Faith stretches one of her legs out into the airplane aisle, fidgeting restlessly in her seat as she watches the slow approach of the flight attendant and the drink cart, waiting. Usually Faith doesn’t mind flying. She’s got wanderlust in her veins, preferring to be in constant motion rather than settling and setting down roots, and normally the act of travel in itself is enough to satiate her need to move. But today can hardly count as normal with Buffy asleep in the seat beside her—posing as Faith’s wife of all things—on their way to undercover investigate a series of demon attacks happening at honeymoon resorts along the California coast. Besides that, this is more waiting and Faith’s already been waiting all day: at slayer headquarters while Buffy’s suitcase got packed, in the car on the way to the airport, then in the airport itself with Buffy’s hand placed uncertainly yet somehow still possessively on Faith’s knee. It was hard trying to act like a couple of non-suspicious lovesick newlyweds when Faith felt like she was about to jump out of her own skin at any moment.

More than that, Faith’s been waiting for years for something from Buffy that she’s accepted she’s never gonna get that, from the outside at least, looks a lot like what they’re doing right now. It’s got all the right motions, and none of the e-motions. Reluctant acceptance doesn’t ease the ache of wanting in Faith’s heart, and it certainly isn’t going to keep this little charade of a real relationship from rubbing salt in the gaping wound it’s actively reopening. Not that Faith wants to be Buffy’s wife —the thought of something as committed and stifling as marriage fills Faith with an unholy amount of terror—but even that isn’t enough to stop her from wanting to be Buffy’s—

“Can I get you anything?”

Faith looks up in surprise at the flight attendant who managed to sneak up on Faith while she was lost in thought. Her eyeliner is expertly applied, her smile wide, but it’s fake and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The flight attendant clears her throat, and Faith realizes she hasn’t responded.

“Uh, Coke would be good if you have any,” Faith mumbles, her voice raspy from disuse, unfolding the little tray from the back of the seat in front of her while the flight attendant pours her drink. Unlike most flight attendants, she doesn’t overfill the cup with ice, which Faith processes with some surprise. The world is full of people trying to get away with giving you as little as possible; apparently this woman is a rare exception.

“Here you are, ma’am,” the flight attendant hands Faith the cup, and Faith tries not to cringe at being called ‘ma’am.’ It’s better than ‘Mrs.,’ a very unhelpful voice in the back of Faith’s head suggests. “And what about for her?” The flight attendant asks, gesturing to Buffy’s sleeping form.

Faith side-eyes Buffy in the seat next to her. She has absolutely no idea what Buffy wants to drink, but she also doesn’t want to wake her up to ask. For one thing, Buffy’s exhausted. Before getting on this flight with Faith, Buffy had just flown in from another mission elsewhere in the world—somewhere in France, maybe?—and an early flight that was supposed to give her half a day back at headquarters instead got delayed and only gave her an hour layover in the airport. Dawn and Willow ended up packing Buffy’s suitcase for her. For another, unconscious Buffy is a Buffy that Faith doesn’t have to talk to or play pretend happy couple with, and that’s proving to be a gigantic relief. And finally, they’re supposed to be married, and Buffy’s drink order is probably something Faith should know as her wife.

Right? Don’t spouses know these sorts of things? Faith doesn’t have a clue. The adults in her life weren’t married (for long, anyway) and she’s never even dated anyone for more than a couple months. Of the two of them, Buffy is the expert on what a relationship looks like, and that’s saying something, considering more often than not, B’s relationships involved boning vamps.

Faith surreptitiously steals another glance at Buffy the Vampire Screwer. If the success of this mission hinges on them appearing to be a normal couple, they’re fucked.

“Uh, orange juice,” Faith guesses, trying to sound confident. It seems as good a guess as any. Faith knows that Buffy loves breakfast foods, and she’s pretty sure Buffy doesn’t want anything with caffeine right now since that’ll only disrupt her sleep more.

The flight attendant hands Faith the cup and moves onto the next row. Faith sets both cups on her tray, wishing there was a second cup holder. She twirls the wedding band on her left ring finger anxiously, watching Buffy sleep. Faith shakes her head, trying to force her thoughts to the mission ahead of her instead of how cute Buffy looks even with her head bent back at an angle that’s gotta be real uncomfortable. The problem? Faith doesn’t actually know much about this mission so it’s not proving to be much of a distraction. Willow had started talking about this stuff days ago, but Faith had intentionally tuned her out. She only skimmed the contents of the research-filled folder Willow gave her in the car on the way to the airport, and then she wasn’t allowed to look at it anymore because someone might see. She tried once, but Buffy smacked her hand and hissed at Faith to put that away. It was extra annoying because she was technically right.

Maybe Faith should’ve used the past few days to do her research, but that’s never really been her thing and truthfully, she’d been a little busy. As in, she was trying her hardest to put this entire fake marriage to Buffy trip to her own personal hell out of her mind, and every time she almost succeeded Willow called Faith into her office to ask for her ring size or her signature on something that may or may not have been a fake marriage certificate. Then Faith’s fists started itching to connect with something, so she had to leave to find a punching bag or a vampire before she put her fist through a wall. Or Willow’s face. This trip was making Faith crazy before it even started, bringing out the absolute worst in her like her homicidal tendencies, and Faith’s wicked pissed at Willow since it’s kinda her fault.

After Sunnydale collapsed and headquarters got established, things between Buffy and Faith were going well. A little too well, actually. They’d finally settled into something almost like a normal friendship—if people with their complicated and messy history could ever have such a thing—and that was when Faith knew it was time to distance herself. That much proximity to Buffy meant it was only a matter of time before Faith got hurt, or before she did something stupid that hurt them both. Faith figured it was better to be a distant ally than to give herself the chance to shatter the tentative closeness they’d managed to (re)build (again). Because she was going to find a way to fuck it up at some point; Faith wasn’t capable of anything else.

