on. This is not how she was expecting them sharing the bed to go; she’d thought there would be more awkward clinging to the sides after this morning’s snafu. Buffy’s closeness isn’t really doing anything to alleviate the resurgence of Faith’s distinctly more-than-friendly thoughts about her either. Gotta nip those in the bud, she tells herself. Whatever this cuddle ‘sesh is about… it’s not that.

Then Buffy untucks her hand from between them and brings it up, laying it over Faith’s sternum, and oh, maybe it is that. Buffy’s forearm rests half on Faith’s left breast, and Faith’s nipples tighten in response. There’s nothing about her touch that’s overtly sexual, but it’s intimate in a way Faith wasn’t expecting. She takes a second to try to get her racing heart under control. Then, gathering her courage, she tilts her head back, looking down into Buffy’s face.

Buffy’s looking back at her, and they lock eyes for a moment. Faith looks for some clue as to what Buffy’s thinking, but unfortunately mind reading isn’t one of the slayer powers. The powers that she does have clock various pieces of information that might be useful. Buffy’s pulse is flickering in her throat, faster than normal. Her lips are slightly parted, damp like she’s just licked them. Buffy’s thumb moves against Faith’s chest, just the slightest circling motion, but it makes Faith’s breath catch.

Faith leans in slowly, giving Buffy time to push her away or lean back if Faith’s somehow misreading the signals. But Buffy doesn’t do that. She meets her in the middle. Their mouths brush, Buffy’s nose bumping into hers along the way, then slot together as they both lean in more.

Seeking a better angle, Faith shifts onto her side. Buffy’s hand slides over her breast as she slips her arm under Faith’s and around her back, and sparks of heat flare up in Faith’s stomach. She hears a small, pleased sigh from Buffy as Faith tugs her close, leaving the two of them sandwiched against one another.  

Their legs tangle together, Buffy’s knee between hers. Faith’s fingers slip under the back of Buffy’s shirt, gliding over warm, smooth skin. Buffy’s mouth is so soft, all minty sweet and pliant when Faith licks at the seam of her lips.

When Buffy captures Faith’s bottom lip in her teeth, sucking and biting down at the same time, Faith’s hips press forward into hers, and she finds herself groaning against Buffy’s mouth. The thigh between hers creeps upward, and Faith starts to part her legs further. Buffy smells so good, and her skin is so soft, and Faith’s already feeling a familiar ache between her legs. But then she catches herself, halting Buffy’s thigh in its progress. She kisses Buffy again and then pulls back a little.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asks, opening her eyes.

“Nothing,” Faith assures her. “Just, uhh, thought we should slow it down a little.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, loosening her hold slightly. “Sorry, I thought you wanted…” She starts to shift away.

“I did,” Faith says, tightening her arms around Buffy’s back so she’s lightly pinned in place. “I do. Just, I think I’ve had a bit too much to really be able to do my best work.”

“Okay,” Buffy says. She looks a little embarrassed, but still so damn gorgeous that Faith asks herself what the hell she’s doing turning Buffy down. She’s so tempted to just say screw it, and follow where this leads. She can almost imagine it… Buffy naked underneath her, that pretty pink mouth saying Faith’s name… but she knows this is the smart play. Neither of them is sober. They have a lot of history between them. The two of them are finally in a kind of good place. She can’t risk that.

XXXXX

“Hmm,” Buffy says, propped against the headboard of their made bed with an open laptop on her thighs. 

Faith’s commandeered the wall across from her and, armed with a roll of tape, is sticking various pieces of information to the wall in some attempt at organization. “Hmm?” She says back.

It’s mid afternoon, their second interview officially completed this morning. Melissa Fowley, age 26, is the first shift nurse at the local clinic and took her dog, Mr. Snickerdoodle Fowley, for a pre-dawn walk prior to reporting to work. Ms. Fowley and Snickerdoodle live in a rented home on the outskirts of town, backing up to a wooded area. Melissa had told them a similar story to Mrs. Covarrubias, only in this case, Snickerdoodle was the first to notice something was amiss.

So far today, they’ve made it through breakfast and the interview, driven by both locations mentioned in interviews so far, and had a bite of lunch. All of that without either of them mentioning what happened last night. Faith’s beginning to think she made the whole thing up in some lust-infused drunken dream. By the time she woke up this morning, the shower was running and the covers on Buffy’s side of the bed were neatly pulled up.

“Mrs. Covarrubias told us some of the others had strange things happen to them after spotting this thing,” Buffy answers vaguely, obviously thinking about something. She gnaws on her bottom lip absently, still looking at something on her screen. Faith’s eyes linger on Buffy’s mouth, thinking about how she’d run her tongue over the same spot Buffy’s biting, before she shakes herself out of it.

“Yeah,” Faith prompts, waiting for Buffy to elaborate.

Buffy looks over at the wall where Faith’s been organizing information, nodding approvingly. “Okay, so Melissa told us that the morning they saw the entity—” She pauses at Faith’s raised eyebrow. “What?”

“The ‘entity,’” Faith quotes back. “Very professional sounding, Ms. Sullivan,” she teases. “I like it.”

Buffy smirks, shaking her head at Faith as she continues, “The morning she saw the thing, she was attacked by a patient at work.”

“Right,” Faith agrees.

“So we thought we were seeing the start of a pattern.”

Faith nods.

“Well, check this out,” Buffy says, gesturing to her screen.

She doesn’t move the computer, so Faith comes around to her side of the bed and leans over her shoulder. Buffy shifts over, leaving room for Faith to perch beside her.

There still isn’t much room, and Faith ends up with her thigh pressed to Buffy’s. She looks at the screen, where an obituary sits open on the Kritschgau Family Funeral Home & Crematory website.

Conrad Spender, age 79, a lifelong resident of Amos Springs, passed away February 4th after a long battle with cancer. Preceded in death by his parents, Alvin and Margaret (Reardon) Spender. Survived by wife of 60 years, Teena (Byers); daughter, Lucy (Jeffrey Covarrubias); and two grandchildren, Dana and John. Visitation 5-7pm Friday and celebration of life 11am Saturday at Kritschgau Family Funeral Home, 1013 Greenhaven Dr., Amos Springs.

“Hmm,” Faith says.

“Right?” Buffy asks. “It’s not exactly surprising for someone to pass away after a ‘long battle with cancer.’”

Nodding, Faith says, “So it might not have anything to do with the entity.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Right.”

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation and all that.”

Buffy raises her eyebrows.

“Been spending too much time with Giles,” Faith admits. “I know.”

Closing the laptop decisively, Buffy says, “We’re gonna need more info.” She looks at Faith. “What’s your favorite color?”

Faith blinks at the non sequitur. “Huh?”

“You said I could ask you anything,” Buffy points out, her voice low and soft. Faith watches her lips move as she talks.

“And that’s been a burning question for you?”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy says seriously. “Since ’98 or so. What’s Faith Lehane’s favorite color? I’m gonna guess red.”

Their sides are still pressed together, and Buffy’s pinkie finger is resting on Faith’s thigh. “Black,” Faith corrects, wondering if this is Buffy’s way of circling back to the events of last night.

“That’s not a color,” Buffy says. “That’s the result of all the colors being mixed into one.”

“How is the culmination of all the colors not also a color?”

Buffy harrumphs. “Okay, fine, goth girl. I accept your answer.”

“Let me guess yours,” Faith says, intentionally knocking her shoulder into Buffy’s a little. “Pink.”

“Nothing wrong with pink,” Buffy says, refusing to be shoved, “but no, it’s green.”

“Hmm,” Faith says, “I guess that’s respectable.”

Buffy grins, then glances at the clock on the bedside. “We’ve got some time to kill. Wanna get out of here?”

XXXX

The line to the coffee cart is a few people deep in spite of the fact that it’s the middle of a weekday. The cart is decorated in giant dried corn stalks and smiling wooden pumpkin cutouts. A sign on top proudly proclaims it to be the Amos Springs Roastery & Coffee Shop, with Roastery crossed out and Ghostery written in cursive lettering.

“These people are really into Halloween,” Faith mutters, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket to ward off the slight chill in the air.

“I think it’s fun,” Buffy says, dressed slightly more sensibly than Faith, in high boots and a thick sweater. “We should get costumes if we’re gonna be here for the carnival. It’s only a few days away.”

Faith doesn’t look entirely convinced. “We might have this all wrapped up by then.” She lowers her voice, leaning a little closer before she says, “I figured we’d slay this Mothman or whatever, save the townspeople, and go back to the fancy hotel for a night on G’s credit card.”

“Tempting,” Buffy agrees. And it is, partly because she loves a fancy hotel, and partly because she knows Faith has that bikini with her and could probably be convinced to go for another swim. “But the carnival sounds fun, too.”

Giving her a noncommittal shrug, Faith agrees, “We can stay if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

They shuffle a few feet closer to their destination as the line moves.

“So,” Faith says, resuming their game from earlier, “what’d you wanna be when you grew up?”

“Something with fashion,” Buffy says without hesitation. “Maybe a buyer for a really cool boutique.” Those days are long behind her, but at least Buffy’s finally able to keep her clothes mostly blood and goo free, and she’s getting paid a salary so she can actually go shopping. “You?”

“Eh,” Faith hedges, as they take another few paces forward, “Didn’t really think I’d be around long enough to figure it out.” She must see the way Buffy’s face falls, because Faith adds, “When I was really little, I wanted to be a boat captain.”

“How come?” Buffy asks, as they move into the second in line position.

“I liked the ocean,” Faith answers, “and even as a kid, I knew I wanted to leave. Just sail off to some far away place.” She gives Buffy a small smile. “I guess that wish partially came true. I’ve been to lots of places now.”

It’s their turn. Buffy steps up first, and the woman behind the cart says, “Hello, gord-geous! Would you like to sample our cider?”

“Oh,” Buffy says, taken a little aback, “sure. Faith?” She waves Faith forward to join her.

They each end up ordering the cider and move aside to wait for their order. It only takes a moment. The barista, whose nametag identifies her as Eve, holds Buffy’s cup out to her and says, “You’re the investigators.” Off their startled looks, she says, “Small town,” with an apologetic shrug. “You should talk to Gibson,” Eve suggests, gesturing toward the back of the line where a tall, thin man stands, reading from a worn book while he waits his turn. “He lives on the edge of town, by 99. Nobody knows those woods better.”

“Thank you,” Buffy says, bringing the uncovered cup to her lips and blowing lightly across the surface of the cider.

When Faith reaches for hers, Eve fumbles the cup, sloshing hot liquid onto both of their hands. “Oh gosh,” she exclaims. “I’m so sorry.”

Faith shakes her hand off, wincing slightly. “It’s okay. Your hand okay?”

“Yeah,” Eve says, wiping her hand down with a damp cloth. She holds another out to Faith, waiting until she’s cleaned her hands before she takes it back. Then she thrusts a cake pop covered in a white cloth and googly eyes at Faith. “On the house,” she insists, waiting for Faith to accept the little ghost.

“Thanks,” Faith says, holding her cup up in a toasting gesture.

Satisfied that she hasn’t permanently injured Faith, Eve waves a goodbye to them and turns to the next customer with a smile. “Hey, Tommy! What can I get ya?”

Buffy and Faith leave the Ghostery behind and begin strolling up the street, moving lazily in the direction of a small park they passed earlier.

It’s Buffy’s turn to ask a question, and she’s got a good one ready to go. “Who was your first kiss?” She asks mischievously, peering at Faith over the rim of her steaming cup.

Taking a small sip of her hot cider, Faith tries to remember back that far. “First kiss, or first real kiss?” She clarifies. “Like, do you want to know about second grade?”

“First real kiss.”

“Monica Kersh,” Faith says, grinning when Buffy raises her eyebrows in surprise. “I was 13; she was 14. We were sharing a vanilla cone with sprinkles, and what can I say… one thing led to another.”

Laughing, Buffy asks, “Who kissed who?”

“She kissed me,” Faith says. “What about yours?” 

“Billy Miles,” Buffy says, with an exaggerated sigh, “only the dreamiest boy in Hemery’s freshman class.”

“Total hottie?” Faith smirks.

“Oh yeah. The bowl cut and braces really did it for me.”

Faith snorts lightly as they turn onto the path leading to the park. “I’m sure it made his whole day though,” she says, before casting a leer in Buffy’s direction. “Are we talking tongue?”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “No tongue, you pervert.”

“Well, still. Getting to tell his friends he kissed Buffy Summers? Not a bad day for bowl cut boy.”

Buffy just shakes her head, choosing to focus on the park rather than give Faith more ammo to tease her with. It’s mostly deserted, with all the local kids presumably in school. One of the benches is occupied by an elderly couple, holding hands as they chat quietly. Buffy and Faith make for a small gazebo on the other side of the park, far enough to be out of hearing range of the couple.