So she’d stopped patrolling with Buffy every night, stopped eating lunch with her every afternoon, and started taking missions that had her working away from headquarters with anyone who wasn’t Buffy. Buffy had seemed a little hurt, and she’d reached out to Faith a couple of times, but Faith had made her excuses. She figured that Buffy would eventually stop asking and while this might hurt Buffy now, they’d be better for it in the long run.

And it was all going according to plan until Willow called Faith in the middle of a somewhat urgent slaying situation to ask if she could send Faith on another job, saying she needed an answer right then and there so she could start making arrangements. Willow conveniently left out the parts about Buffy and a fake honeymoon—Faith knows it was Willow’s fault and not her own because while she may frequently tune out Willow’s ramblings, she always tunes in when Buffy’s name gets mentioned—and so of course Faith had told her yes without asking for more info, then hung up to go help Rona dust a nest she’d found that spanned three stories in an abandoned apartment building.

Faith was taking any mission thrown her way that got her away from headquarters and, most importantly, away from Buffy. Besides, a slaying mission that’s basically a vacation? Hell yes, sign me up! By the time Faith learned exactly what she’d be expected to do and who she’d be doing it with, it was far too late to back out. It was one thing to conveniently pick and choose jobs that took her away from Buffy and act like they just happened; it was another thing entirely to back out of something Faith said she’d do because she’d learned Buffy was going. That was the kind of thing that would’ve definitely burned her and Buffy’s relationship to the ground, which was what she was trying to avoid in the first place.

Still, looking at Buffy sitting beside her right now and imagining all of the ways this could end horribly, Faith thinks maybe she made the wrong choice. Buffy lets out a sleepy little murmur and shifts in her seat, her head lolling against the plane window in a way that doesn’t look any more comfortable than her previous position. The blanket slides off her lap and Faith catches it without a second thought, tucking it back in around Buffy’s waist. When she looks back up, Buffy’s eyes flutter open, meeting hers, and Faith’s heart starts to beat faster as she realizes how big of a mistake she potentially just made. There was a significant piece of Buffy and Faith’s history where the only physical contact they had was violent, and while they’re mostly past that, their friendship tends to be fairly hands-off in an unspoken rule type way. Faith really shouldn’t be grabbing Buffy in her sleep unless she wants to get her wrist snapped, but the best she can hope for now is that Buffy will just think she’s acting weird.

Faith clears her throat and tries to smile in an attempt to look as non-threatening as possible, though she’s afraid the face she makes is more of a grimace. “Uh, hi. I was just fixing this.” Realizing she’s still got her hand on Buffy’s hip, she snatches it back like she’s been burned. “There. Now you won’t get cold or whatever.” Faith feels her face heat with embarrassment at having been caught taking care of Buffy. She’s still half-expecting Buffy to kick her ass down the aisle for so much as daring to lay a hand on her, undercover fake wives or not. But Buffy’s exhaustion must have her dropping her guard since she just gives a sleepy smile more beautiful than anything Faith’s ever seen in her life. It makes Faith’s stomach feel like the plane is taking off all over again. Somehow completely unbothered by Faith interrupting her nap, Buffy closes her eyes, apparently set on going back to sleep.

One of the most dangerous things about this trip is the intimacy of it. For fuck’s sake, they haven’t even arrived yet and Faith is already tucking Buffy in for a nap like she thinks she’s actually Buffy’s girlfriend or her wife or something. They’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, kicking some demon ass, dancing at the resort’s nightclubs, and sharing a bed. Plus, given the resort setting, there’ll be plenty of opportunities to enjoy the sight of Buffy sunbathing.

Faith knows Buffy better than she ever has known or will know anyone else. There’s something about being the Chosen Two that separates them from all the other slayers. They’ve seen the best and the worst of each other but, more than that, they’ve been the thing to bring that out in each other. They’ve gotten under each other’s skin, both figuratively and literally. But there are some things about Buffy that Faith doesn’t know—whether that’s because she’s been spared from knowing them or doomed never to know them, Faith is unsure—but the nature of this trip is going to take a lot of those unknowns away from her and make them known, which is fucking terrifying.

The way Buffy looks first thing in the morning, all sleep-rumpled and hair-tousled and still impossibly gorgeous. What her lips taste like, and the way she kisses, because it’s quite likely they’ll have to kiss at some point in this arrangement. Whether or not Buffy’s changed her shampoo and her perfume over the course of this last year, or if she still smells the same. And simple things that a hook-up might not know but a girlfriend, or a wife would, like how Buffy takes her coffee, or what she’d want from the flight attendant’s drink cart.

In spite of knowing logically that the best thing would be to leave as many things as possible unknown, that the more things Faith learns about Buffy the deeper she’s going to burrow inside Faith’s heart, Faith is overwhelmed by a need to know, right now, if her guess of drink order was even close to right. If she knows Buffy as well as she thinks she does, or if she’s wrong and doesn’t really know her at all.

Not even caring that she’s being rude by keeping Buffy up when she so clearly needs sleep, Faith quickly leans into Buffy’s space to whisper, “Hey, B, what’s your favorite drink?”

Buffy mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?” Faith asks.

“Two parts orange, one part grapefruit.”

What the fuck? “No, your favorite normal person drink,” Faith stresses.

Buffy opens one eye to look at Faith, appearing thoroughly confused, and Faith realizes how close she’s leaning and backs up a little, even though she doesn’t want to. Buffy’s eyes are so green; it’s more than a little breathtaking. “What’s not normal about juice? Everyone likes juice. It’s been my favorite since I was a kid when my mom used to make it for me.”