The whole place is picturesque. Newly fallen leaves litter the mostly green grass of the park. The gazebo stands ahead of them, overlooking a small stream. The old, white washed structure is peeling in a few places, but a neatly shingled roof looks new. Pumpkins line the stairs to the enclosure, and a little plaque on the doorframe reads Amos Springs Gazebo, July 18, 1902. Inside, built in benches line each wall. Faith gestures for Buffy to sit down first, and she does, taking a deeper sip of her slightly more tepid cider. This place is straight out of a Hallmark movie. Glancing to her side, she sees Faith with one foot up on the bench, her arm wrapped around her knee casually as she, too, surveys the park around them. The wind rumples her dark hair, and Buffy has a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe this is a Hallmark movie situation. Friends turned enemies turned friends again, meeting by chance in a small town right before a holiday… the setting’s right. But are the characters?

This whole trip so far has brought up a jumbled mess of feelings for Buffy. She and Faith have historically been relatively unmixy things, but, for Buffy at least, their shared history created a bizarre connection that she still feels all these years later. They’ve shared dreams and been inside one another’s skin. They’ve saved each other’s lives, and they’ve tried to destroy one another. Faith knows better than anyone on this earth what Buffy’s really capable of when push comes to shove. It wasn’t pretty and it’s not something she’s proud of. In fact, stabbing Faith was one of the worst moments of her life, but the fact that they both eventually came through it and fought side by side at the end of the world… that meant a lot to Buffy.

They’re older and wiser now. Faith in particular seems to have grown up. She has her own life, does her work far from Buffy and the castle. She seems so far from the Faith Buffy first met. That girl needed help. She needed a friend. She needed Buffy—something Buffy couldn’t see at the time. Now, when Buffy’s grown up herself and she’s finally in a position to understand what Faith was looking for back then, and maybe even give it to her, it seems like Faith doesn’t really need that anymore. And nobody’s happier than Buffy to see Faith looking so put together and happy with herself, but it stings a little, too—the knowledge that maybe for Faith, healing meant putting Buffy behind her.

Adding to the tangled ball of Christmas lights that are her emotions, there’s last night. Alcohol has never really been Buffy’s friend. She rarely partakes, and when she does, sometimes she gets a little too in her feelings. Last night was kind of a case in point. Thankfully, she’d still had the presence of mind to rein herself in from totally spilling her guts. Stone cold sober, she can connect the dots between her feelings about their past and the reason finding out about Faith’s sexuality made her feel so out of sorts. As long as Faith was straight, the chances of there being another woman looming larger than Buffy in her story were slim. Knowing it’s possible Faith’s known lots of women that were important to her, maybe even some she loved, makes Buffy feel foolish for thinking they had some kind of weird trauma bond. They’re not even the only slayers anymore. Faith may once have wanted Buffy to accept her, to love her even, but that time’s come and gone. 

Buffy looks at Faith, sipping from her cider, looking perfectly relaxed. It’s Buffy’s turn to ask a question, but she needs to say something first. “I’m sorry,” she says earnestly, “if I came on too strong last night.”

Faith glances over at her in surprise.

“You were being nice, and I just, uhh, misinterpreted it, I think.”

Faith stares at her for a few seconds before her face transforms into a slightly exasperated smile. “You didn’t,” she says.

“No?” Buffy asks, wondering why hearing that makes her feel so happy.

Faith shakes her head. “No,” she confirms. “I kissed you, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” Buffy confirms, “but I started the snuggling.”

“B,” Faith says, unfolding her leg so both feet are on the ground and turning toward Buffy, “I don’t know if you know this about me but… I’m pretty strong. If I don’t wanna snuggle, I’m fully capable of escaping.”

Buffy nods. Looking at Faith intently, she can see the exact moment when Faith’s eyebrows furrow a little closer.

“So, was it just the buzz then?” She asks. “You were feeling good, and I happened to be there?”

“No,” Buffy says, shaking her head to emphasize. “It was… This trip’s been kind of fun, right? Me and you, hanging out?” When Faith nods, Buffy continues, “It’s been good, and you’re not not attractive.”

“Not not attractive,” Faith repeats dryly. “Be careful, this is gonna go to my head.”

“You know what I mean,” Buffy protests. “I just felt like we’ve been kind of connecting, and you’re… you know you’re beautiful.” She’s rambling and this sounds stupid even in her own head. Buffy huffs, mentally clears the cobwebs, then says firmly, “Last night was about me wanting you. Not because you happened to be there or because I’ve been in a dry spell”—Buffy frowns as Faith’s lips twitch in amusement—“but because I’m enjoying your company and I’m attracted to you.”

There, it’s out. She fights the urge to wince and waits for Faith’s reaction.

For a moment, it seems to be mostly amusement, then Faith sets her empty cup down on her opposite side and slides over the bench until her leg is pressed against Buffy’s. She wraps an arm around Buffy’s shoulders and pulls her against Faith’s side.

Buffy’s too surprised to protest, so she sinks easily against Faith.

Faith’s lips brush Buffy’s temple, and she mutters, “Me too,” against Buffy’s hair. Then she says, “You want half my cake pop?”

Buffy teeters for a moment on the edge of outrage. She’s just pulled herself together and managed to state her feelings like a full-fledged adult, and Faith’s just going to respond with me too? She glances at Faith, who is twirling the cake pop stick between her fingers, making the ghost spin and spin, and swallows her protest. Faith’s dark eyes are sparkling, a tiny smile on her lips. Buffy’s not sure she’s seen her look that genuinely happy before.

“Yeah,” Buffy says, “gimme.”

“Wow,” Faith says, feigning shock, “I know your mom taught you better than that.”

Buffy leans her head back against Faith’s shoulder. “Please,” she says sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes.

The cake pop gets discarded on the bench as Faith dips her head and meets Buffy’s mouth in a kiss.

XXXXX

The Iron Horse has considerably more customers than it did last night. Don Henley’s crooning from the jukebox about a woman with the moon in her eye, and a group of young 20 somethings are crowded around the first two booths, clearly a few rounds in. The proprietor of the establishment spots Buffy and Faith as they come in the front door and waves them forward. They take up empty seats at the back of the bar, opposite the rowdy crowd, and wait for the man who is presumably Melvin Langly to finish serving the few people lined up at the bar.

The music switches to the next song, and as a familiar guitar riff sweeps through the room, Faith gets back up. “Be right back,” she says.

“Where are you going?” Buffy asks, surprised.