If there was ever anyone who deserved to be spoiled and adored it’s Buffy, but that comment makes Faith’s chest twinge with all too familiar jealousy. It’s hard not to be at least a little bit jealous that Buffy’s mom was mixing her homemade juice concoctions while no one was even bothering to make sure Faith had even eaten anything the past few days. Faith forces herself to focus on what they’re talking about and then adds, “Like, something I could ask the flight attendant for.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, understanding now that she’s slightly more awake. “Uh, orange juice.” Buffy’s eye closes again.

No fucking way. Faith’s leg is starting to bounce anxiously. Getting it right somehow feels more damning than getting it wrong. This stupid plane is making her feel trapped. A bead of sweat rolls down Faith’s back between her shoulder blades; the air in here feels so stale it’s practically stifling. Going against all her self-preservation instincts, driven by a need to know and damn herself further, Faith pursues this line of questioning. She’s already fucked; she just wants to know how badly. “What’s your favorite snack?”

“You already know that,” Buffy says disinterestedly, settling back into her seat.

“No I don’t.” Buffy eats a variety of snacks after patrol: nonfat yogurt, mozzarella sticks, string cheese (which is basically just pre-fried mozzarella sticks), slices of pizza, ice cream straight out of the carton, buttery popcorn, cheesy chips—basically if it involves dairy, in particular cheese, Buffy wants it. Especially if she’s been slaying.

Buffy yawns, interrupting Faith’s mental inventory of Buffy’s preferred snacks. “‘Normal person’ snack or guilty pleasure snack?” She asks, quoting Faith with an amused smile.

Faith shrugs, “Both.”

“Cheese,” Buffy says, “and for the other, Oreos dunked in apple juice.”

Faith pauses in contemplation. The cheese part makes sense…sort of. Most of Buffy’s preferred foods seem to involve dairy of some kind. But, just plain cheese? Like a block of it? And the second answer is even weirder. She has to ask, “Which is which?”

“What do you mean which is which?” Buffy asks, opening both her eyes this time, resigned to being awake now. “Cheese is a ‘normal person’ snack, who doesn’t like cheese?”

“Thought it gave some people the shits,” Faith answers, feeling pleased when that makes Buffy burst out laughing even as she squeals in disgust.

“Gross, Faith!” She says, shoving Faith’s arm the same playful way she’d push Willow or Xander or Dawn for such a comment, and Faith can’t hide her grin at the way it feels to be treated, even if only for a second, the same way Buffy treats her favorite people on the planet.

“Hey, you’re the one who put a ring on it! You’re stuck with this for the rest of your life, baby!” Faith can’t help but tease, finding a moment of levity in this stupid fake marriage mess.

A myriad of emotions cross Buffy’s face and Faith wonders for a moment if she’s made a mistake, if this isn’t the kind of thing they can joke about, but Buffy ultimately settles on an eye roll and a snort. “I want a divorce,” she says, smiling stupidly wide while clearly trying to fight it. “Anyway, if you’re done acting like a gross teenage boy, what’s your favorite snack?”

Buffy probably wouldn’t count ribs as a snack, so she’ll have to choose something else. “Popcorn,” Faith answers, because it was her favorite thing to find in the pantry when she was a kid, which had everything to do with sustenance and very little to do with actual taste. Popcorn tastes just fine, but unlike lots of other snack foods, it actually kept her full for a little while. She could live off the stuff if she had to, and at some points, she had. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. Or whatever looks best on me,” she adds, making Faith laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that comment. Like Buffy could look bad in anything. “Yours?”

Green, Faith thinks, catching Buffy’s eye again. “Red,” she says.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Buffy just blinks at her, reminding Faith how tired she likely is. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

Faith sighs, giving Buffy a half-truth in the same low whisper they’ve been using so no one overhears and realizes they’re not actually wives. “We’re supposed to be married and…there’s all this stuff about you I don’t know. I’m totally gonna blow our cover.”

Buffy wrinkles her nose. “What are you talking about? You know lots of stuff about me.”

“I mean, I don’t know everything that your… wife would be supposed to know,” Faith says, barely managing to get the word out. It’s bad enough in her head, but saying it? It makes it more real, somehow. There are some things between her and Buffy that they both know but have never talked about, and acknowledging any kind of a relationship between them, even if it’s fake, feels like breaking some unspoken rule.

“How do I like my eggs?” Buffy asks.

Faith shrugs, “Vegetable omelet.”

“Pancakes or waffles?”

“Waffles.” Faith knows this ‘cause Buffy told her over breakfast at a diner back in Sunnydale before everything went wrong. They’d pulled an overnighter slaying and Buffy was ravenous, devouring everything in sight with near reckless abandon while Faith’s mind drifted to other appetites of Buffy’s she longed to satiate. Buffy had a bloody cut on her forehead and streaks of dirt on her clothes and she still pulled a little tube of lip gloss out of her pocket and reapplied it like she cared about looking like a mess in front of Faith, pausing her babbling about breakfast foods only briefly. Apparently Buffy likes putting berries or chocolate chips in the little holes waffles have. Faith couldn’t stop thinking about how cute she was, monologuing about breakfast with extra cheer in her voice in spite of the exhaustion in her eyes, the early morning sun glinting off the barrettes in her messy blonde hair. Faith had wished every morning of her life could be just like that one.

In some fucked up twist of fate, she’s getting her wish for the next week or so. Faith’ll have breakfast across the table from Buffy every morning and still be no closer to Buffy actually being hers than she was back then. Maybe that’s why people say to be careful what you wish for; it just might come true. Faith should’ve been more specific and wished for naked breakfasts in bed with Buffy. Naked because we just had sex, she hastens to clarify in case the universe is listening again and gives her some bizarre, naked bed-sharing scenario in which she and Buffy are somehow still just friends without the benefits.

“How do I take my coffee?” Buffy prompts.

“Probly way too sweet, but I don’t—”

“See?” Buffy says, eyebrow raised triumphantly.

Refusing to acknowledge Buffy’s attempt to prove how much Faith knows about her she asks, “Why were those all about breakfast?”

Buffy shrugs one shoulder. “Woke up hungry.”

“I only got this,” Faith says, handing over Buffy’s cup of orange juice. Buffy looks way too smug about the revelation that Faith ordered for her correctly. “Lucky guess,” Faith mumbles.

Buffy drinks half of it before answering. “Or you know me better than you think you do.”

Faith just shrugs, running her fingertips through the condensation forming on the outside of the cup in front of her. Even though the flight attendant didn’t add too much ice, it’s already melting and her soda is watery now.

“No one at the resort is gonna expect you to know my favorite animal. I don’t even know my favorite animal. I don’t think I have one.”

“Vampire?” Faith suggests with a shit-eating grin, which gets her another smack on the arm.

“Look, you’re not gonna blow our cover over something like this, I promise,” Buffy insists, handing Faith her empty cup. Faith takes it without hesitation, only questioning this after she’s done it. Apparently a couple of hours spent as Buffy’s wife and Faith willingly became her personal trash can. “Why are you so worried about this?” Buffy asks, softening her voice. “It’s not like you to get nervous before slaying.”

“I ain’t nervous,” Faith says quickly. And, though her rapidly bouncing leg says otherwise, Buffy doesn’t push, just stares doubtfully at her until Faith has to look away. “Don’t usually do the subtle thing. I’m gonna give too much away. End up ruining everything.”

Buffy assumes Faith was talking about the slaying mission, which is what Faith was counting on. “You won’t. This is an easy gig. Practically a slayer vacation. A slay-cation,” Buffy quickly adds, far too pleased with herself. Faith can hear the smile in Buffy’s voice and she rolls her eyes, pretending not to enjoy B’s puns. “You’re also probably tired. It’s been a long day.” She reaches across the armrest and gives Faith’s hand a little reassuring squeeze, and Faith’s heart stupidly skips a beat. “Look, if it comes down to it, I’ll just pretend I wanted whatever you ordered me. We’re not gonna screw up the mission over something small like that, okay? We’ll figure this out together, like couples do.”

Like couples do. We. She said ‘we.’ Like we’re a team. A pair. A couple, because Buffy said that too. Buffy’s hand in hers is warm, and her words won’t stop ricocheting around in Faith’s head. Faith’s stomach flips. It’s not real , she reminds herself. This isn’t real. But, even though the actions aren’t real, the comfort Buffy’s attempting to offer is, which is a very confusing combination. Even if Faith didn’t actually need to be comforted about the slaying. In an attempt to hide her emotions, Faith makes a joke. “Might decide to order you the grossest thing on the menu.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “And once again I might decide I want a divorce.”

“Well, I definitely want a divorce, since you didn’t even ask about my favorites.”

“I did so. Your favorite snack is popcorn and your favorite color is red.”

“You’re two for four then.”

Buffy studies her face. “Your favorite drink is some gross type of alcohol, and your favorite animal is probably…” Buffy scrunches up her nose adorably, thinking. “A dog.”

Faith forgets to ask what kind of alcohol Buffy considers gross when she gets Faith’s favorite animal right. Faith’s initial response is to smile, though she also starts to feel slightly nauseous. Unlike Faith who wants as much of Buffy as she can possibly have even when it’s bad for her, Buffy probably never wanted that much knowledge about Faith. And now it’s just there, taking up valuable space in her brain, and she can’t get it out. “How’d you know that?”

Buffy shrugs, smiling back like it’s no big deal. “You’ve mentioned wanting one before.”

It is a big deal though. It’s rare for someone to actually listen to Faith, to store things she’s said in their memories like they’re important information. Like Faith is important to them. Faith feels warmth blossom in her chest, that sick feeling in her belly fading away. She’s probably mentioned the dog thing more than once, so it was basically a gimme. But that doesn’t make the feeling go away. “What—”

Buffy yawns again. “I’m too tired for this,” she pouts. “Sleep now, questions later?”

“Yeah, okay,” Faith relents. “Besides, we can’t have a fun wedding night if you’re falling asleep,” she teases, tongue between her teeth, just because it’s fun to watch a blush spread across Buffy’s cheeks. Especially since she has to literally bite her tongue to keep from saying something like ‘Gross, Faith!’ since they’re supposed to be married and all. Faith pretends it doesn’t even hurt that the thought of sleeping with her is disgusting to Buffy.

Buffy apparently can’t go back to sleep easily. Faith feels a little guilty for waking her up more fully earlier. Buffy keeps shifting around in her seat. She stretches, she yawns, she turns her head one way then the other. She tries to curl her legs up and ends up kicking Faith.

“Sorry,” Buffy says. “I need to get one of those travel pillow things. I can’t sleep without something to lean on.” Buffy tilts her head to one side, then the other, trying to work a kink out of her neck.

“Would you be able to sleep better if you lean this way?” Faith offers, the words leaving her mouth before she can consider the consequences.

Buffy hesitates just long enough for Faith to think she’s said something stupid, maybe even revealed her true feelings for Buffy by mistake. “You don’t mind?” Buffy finally asks quietly.

“Nah,” Faith says, shrugging nonchalantly, like Buffy leaning on her wouldn’t make her entire day. “Just don’t drool.”

Buffy looks offended. “I don’t drool.”

“Good. Cause if you do I’m definitely throwing your ass out that window.”

Buffy stops fussing with the blanket on her legs and looks skeptically toward the plane window. “Like I could even fit through that.”