Faith angles her head at the jukebox. “Gonna see if they got anything that came out in our lifetime,” she says, figuring she’s got a minute or two before Melvin’s free. She makes her way to the other side of the space, hips swinging a little as she walks. She’s not knocking the 70s by any means, and a little Heart never hurt nobody, but the place could use a little variety.

Amongst the patrons, Faith spots Alex, not working tonight but slouched comfortably in the first booth, his arm around a pretty young woman. He gives her a nod of recognition, and she does the same, reaching the jukebox a moment later. The thing is a behemoth. She hasn’t seen one like this since she was a kid and her mom would scrounge together a few bucks to take her to a rundown bowling alley for a discount game on Saturday mornings. She’s surprised the thing doesn’t reek of 30 years of second hand smoke. She flicks quickly through the selections. The most “current” band she finds is the Gin Blossoms, but she keeps going. That’s not exactly what she’s looking for. A moment later, she sees it: a song that would be the correct choice at almost any time, but especially right now. As an added bonus, the year of release is listed in neat little typeface: 1992.  Not quite modern day, but it’ll do.

Faith digs in her pocket, unearthing a quarter and popping it into the ancient coin slot. She punches in her selection with a self-satisfied grin, then schools her face back to nonchalance and makes her way back to Buffy.

“Find anything good?” Buffy asks when Faith slides onto the stool next to her.

“Yeah,” Faith says, “picked something just for you.” The departure of the last customer from the bar saves her from further questions.

The barkeep washes his hands quickly and begins drying them on the towel over his shoulder. “You must be Ms. Sullivan and Ms. Ryan,” he says as he gets closer. He holds out a hand first to Faith then Buffy, and they introduce themselves.

“Mel Langly,” he says. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Faith glances at the taps, but says, “Can I get a coke?”

Mel nods, looking at Buffy.

“A Shirley Temple?” She asks, and Faith mostly manages to keep her snort undercover.

“What?” Buffy hisses from the side of her mouth as Mel sets about making their drinks.

“Nothing,” Faith says. “It’s cute, that’s all.”

“Shut up.”

When Mel puts their glasses down in front of them, Buffy’s is accompanied by a plastic sword stuffed with maraschino cherries. “Thanks for rescheduling,” he says.

“No problem,” Faith says, lifting her glass and taking a small sip.

Ever the industrious one, Buffy’s already pulled out her notepad and turned to a fresh page. With her left hand, she lifts the cocktail sword and bites a cherry free.

Pointedly pulling her eyes from Buffy’s mouth, Faith offers Mel a smile. “So it was a few months back that you saw the creature?”

Nodding, Mel says, “The night of May 25th.”

“Whereabouts was this?”

“The Padgetts’ place,” he says, rattling off an address that Buffy dutifully writes down. “Van’s building an addition on the house, and I was helping him with some framing. Must have been about 9, 9:30 when I left.”

“And that’s when you saw it,” Buffy suggests.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mel confirms. “I heard it first. The wind happened to die down just as I was getting to my car, and I heard something that sounded like it was fluttering. I looked up, and there it was.”

“Flying?” Faith asks, surprised. The others had mentioned wings, but several of the demons in Willow’s list have vestigial wings. This is the first they’ve heard of the thing actually flying.

Mel nods. “It went right over me. Landed on the barn and just sat there.”

“What did you do?” Buffy asks.

“I froze a minute,” Mel admits, “just looking at it.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the way it looked?” Faith asks.

“Big,” Mel says. “Red eyes. It gets pretty dark out in the country at night. I couldn’t see much more than that.”

Buffy nods as if she understands. “What did you do next?”

“I wanted to get in the car,” Mel says, “but my hands were shaking so bad I dropped the keys. By the time I picked them up, it was gone.”

“Could it have been an animal?” Faith asks. “Some owls are—”

“No,” Mel says emphatically. His fingers grip the edge of the bar. They’re weathered, calloused, the nails bitten low… the hands of a man who’s no stranger to hard work. “I knew it wasn’t an animal, but when Van called me the next morning, I really knew.” Mel pauses, and they give him a moment to collect his thoughts before he continues. “Van had two bred heifers almost ready to give birth. He was expecting it any day. When he got out to the barn that morning, he found both calves stillborn.”

“I’m guessing that’s uncommon?” Buffy asks, making an apologetic face at her lack of knowledge.

“It’s not unheard of in first-calf heifers,” Mel says, “but two at once, at the exact same time… Van thought it was strange.”

“You thought this was related to what you saw,” Faith says.

Mel nods. “I knew it was,”—his lips thin into a severe line, and he looks down at the bartop—“because it wasn’t the first time.”

Faith’s not following. “Not the first time he’d lost calves?”

“Not the first time I saw that thing,” Mel says.

Faith meets Buffy’s eyes, and she looks as surprised as Faith feels. This wasn’t part of the info they got from Willow.

“Tell us about the first time,” Faith says gently.

“Oh,” Mel says, looking a little lost, “it was maybe 25, 26 years ago. I was a kid then, living with my parents and sisters on our farm. I remember it was winter. It had snowed the night before, and I was in charge of morning chores. I only saw it for a moment, in one of the trees behind the shed. I stopped in my tracks, and it flew off, but I’d seen the eyes. Red. I told myself I wasn’t fully awake. Must have been a bird of some sort. I put it out of my mind. I was supposed to let the chickens out, feed and water ‘em, and collect the eggs.” He stops, and Faith can see his lower lip tremble slightly before he continues, “They always knew when I was coming, and they’d get excited. That morning, I remember it was so quiet when I was letting myself into the coop. We had 15 hens, and every one of them was dead. They’d fallen off the roosts, and they were piled on the floor like…” He pauses, clears his throat, and continues, “Like they’d just been struck dead all at the same moment. We had the vet come and do some tests, but he never could say with any certainty what killed them.”

Buffy sounds sympathetic when she says, “That must have been pretty traumatic for a kid.”

Mel nods once.

“You ever tell anybody what you saw?” Faith asks.

“I told my dad,” Mel says. “He told the Chief and some of the neighbors, said everybody kept a lookout for a few days. No one else saw it.” He looks between the two of them, his watery blue eyes boring into Faith’s for a moment. “Tell me the truth—are you gonna find this thing?”

“We’re going to try,” Faith says calmly, not looking away.

Mel nods, looking unconvinced. He says, “Well, I appreciate you coming out to investigate. It means a lot for someone to take it seriously.”

Buffy reaches across the bar to touch the back of his hand. “We believe you,” she reassures him, before pulling her hand back. “And we’ll do our best to help. This isn’t our first rodeo.” At that, she gives Faith a small smile.