“Do you think slayer strength could smash airplane glass?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy says, finally getting herself situated and leaning toward Faith. “Let’s not find out.” Faith's willing to let it go, though she's reasonably confident that she could, in fact, break that window. Buffy tentatively rests her head on Faith’s shoulder like she’s half expecting Faith to shove her off.

Faith forgets to breathe.

After a few moments, she remembers, and Buffy finally relaxes the rest of the way. She tilts her head upwards, looking at Faith through her eyelashes, and Faith forgets all over again. She’s had sex that felt less intimate than this. Lots of it. “Thanks,” Buffy says.

“What are wives for?” Faith jokes, hoping Buffy won’t notice that her voice sounds a little more high-pitched than usual. Buffy’s asleep in minutes, the sunlight coming through the window glinting off the rings on her left hand. Faith knows that she isn’t getting a taste of anything she’ll get to keep, and she accepts that. If Buffy had ever given her a chance, Faith knew it would’ve been temporary. Just a hook-up. But at least there would be proof that Buffy wanted Faith, even if it was for one night only. The real gut punch here is the fact that as close as she and Buffy are going to be during the next week, absolutely none of it is real. It’ll mean everything to Faith, and nothing to the woman currently asleep (and quite possibly drooling) on Faith's shoulder.

And that, more than anything else, is going to be Faith’s undoing.

*  *  *  *  *

After the plane there’s a taxi ride to a nearby dock because they have to take a boat to the small resort island. The taxi drops them and their luggage in a gravel lot near a creaky metal dock and an outcropping of sharp-looking rocks separated from the shore by a metal guard rail. The sun is starting to set but even then, California is still hotter than Faith remembered it being and she regrets wearing jeans. The few sentences Buffy’s said to her since they left the airport involved complaining about how sweaty and gross she feels. Faith’s stuck primarily to noncommittal noises so she doesn’t accidentally say something about how Buffy’s attractive even when her hair is slipping loose from her braid and curling at the back of her neck from the heat and she smells primarily like airports and sweat.

Several other couples are also waiting near the dock. Most of them are busy being lost in each other by enthusiastically making out or staring into each other’s eyes in a way that somehow makes Faith even more uncomfortable than the couple starting their honeymoon early by groping each other in front of everyone. However, one woman is excitedly chattering away to her husband, taking a million pictures on her camera while talking in a voice so shrill it makes Faith grind her teeth. Faith wonders if she and Buffy should be holding hands or doing anything other than standing awkwardly side by side, but she figures Buffy’s more the expert on things real couples do, and she hasn’t reached for Faith’s hand since they left the airport so they’re probably fine.

“Excuse me, will you please take our picture?”

Faith barely suppresses an eye roll when she turns and sees the chatty blonde holding her camera out to Buffy. Her husband stands behind her, looking a little sheepish, hands in his pockets. “Sure,” Buffy says politely, taking several photos of the happy couple near the dock in various poses. “Congratulations,” Buffy says when she’s done, handing the camera back.

The blonde woman squeals at a pitch that makes Faith wince as she excitedly grabs for Buffy’s hands. She makes it look like the easiest, most natural thing in the world, reaching for Buffy, and Faith feels a pang of something not unlike jealousy in her stomach at the sight. “You too!” The other woman practically gushes. “You two make such a great couple! You must be so happy!”

“Thank you,” Buffy says, slightly awkwardly this time. She doesn’t claim that they’re happy. Faith kicks at some loose gravel in the lot. She wonders what it’s like for the person you love not only to love you back, but to promise to love you forever, and for you to actually believe them. Being completely outside the realm of possibility, that’s far from Faith’s idea of happiness. If anything, the thought just makes her feel ill. Contentment is the closest Faith thinks she’s ever come to being truly happy, and considering what someone like Faith deserves, she’s accepted that as more than good enough.

“I could take your picture,” the blonde suggests. “I’m Kathleen.”

Faith expects Buffy to politely refuse, but she surprises her by saying, “Um, sure. I’m Buffy.” Then she starts digging in the bag that’s slung over her shoulder until she pulls out a camera. Why did Buffy bring a camera? It must’ve been Willow’s idea to keep them from looking suspicious, because Faith can’t possibly imagine Buffy wanting to document this trip. “And this is Faith.”

Faith lifts her chin slightly by way of acknowledgment.

Kathleen takes the camera and looks at them expectantly, and then there’s a really awkward moment where Faith and Buffy just stand there looking at each other before they realize they’re supposed to pose. It somehow gets even worse when they decide to hold hands and fumble for a moment before they figure it out, definitely looking less like newlyweds and more like two people who try to touch as little as possible. Pathetically, Faith’s mind conjures up the very first time Buffy had held her hand, the two of them jumping out the motel window, sprinting away from Kakistos and toward something Faith almost dared to hope could be safety.

Faith’s hand in Buffy’s is starting to sweat but instead of taking the damn picture Kathleen says, “You can pose like a real couple, you know.”

Faith feels Buffy’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t turn to look. “We’re good like this,” she says through gritted teeth.

Kathleen gives Faith a slight frown. “I only meant it’s okay for you to kiss your wife.”

Buffy’s eyes are practically boring into her now, and Faith’s heart starts beating faster. She’s wanted to kiss Buffy since the night they met, and some part of her knew before coming on this trip that it was likely going to happen as a result of their fake marriage, and she’d tried to make her peace with that. But now that the moment is finally here, Faith finds she can’t actually go through with it. If she finally gets the chance to kiss Buffy, it shouldn’t be as a spectacle for someone else. It should be for them. Faith doesn’t ask the universe for much, but she’s begging it right now. Please, she thinks. Her first kiss with Buffy can’t happen right now. Not like this.

Outwardly, Faith keeps her cool, and gives a wide grin. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she says, “we’re just tryin’ to be respectful and not give your husband here a show.”