“Nope,” Faith agrees, “we’ve been to all kinds of freaky rodeos by now.”

“Appreciate it,” Mel says again, looking a little embarrassed now.

At the other end of the bar, two customers are chatting, waiting patiently for Mel to attend to them. He bids them goodbye, leaving the two of them to finish their beverages.

“So this isn’t a new phenomenon,” Buffy says, once Mel’s out of earshot.

“But no one reported seeing it between what, 25 years ago, and this year?” Faith asks. “Some kind of migratory demon?”

“Or it hibernates,” Buffy suggests, writing the possibilities down in her notebook.

The current song wraps up, and a new one begins. Hearing the music start, Faith fights to keep the smile off her face.

“We should see if Will can help,” Buffy says, frowning as she writes. “Now that we know this thing might have shown up years earlier. We gotta broaden the search.” She notices Faith hasn’t agreed with her, and looks up. “What?” She asks, just as the breathy voice of Sophie B. Hawkins starts up.

Buffy’s eyes narrow, and she listens for a moment.

Now grinning like the cat that ate the canary, Faith starts to dance with just her upper body, not moving from her stool. She sings along with the song quietly, so only Buffy can hear.

Buffy asks, “Really?” It’s obvious she’s struggling to keep the exasperated look on her face.

Nodding, Faith sings louder along with the chorus, “Damn, I wish I was your lover…”

Buffy hardly has a leg to stand on in mocking Faith for the cheesiness of this. Faith’s personally seen the I Touch Myself single in Buffy’s room. That’s at least as cringe worthy. She takes Buffy’s hand, shaking her pen free and lacing their fingers together. She drags Buffy’s arm so she, too, is doing some approximation of dancing.

“You picked this just for me, huh?” Buffy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure did,” Faith says, giving her a quick look up and down.

Buffy shakes her head, fighting a losing battle against the smile on her face.

With no one else in their corner of the bar, Faith drops her free hand to Buffy’s thigh, squeezing lightly.

Buffy looks at her hand, then back at Faith. “I guess it’s a pretty good song,” she says, her voice softer.

“Definitely,” Faith agrees, as Sophie starts making promises to have her girl walking through Heaven’s door. She glances around the room. No one’s paying them any attention, but they do have a cover to maintain. “Think we got what we needed here?”

Buffy nods.

“Should we head out?” Faith asks, stealing the little spear of cherries from Buffy’s drink. She wraps her lips around the last one and pulls it free.

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, a pretty blush creeping up from the neck of her blouse.

Faith squeezes her leg again, then stands up, getting her jacket on while Buffy puts her notepad and pen back in her bag. She helps Buffy into hers next, letting her hands slide down Buffy’s back before she steps away. Anticipation thrumming pleasantly through her veins, Faith leads Buffy toward the exit.

XXXXX

By the time she flicks on the harsh overhead light in their little hotel room, Buffy finds that her nerves are working overtime. She strips off her jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks beside the door, before kicking off her shoes. From the corner of her eye, she sees Faith doing the same. Buffy takes her bag over to the desk and pulls out her notebook, mostly for something to keep her hands busy. “I was thinking we should add the info we got from Mel to our, uh, board,” Buffy says, gesturing at the wall where they’ve got a bunch of theories and facts taped up. She hadn’t really been thinking that. In fact, she spent the whole ride over here trying to decide whether Faith’s song dedication was a serious invite or a joke. Were they headed back to the hotel to sleep together? Was that what Faith had in mind? Was that what Buffy wanted her to have in mind? Faith’s morning swim of a few days prior kept popping into her brain. All that smooth skin, the lean muscle… how would it feel to touch Faith, to peel her clothes off and reveal her skin inch by inch, Buffy’s mouth following each bit?

“Sure,” Faith says, seeming much more relaxed than Buffy feels. She glances at the clock beside the bed. “Probably too late to call Willow,” she says. “We can save that for the morning.”

And what will happen later if they do sleep together? Will they just go back to their burgeoning friendship? Will Faith want to hook up on her stops at HQ but be radio silent the rest of the time? Will Faith be interested in seeing if this could be more? Does Buffy want her to want that?

“B,” Faith says, looking a little puzzled. “Are we gonna put Mel’s info on the wall…?”

Buffy looks down at her hands, noticing she’s clutching her notepad and standing in front of their work, zoned out. “Yeah,” she says. She opens the book, letting herself move largely on autopilot. Faith creates new note cards that they add to the wall: a new incident, dated approx 1980 goes in its own column, a string connecting it to Mel’s more recent account from May of this year. Under the section Buffy has titled Creature Features (hilariously, she thinks) they add ‘flight’ to confirmed abilities. That knocks three demons off Willow’s list, and Buffy removes the associated cards from the Possible Matches section.

Satisfied that they’ve done all they can, Buffy looks over at Faith, who is now sprawled across the bed on her stomach, her socked feet sticking up in the air. Her chin rests in her palm, and Buffy has a direct view down the neck of her tank. Quickly glancing away, Buffy’s struck with a sense of déjà vu. She’s done that before, quite a few times in fact. Back in Sunnydale, she would have said she was just embarrassed by how revealing Faith’s clothes usually were; nothing to do with the fact that her eyes practically fell into Faith’s cleavage, no sir. 

“Are you gonna come over here now?” Faith asks, not having the grace to pretend she didn’t notice Buffy checking her out. She holds out her unoccupied hand, beckoning Buffy forward.

Buffy goes, accepting her hand and letting Faith pull her onto the bed.

Rolled on her side now, Faith gives her a serious look. “You’ve been kind of twitchy since we got back.”

“Me?” Buffy asks, wincing as her voice squeaks.

“Yeah,” Faith says dryly, squeezing her fingers. “You. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Faith considers her skeptically, then sits all the way up, still holding Buffy’s hand. “Okay, let me rephrase. It’s my turn to ask a question, and you have to answer honestly. That’s how the game works, right?”

Buffy nods reluctantly.

“What’s on your mind, B?”

Buffy thinks about telling Faith they’re done with this stupid game. What happened to the days when Faith couldn’t emote her way out of a paper bag, and Buffy was the one with healthy-ish communication skills? But Faith’s watching her face, expecting an answer, actually wanting to know what she’s thinking, so Buffy can’t do that. Instead, she admits, “I’m freaking out a little.”

“Okay,” Faith says calmly, her thumb stroking the back of Buffy’s hand. “How come?”

“I guess,” Buffy starts, “I’m just wondering, if we do this, what happens next?”

“‘This’ being sex?”