Kathleen’s husband actually hasn’t done anything to deserve such a comment, and when he turns slightly pink, Faith almost feels bad for throwing the poor guy under the bus. Buffy elbows her in the ribs, but the comment flies over Kathleen’s head. “I promise we’re not homophobic,” she says brightly.

Faith’s hands curl into fists. She spares a glance at Buffy, who looks vaguely hurt. This is probably the first time in Buffy’s life she’s been ready to kiss someone who didn’t want to kiss her. Sucks, doesn’t it? Faith thinks bitterly. Buffy’s bottom lip is jutting out slightly. Not in a full pout but getting there, though Faith doesn’t think Buffy even realizes she’s doing it. Faith’s eyes hone in on Buffy’s bottom lip. She wants to taste it. But she forces her eyes back to Buffy’s and gives a microscopic shake of her head. No.

Buffy’s eyes still look sad, but she gives a little nod of acknowledgement, and a familiar look of determination takes over her face like this is any other obstacle that just needs to be slayed. Buffy takes a step closer, reaching up and pushing Faith’s unruly dark hair over her shoulder, tucking some behind her ear. Faith stiffens. “Just trust me,” Buffy murmurs in a voice only meant for Faith to hear, fingertips brushing Faith’s jaw, and Faith feels her resolve melting. If Buffy actually tried to kiss her right now she wouldn’t say no. She couldn’t. All she can do is nod.

Buffy goes up on her toes and kisses Faith’s cheek. Vaguely, Faith is aware of her own arm slipping around Buffy’s waist on autopilot, of turning toward this relative stranger holding up Buffy’s camera and snapping pictures. Truthfully Faith has no idea what her own facial expression looks like, but it’s likely some combination of a grimace and a big dopey grin. Her skin feels tingly where Buffy’s lips brush her cheek, but Faith isn’t even embarrassed that she’s getting practically giggly over something so simple, like a middle schooler with a crush.

She feels it a moment later when Buffy backs up and the connection between them breaks, reality settling hard on her shoulders. Faith has to actively fight the vindictive urge to wipe Buffy’s kiss off her cheek, just to see the happy look in Buffy’s eyes shatter, just so Faith isn’t the only one hurting.

Buffy and Kathleen easily slip into small talk about weddings, but Faith can’t stand listening to another word of it so she stomps over to the water’s edge without bothering to excuse herself. She walks as far as she can before a railing gets in her way; the breeze coming off the water feels nice on her heated cheeks. In the distance, Faith thinks she can see the boat coming closer if she squints, one hand raised to shield her eyes as best she can from the glare.

“Would it kill you to be a little less grumpy?” Buffy’s voice asks several minutes later, accompanied by the crunch of gravel underfoot as she joins Faith at the railing. “Half of this gig is trying to get information out of people.”

Faith shrugs, “Seems like you had it covered. ‘Sides, anymore talk about weddings and I was gonna barf. Had to get some air. I hate all that romantic shit.”

“I can’t imagine why you’re single,” Buffy deadpans. After Faith doesn’t give her more of a response than a small snort of laughter, Buffy asks, “Seriously, you never imagined your wedding when you were little?”

“No,” Faith says. She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t ask about Buffy either because she doesn’t have to; she already knows the answer. Buffy probably was crazy about weddings before she got called to be a slayer. If Buffy had ever considered actually marrying anyone, it was probably Angel. But that was a long time ago, before he lost his soul and killed people, before he and Buffy broke up again. And again. As far as Faith knows, the only possibility of a wedding since then was the one between Xander and Anya that didn’t actually happen, but that info is from some rumors she cobbled together from Andrew and the younger slayers, so it might not be all that accurate.

Faith wonders if Buffy’s finally realized life isn’t a fairytale where she’ll eventually get her happily ever after or if she still dreams of her and Angel getting back together, of fancy flowers and churches with shining stained glass windows, of wearing a lacy white dress while Giles walks her down the aisle.

“Oh,” Buffy says, either not sensing the end of conversation tone in Faith’s voice or noticing and choosing to ignore it. “I did.” Then, in an act that defies all logic, she holds the camera up to her face and, rather than taking pictures of the dock or the ocean or the sunset or all the other pretty shit around them, Buffy points the viewfinder at Faith of all things.

Faith blocks it with her hand. “The hell are you doing?” She asks, her tone accusatory.

“Taking your picture,” Buffy says slowly, like Faith is being stupid.

“Yeah, I got that,” Faith copies her tone. “Why?”

“Because the sunset behind you looks really cool and it’ll be a good picture,” Buffy says, and raises the camera again.

It takes everything in Faith not to snatch that camera out of Buffy’s hands and chuck it into the ocean. Faith leans against the handrail, breathing deep of the salty ocean air while trying not to bend the metal bars beneath her. It’s bad enough that this entire trip is happening, that it’ll live in her memories forever no matter how far down she shoves them, but now there has to be photographic evidence too? It’s making Faith an extra kind of crazy.

Then, since being around Buffy seems to turn her into a masochist she asks, “What’re ya even gonna do with the pictures?”

Honestly, Faith doesn’t expect Buffy to have thought that far ahead so when she says, “Keep them,” like she already had an answer ready, Faith’s so surprised that she forgets not to look at Buffy. Smiling like she’s getting something she wants, Buffy takes another picture of Faith.

“What? Why?” The metal guardrail groans dangerously beneath Faith’s hands and has Buffy looking at her strangely. Releasing her grip, Faith glances back out at the water.

“Because every other picture I have of us is at the bottom of a crater,” Buffy says evenly, and it makes Faith’s stomach flip, both at the admission that Buffy had kept the photos of them together from the brief period before, but also at the revelation that she not only missed them now but wanted to replace them. Buffy turns away from looking at Faith’s profile mirroring her position and staring out at the horizon with her, and somehow it feels like more than just looking together toward where they’re headed on their fake honeymoon. It’s also worse than Buffy looking at her, and Faith’s insides twist even further into knots.

She and Buffy have so frequently been at odds, staring in different directions, wanting different things, that Faith never knows quite what to do with herself on the occasions that they’re perfectly in sync. It messes her up in this instance even though they’re just looking toward something together, because that something is a romantic slaying vacation, even if the romance is faked.

Buffy continues, a hint of accusation in her voice, “And you didn’t come back for Christmas so I couldn’t force you to be in more pictures then. Everyone was in matching pajamas. You really missed out.”

“Bummer,” Faith deadpans, clearly relieved to have avoided that nightmare, and Buffy laughs knowingly. “Can’t be helped. I was slayin’. You and me both know that we can’t control when evil attacks on Christmas and ruins our plans.”

“Well, if that’s a pointed comment about the time I stood you up on Christmas and this is your way of saying you’re punishing me, I’d like to remind you that I wasn’t the only person disappointed that you weren’t there. Everyone missed you.” Buffy playfully hip checks her, and Faith’s so caught off balance by Buffy’s words that the playful nudge actually has her grabbing the railing to steady herself.

Buffy missed her? Everyone missed her? Doubtful. Faith would say she’s kinda friends with a couple other slayers like Kennedy and Rona, but she doesn’t think they missed her. Faith isn’t someone you miss when she’s not around. Missing is the kind of thing you do for best friends and family, like Buffy and Willow and Xander. And okay, it’s the kind of thing Faith does for whatever the fuck this unlabeled quasi-friendship is between her and Buffy, but Faith’s positive the missing in that scenario is entirely one-sided.

Obviously Faith missed Buffy over Christmas. She misses her every day they’re not together, but that’s become a part of Faith’s daily life since the day she and Buffy met. Love her, hate her, fighting her, fighting beside her, it doesn’t matter. When Faith isn’t with Buffy she wants and misses her, as natural as breathing, as unstoppable as the sunset. She sometimes even misses Buffy when they’re together. It’s like the slayer connection that links them wants them to be as close as possible, and when she’s away from Buffy she always feels her absence like a stitch in her side or an ache in her heart. But it’s something she’s learned to live with since whenever she’s with Buffy, Faith feels herself getting drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and that’s dangerous for them both. Better to miss her while they’re allies than miss her as enemies again.

“I’ll try my best next year,” Faith promises. If she can survive this week, she can survive one holiday. “Tell the universe to pause any demon attacks.”

“Or maybe I’ll go with you next Christmas,” Buffy suggests. “We can slay together.”

There’s no way in hell that’s happening, but it’s at least six months before they have to have that argument and Faith is really keen not to start their vacation with a fight so she just says, “Maybe.”

“You see?” Buffy says as if she’s made her point clear, gesturing with the camera while Faith is once again struck with the urge to chuck it into the sea. “If I can’t get a picture of you on Christmas in matching pajamas or a horrible sweater—”

“Not happening.”

“—I have to keep these to hang up,” Buffy finishes triumphantly.

“Pretty sure hanging up pictures of us kissin’s a good way to start the rumor mill churning, blondie,” Faith points out, and now it’s Buffy’s turn to blush, and it’s still as cute as it was back in high school.

“Okay maybe not that picture,” Buffy acquiesces, “but I’m sure we can get at least a couple good ones before the trip is over.”

“Or I could just ruin them all,” Faith says as the thought occurs to her, grinning wickedly.

“Faith,” Buffy whines, coming even closer and tentatively resting her chin on Faith’s shoulder like she thinks that one-time offer on the plane was an open-ended invite and she belongs in Faith’s personal space now. “Please?” And then she pouts, which is completely unfair. “Everyone else is already on my wall. I need you there too.”

“Everyone else?” Faith repeats dubiously. “You got a picture of every slayer working with us on your wall?”

Buffy removes her chin from Faith’s shoulder—thank fuck because that was really making it hard to think—and rolls her eyes. “No. I mean everyone who’s—you know—” She huffs in frustration, making gestures with her hands that Faith cannot possibly be expected to understand. “Like Willow and Xander, Dawn and Giles, they’re all up there.” Faith just blinks at her because she can’t possibly fathom what she has in common with those people. That’s Buffy’s family. Faith’s just the slayer who fucked up so bad that the real slayer put her in a coma. And now Buffy looks nervous. She shifts her weight from foot to foot asking, “You and me—we’re—I mean, I thought we were—” she takes a deep breath then asks, “We’re… friends now, right?”

Faith doesn’t know what’s more ridiculous, the fact that friends could ever be used to describe what they are to each other or the fact that Buffy’s nervous about what she means to Faith. Unable to meet Buffy’s eyes, Faith watches as the boat nears the dock, cutting the motor and gliding quietly toward its destination, leaving gentle waves in its wake. “Was under the impression we were wives.”

Buffy rolls her eyes, but Faith’s teasing lightened the mood enough to get that anxious look off her face. “C’mon,” Buffy says, and starts walking toward the boat, sliding her hand into Faith’s like it belongs there and pulling Faith along with her.

Faith’s heart starts stupidly racing all over again, both because Buffy’s holding her hand and because the boat is going to bring her to an island and then she’ll truly be trapped in this fake scenario with all of her unrequited feelings and Buffy. Faith is struck with a sudden overwhelming urge to just turn around and run as far away from her as possible and never look back. But Buffy looks up at Faith and extends a hand to help her into the boat and Faith willingly takes it and climbs in. God help her, Faith would follow Buffy to the ends of the earth if that’s where Buffy wanted to go. All she has to do is ask.