Buffy nods, then immediately feels more anxious. “Unless I’m misreading this, and you didn’t want to have—”

“Buffy,” Faith says kindly, cutting her off, “I want to.” She studies Buffy for a minute, her eyebrows wrinkled together like they get when she’s thinking about something.

Buffy says, “I want to, too. Really want to.” She might have gone a little heavy on the emphasis there, if Faith’s smirk is anything to go by. “I just don’t want to screw things up between us again.”

“I get it. I don’t want that either,” Faith says, sounding sincere. “Maybe we just don’t screw up?”

“A great idea in theory...” Buffy says.

“How about this,” Faith suggests, turning Buffy’s hand in hers so she’s caressing her palm. “I’m just somebody you met in a bar. No long and sordid history. Just a blank slate. We hit it off and went home together. Tonight, we can do whatever you want. You want to have a cup of coffee and send me packing? I’ll go.” Faith smiles and adds, “At least as far as the floor. You want me to stay, I’ll stay. Tomorrow, we decide if we wanna go out again. If we don’t, no hard feelings. We go back to being friends.”

“You’re making it sound so easy.”

Faith shrugs. “It can be, if you want it to be.”

“I’ve never been great with the casual thing,” Buffy admits.

Wincing slightly, Faith says, “Okay, so maybe that was a bad scenario. I’m not saying it’s casual for me.” She looks a little nervous, but continues, “Look, B, you’re the one person who went out of your way to try to be there for me when I didn’t give you a single reason to. I wrote you probably a million letters while I was locked up, trying to find some magic thing to say that would make what I did better. The fact that you let me back into your life… that means a lot to me. That’s not gonna change, whatever we do here.”

Her words relax some of the knots in Buffy’s stomach. Buffy pulls Faith’s hand toward her, leaning in at the same time, so they meet in the middle. “Having you back in my life means a lot to me too,” she says, kissing Faith softly.

“This is kind of mixed messaging,” Faith mumbles in between kisses.

“I know,” Buffy says, pulling back slightly. “It’s my question, right?”

Faith nods.

“Is the blank slate thing still an option?”

Faith’s mouth curves into a smile. “You sure?”

Buffy nods.

“Then, come here,” Faith says. Her fingers tangle in Buffy’s hair, thumb smoothing along Buffy’s jaw as their mouths meet again.

There’s not a lot of room for doubt, not when she’s wrapped in Faith’s arms. Buffy’s still a mess of jitters, but they’re the good kind now. They start off slowly, just kissing for so long that Buffy begins to get a little impatient. When she slips her hands under Faith’s tank top though, she gets no complaints. Instead, Faith shifts, giving Buffy room to more easily slip it over her head. She no longer needs to pretend she wasn’t looking, so Buffy looks her fill, slowly undressing Faith so she has time to take her in fully. Faith’s skin is exactly as soft as she was expecting, and Buffy can’t get enough of it. Her mouth follows her fingers, around the curves of Faith’s breasts, over her stomach, down the inside of her arm to her wrist, sucking lightly at the pale skin she unveils when she tugs Faith’s pants down.

Faith lets her get as far as the waist of her bikini panties before she wiggles away, ignoring Buffy’s pouting face. “You think you get to have all the fun?” She asks, tugging Buffy back up her body so she’s straddling Faith’s hips. Faith makes quick work of the fly of Buffy’s jeans, then gently pulls her blouse up and off, tossing it over the side of the bed. Then she rolls them both so she’s on top.

As fun as it felt stripping Faith, Buffy has no complaints about the role swap. Having Faith on top of her, more and more of her bare skin on Buffy’s with every piece of clothing Faith divests her of, is definitely of the good. Buffy had thought they’d jump into this quickly once they got started. She’s ready, and Faith is too—she can tell by the scent of her arousal, thick in the air between them, but Faith seems to want to take this slow.

Buffy loses track of time as she follows Faith’s lead, the two of them alternately pressing together then separating, making space for hands to touch and explore. Faith finds new places to kiss Buffy: the cut of her bicep, her clavicles, the ticklish place on her ribs, just under her right breast.

Buffy finds the callus at the base of Faith’s middle finger, just the same as the one she has from years of rough wood stakes clenched in her hand. Her fingers linger in Faith’s dark hair, so soft and warm in her hands as she finds Faith’s mouth again. Faith has perfect lips—something Buffy noticed even before she knew why she was noticing it—all pillowy soft and plump, and Buffy can’t get enough of kissing her. She licks her way between Faith’s teeth, whimpering when Faith’s tongue pushes back against hers. Faith’s breath is hot and quick against Buffy’s cheek, her mouth faintly minty from the lip balm she copiously applied earlier. She crushes Buffy against her, her strong fingers digging into the muscles of Buffy’s back.

When Faith’s knee slips between Buffy’s, Buffy opens her legs to make room for her. Her thighs are sticky and slick, and Faith meets no resistance as she slots her leg between Buffy’s. Encouraging her, Buffy brings a hand to Faith’s ass, squeezing and pulling her in closer. Faith pulls her mouth free of Buffy’s with a soft moan, opening her eyes to look at Buffy’s face. Her hand moves onto Buffy’s side, squeezing her hip before she moves lower, onto Buffy’s thigh. Running her fingers through the slickness she finds there, she pauses. “This is your show,” she says, somewhat breathlessly. “We can stop any time you want.”

It’s sweet, and Buffy appreciates it. She nods to show she understands, then digs her nails into Faith’s skin.

“Didn’t figure you’d be so submissive,” she says in a light voice.

“I think you mean considerate,” Faith corrects, arching her back and breathing hard. “And you’ve thought a lot about fucking me, huh?”

Faith’s breasts pressing into hers like that are enough to make Buffy’s breath catch too, but she keeps it together. “Once or twice,” she says. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Buffy’s pleased with herself for keeping the upper hand, but then Faith’s mouth is close to her ear, and she says, “I might have thought about you once or twice, too.”

Buffy has several questions, but she swallows them down, settling for a shaky, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Faith says, letting her lips ghost along the shell of Buffy’s ear. “Thought about doing something like this,” she adds, then her hand is between Buffy’s legs.

Her thighs clench around Faith’s leg, and Buffy groans. Faith is finally, finally touching her, parting her swollen labia and sliding up and down her slit to get her fingers coated with Buffy’s wetness.

As slow as the buildup has been, once Faith starts a job, she apparently gives it her all. She zeroes in on Buffy’s clit, circling and gliding, starting lightly and growing firmer as Buffy presses harder into her, whimpering for more.

Buffy’s hand leaves Faith’s hair, holding her back instead, crushing Faith against her as if there were a chance in hell she’d leave at this point. Buffy aches and throbs, wanting more, more, more, of Faith and the way she’s making her feel.

Faith seems to understand, letting Buffy clutch at her without complaint. She kisses Buffy’s collarbone, her shoulder, the side of her throat. She mouths and licks, bites and sucks any skin she can reach. Her unoccupied hand fists in Buffy’s hair, pulling just shy of painfully.

She’s tensing now, her heart beating even harder, and Faith must be able to tell, because she kisses Buffy’s earlobe and whispers, “That’s it, B.”

And fuck does Faith’s voice take her to another level. Buffy clenches her teeth, a strangled sound leaving her throat.

She can feel the curve of Faith’s smile against her throat, and Faith says, “You’re so wet for me, so close…”

Buffy’s muscles contract hard, her hips jerking toward Faith’s hand. Faith goes with her, not wavering from Buffy’s clit, but moving faster.

“God, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Faith says, breathy against Buffy’s ear.

She’s concentrating so hard now that her ears are ringing. Her head feels fuzzy. Tingling starts in her knees, moving up her thighs.

“Come for me,” Faith says, her voice slightly muffled as she kisses Buffy’s neck. “Want you to come for me.”

With a shaky cry, Buffy does. Faith doesn’t stop moving her fingers until she’s satisfied that she’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from Buffy’s orgasm, and Buffy’s limp in her hold. Then she gently withdraws her hand, kissing Buffy’s forehead and loosening her hold on Buffy’s hair in favor of caressing her back softly.

Buffy blinks against the stars in her eyes, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “Ow,” she says after a few seconds, when she rolls onto her back and all of her muscles make their displeasure known.

“Did I hurt you?” Faith asks, suddenly concerned, but Buffy shakes her head.

“I’m good,” she says, as her body starts to relax again. When Buffy gets enough presence of mind back to focus, she looks over to see Faith on her side, head propped on one hand. Her hair’s rumpled, a lock of it falling over one eye. She’s watching Buffy, her face not smiling, but relaxed nonetheless. Their eyes meet and lock for a moment, and Buffy feels something tighten in her chest at the way Faith’s looking at her. I’m in trouble, she thinks to herself. She breaks eye contact, looking at Faith’s mouth instead. Her lips are rosy from effort, parted slightly, and Buffy licks her own, thinking about kissing her again.

Faith notices, and that makes her smile. “Welcome back,” she teases lightly.

Buffy shoves her lightly, but Faith catches her hand and brings it to her mouth, kissing Buffy’s knuckles.

Reasonably confident that she’s mollified her body enough to move again, Buffy rolls back toward her. She frees her hand from Faith’s hold, wrapping her arm around Faith’s waist. Leaning in, she kisses Faith gently. Faith’s gotta be ready to explode by now, but she doesn’t show it, letting Buffy come to her on her own terms.

Buffy appreciates the consideration, but she’s also dying to get her hands on Faith again. She presses Faith’s hip back against the bed, climbing on top of her. When she looks down, Faith’s hair fans around her head like a dark halo, Lady Godiva come down from her horse and laid out for the taking. And Buffy wants to take her, wants to be inside her, wants to lick her nipples back to soft points she can nip with her teeth while Faith writhes underneath her. She traces her thumb down the graceful column of Faith’s throat, passing the fluttering of her pulse and tangling her fingers into Faith’s hair.  

Faith grips Buffy’s hips like a lifeline. Her patience is wavering slightly if the tightness of her hold is anything to go by. Buffy’s is too. She props herself on her knees and one elbow, kissing and licking her way across Faith’s breasts while she gets into position. Her hand finds its way between Faith’s legs where she so badly wants to be.

When her fingers meet slick, heated skin, she almost misses Faith’s whimper over the sound of her own happy moan. Faith’s arms come up, crossing Buffy’s back. She holds Buffy’s hair back with one hand, so she can see Buffy’s mouth still at work on her chest.

Buffy’s by no means the most experienced person out there, but her confidence skyrockets with how much Faith obviously wants her. Faith spreads her legs accommodatingly, her fingers tight in Buffy’s hair.

Getting a lay of the land, Buffy starts with slow strokes up and down Faith’s slit, letting her fingers get coated and slippery. She finds Faith makes a particularly pleasant noise when Buffy circles the sensitive skin of her opening, and Buffy makes a mental note to return to that after she’s done exploring. She makes her way to Faith’s clit, giving it an experimental stroke, trying different pressure and motions until she finds a combination that makes Faith’s tits arch toward her mouth.

Then she’s lost in the rhythm of it all, fingers moving on autopilot while her lips and teeth and tongue lavish Faith’s breasts with attention. Faith alternately squeezes her too tight and remembers to relax her arms slightly. Her lips are against Buffy’s hair, occasionally murmuring her name in a strained voice. After a while, Buffy props herself up, looking up into Faith’s face.

She’s even more beautiful like this, all rosy cheeked and sweat-sheened. When Faith opens her eyes to meet Buffy’s, they’re unfathomably dark, but not shuttered as they’ve sometimes been in the past. Her face is wide open, letting Buffy see the pleasure there, in the tension of her eyebrows and the soft dig of her teeth into her lip.

There is something about making love to another woman that makes Buffy feel powerful. And that’s never been more evident to her than with Faith. Listening to Faith’s pulse pounding, feeling the tremble in her thighs, and knowing she’s the one making her come apart… that’s almost dizzying.

Buffy moves her hand lower, watching Faith’s face as she does, until she’s skimming her fingertips around Faith’s opening again. Faith shudders, her hips lifting encouragingly, and Buffy carefully maneuvers her way inside her.

That earns her a groaned, “Buffy,” and Buffy’s stomach clenches at how nice her name sounds like that.

She makes it her goal to hear it again. Buffy pulls back, plunging her fingers in again, deeper this time, until her knuckles are against Faith’s skin. Faith’s pussy clenches around her fingers, and one leg hooks over Buffy’s calf, keeping her exactly where Faith wants her.

They get into a rhythm together, Faith rocking underneath her, Buffy thrusting to meet her. She rearranges herself so she’s sitting up, balanced on one of Faith’s thighs, then seamlessly switches hands, leaving her right hand unoccupied again. When she starts to rub her thumb lightly over Faith’s clit in time with her strokes, Faith jerks underneath her, grunting out her name again.

One of Faith’s hands finds Buffy’s left boob, and she leans forward accommodatingly. She’s wishing about now that she had a third hand because Faith’s tits are looking woefully lonely. Inspiration strikes. Buffy leans back, too far for Faith to reach her, and when Faith makes a disgruntled noise, Buffy says, “Touch yours for me.” She throws in a little twist of her wrist to sweeten the deal, and Faith’s hips jump toward her fingers.

There’s no argument from Faith. She cups her breast, catching her nipple between two fingers and squeezing. “Like this?” She asks, managing to sound teasing in spite of how hard she’s breathing.

“Mhmm,” Buffy says. “Just like that. Good girl.”

That gets an immediate response, Faith’s pussy squeezing around Buffy’s fingers. “Fuck,” Faith mutters, the hand on Buffy’s hip digging in. She doesn’t stop toying with her nipple, and Buffy finds herself pressing her pussy a little harder against Faith’s leg as she watches.

The closer she gets to coming, the harder it seems to be for Faith to keep still. She turns her head away, then back. The leg Buffy’s sitting on tenses and holds. Faith’s other leg moves to frame Buffy’s hip. Faith closing her legs a little gives Buffy a bit less space to work, but she doesn’t mind. Her fingers are hitting more of Faith’s damp skin now.

“Don’t stop,” Faith pants, pinching her nipple now.

Stopping is not on the menu, but watching Faith like this, Buffy can’t help but rock a little bit against Faith’s thigh.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Faith, who groans again, her fingers digging into Buffy’s hip. Buffy moves more deliberately, riding Faith’s leg while she fucks her.

Buffy feels Faith’s pussy clamp down on her fingers just as Faith’s head rolls back against the pillow, shoulders arching off the bed. She cries out again as she comes. Buffy slows her hands, still moving but softer, easier, until Faith drops back limply against the bed. Then she carefully pulls her hands free and lifts herself off Faith’s leg, wincing slightly at the loss of contact. She settles down beside Faith, then raises one of her wet hands to her mouth and starts sucking her fingers clean.

Up until this point, Faith has been catching her breath, eyes closed, but she opens them now, looking over. She looks from Buffy’s mouth to her eyes and back, and Buffy sees her swallow hard. Buffy slackens her lips so Faith can see her tongue slowly licking all Faith’s wetness off her fingers.

“You’re not giving me even a second of recovery time, are you?” Faith asks, eyes glued to Buffy’s mouth now.

Buffy releases her finger, then licks her lip. “You can take your time,” she says sweetly. “I just might start round two without you.” She trails her fingers down her chest, in between her breasts.

One of Faith’s eyebrows rises. “Not sure if that’s really a threat,” she says, “assuming I get to watch.”

Buffy just grins at her, moving her hand lower.

XXXXX

There’s usually a bit of awkwardness after the first time with someone, in Buffy’s experience. She comes back to the bed tentatively, expecting Faith to maybe have started dressing, or at least be firmly on her own side. Instead, Faith’s sprawled exactly where she left her, one foot kicked out of the blankets. She lifts the edge of the blanket for Buffy to slide under. Her arms fold around Buffy along with the covers, and Buffy finds herself tucked against Faith’s body, back to front. It’s by no means unpleasant. Faith noses at the back of Buffy’s neck, finding a sliver of bare skin poking through her hair and kissing it softly. Faith’s fingertips trace shapes over Buffy’s stomach, and Buffy finds herself relaxing into this post-orgasmic cuddle.

She’s officially worn out—not an easy feat to accomplish—but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the feeling of Faith’s breasts against her back and snuggling further back in satisfaction. Faith’s hand tightens on her abdomen, pulling Buffy as close as she can get. Faith makes a humming sound against her nape, then says, “That’s better.”

She’s not wrong. Buffy hadn’t really thought this far ahead to wonder what would happen when the sex was over and they came back to reality. She’s not sure she would have guessed it would go like this. She definitely remembers Faith having more of a hit and run philosophy. Maybe this, too, is part of the new and improved Faith. This is comfortable. It feels right. Buffy isn’t lying here wondering what the polite amount of time is before they should make their respective exits. Her brain is quiet, free from tumbling worries about what this means and if her performance was okay. There’s no anxiety coming from Faith either, no need to reassure her that Buffy enjoyed herself.

Faith’s lips meet Buffy’s bare shoulder, leaving a few scattered kisses across her skin. Buffy smiles, feeling content down through her toes. “This is some A plus cuddling right here,” she teases quietly.

“Glad you approve,” Faith says back, in between kisses.

Buffy tries to think of a non-weird way to comment on this apparent change in Faith’s post-coital routines, but comes up empty. Instead, she resolves to just savor this moment for all it’s worth. Her latest conquests haven’t involved a lot of snuggling, and she finds she’s enjoying this part as much as what they did that led them here.

“I don’t wanna stop touching you,” Faith adds, her breath warm against Buffy’s shoulder blade.

Her stomach performs a wild somersault, and Buffy puts her arm over Faith’s, squeezing it tighter against her. “Yeah, let’s not do that.” There’s something about the way they fit together like this that just feels perfect. Faith’s slight height advantage makes her the ideal big spoon for Buffy.

“We could ditch this whole ‘community in peril’ thing,” Faith suggests lightly. “Stay in this bed until Willow sends a rescue team.”

“Why does this feel familiar?” Buffy asks rhetorically.

“Does it?” Faith asks, moving her fingers to the outside of Buffy’s forearm, where she continues her absent stroking.

“Skip school with me and take out this nest, B,” Buffy imitates. “Let’s blow off patrol and hit the Bronze.” She can feel Faith’s smile against her skin.

“Not my fault if you can’t resist temptation,” Faith says.

“You could try being less tempting.”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Faith asks.

Buffy snorts lightly. A comfortable quiet falls between them, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of their breathing. After a while, Buffy says, “So, should I interpret that offer to mean you wanna go out again?”

“Oh,” Faith says, “was that not clear already?”

“Could be clearer,” Buffy says, smiling.

“Then yeah,” Faith says. “What are you doing tomorrow? I’ll take you to a real nice diner I know, maybe a nightcap at the same bar we’ve already been to twice.”

“Romantic,” Buffy says. “How can I say no?”

Faith kisses the side of Buffy’s neck softly. “Then I’ll take you home and spend the rest of the night making that crappy date up to you.”

“Mmm,” Buffy says, tentatively shifting her legs to see if they’ve stopped feeling like jelly yet, “that sounds promising.”

“That a yes?”

“Throw in breakfast at that same diner and it is.”

“Deal,” Faith says.