*  *  *  *  *

Once they make it to the resort, Faith pokes around the lobby while Buffy waits in line with the other couples to check them in. They’re registered under fake names, which Faith doesn’t even remember. She should probably learn those. She’s super thankful Willow did that for them because the thought of being called Mrs. Summers-Lehane—even if it’s only for a week and even if it’s fake—would be too much for her to handle on top of everything else. Willow and Giles sure are putting a lot of pressure on slayer history’s biggest screw-up. Though it’s not like they know about Faith’s feelings for Buffy.

When Faith glances out the front glass doors, she sees several resort staff members struggling under the weight of Faith and Buffy’s bags. The third one is full of magically-concealed swords and other weaponry and supplies necessary for slaying. Faith steps too close to the automatic doors and they slide open again, spitting a blast of freezing AC into the California heat. The lobby is huge, with high ceilings and marble floors. This is definitely the nicest place Giles or Willow has ever booked for them. Still, Buffy approaches the front desk with confidence, head held high, looking like she belongs here. Faith’s never been anywhere half this nice and she certainly doesn’t belong here. Even though she’s already seen all there is to see in the lobby, she hangs back uncomfortably while Buffy checks them in.

The woman behind the desk hands Buffy an information packet with their keys inside, which Buffy takes, and then another employee materializes practically out of nowhere and starts speaking to her. Buffy looks over her shoulder until she spots Faith, gesturing with a tilt of her head for Faith to join them. Faith hurries over, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the otherwise quiet lobby.

When Faith joins them, Buffy is saying, “This is my, um—well, she’s my—Faith. She’s my Faith.” Buffy stumbles over the word wife, ultimately omitting it entirely, but the staff member whose name tag identifies him as Jerome appears completely unbothered. Faith, on the other hand, is very bothered. This is my Faith. Somehow it’s better than my wife, which makes it worse. When Jerome turns to open the door for them, Buffy shoots Faith an apologetic grin, reaching for her hand, and Faith’s stomach somersaults for the millionth time that day.

Luckily, B seems to quickly regain her people skills, because as Jerome leads them out of the lobby and to wherever they’ll be staying, the two of them fill the space with polite small talk. Faith is only half-listening. She’s too busy staring as the employee leads them around the resort, giving them a tour, because holy shit, this place is gigantic.

The grounds are impressively manicured, full of green grass and swaying palm trees, and plenty of sidewalks criss-crossing all over. The sun dipped completely below the horizon while they were on the boat ride over, but the paths are now lit by lamps which, rather than having that harsh city glow, are somehow soft and romantic. Plenty of other happy couples are out and about, walking hand-in-hand or with arms around each other’s waists, too caught up in each other to notice anything or anyone else. When Faith looks up, she can see a sky full of stars. She’s a city girl at heart, but even she has to admit this is nice.

As they walk, Jerome points out restaurants with indoor and outdoor seating, several bars, the direction of the swimming pools, the spa, and a gym among other things. Faith still has the distinct impression that someone like her doesn’t belong here, and some of her excitement starts to fade. Faith’s never been on vacation before—or her entire life has been one long vacation since she never really had a home to take a vacation from either—and this is a hell of a way to start. Before the collapse of Sunnydale and the setting up of slayer headquarters, Faith hadn’t even been on a plane before. She’s always been one to take advantage of whatever freebies life throws her way, but deep down she knows she doesn’t deserve such things. It reminds her of the times she visited Buffy’s home in Sunnydale, wearing her nicest clothes and bringing presents and being painfully aware that she still wasn’t enough, that she didn’t fit there no matter how kind Joyce was or how hard she tried.

She’s starting to spiral into her own thoughts, feeling ashamed, feeling like trash, when she looks over and catches a glimpse of Buffy’s face and realizes she looks awed as well. Buffy may have been on vacation before, but it’s likely that she isn’t used to going anywhere this nice either. That realization helps the pit forming in Faith’s stomach relax slightly.

Jerome leads them near the beach, and Faith gets excited all over again, assuming this is where she and B will be staying. There are wooden boardwalks, huge umbrellas, and dunes of white sand. And—

Buildings on the fucking water! Holy shit, Faith thinks. The boardwalk extends out into the ocean to a series of wooden bungalows and it’s wicked cool. Faith’s never seen anything like it outside of magazines or TV; she didn’t even know buildings like this were real. She’s so entranced that she half trips over a bump in the pavement and Buffy snickers at her, but Faith’s too excited to even care that she’s making a fool of herself.

“Number four is yours, ladies,” Jerome says, pointing at a bungalow several buildings down. “Your luggage should already be there and of course, please don’t hesitate to call the front desk if you have any questions or concerns. Someone would be more than happy to assist you. Congratulations, and enjoy your stay!” Then he turns and walks away as quickly as possible.

“Thank you!” Buffy calls after him. Jerome gives her a little wave, not turning around. “Did he just run away from us?” Buffy asks Faith disbelievingly.

“Looks like. I bet most couples are horny as hell when they arrive. He’s probably seen some shit and learned to book it outta here asap.” Faith can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on Buffy’s face. She seems to have rendered her utterly speechless, so she offers B an easy out. “This place looks nice.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, finding her words again. “Wanna go see our room?”

“The sooner we do the sooner we can get something to eat,” Faith says agreeably. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you really worked up an appetite from all that sitting still.”

“It’s hard work being someone’s pillow.”

Buffy just shakes her head. She sets off in the direction of their bungalow, holding Faith’s hand the entire time like she forgot they’re not being watched now and it’s okay to let go. Faith sure as hell isn’t gonna remind her. Buffy unfortunately drops her hand a moment later to dig for the keys in the welcome packet. Faith glances around while she waits. There are a couple other bungalows here, but they aren’t positioned too close together. And all the front doors are facing each other, with the backs facing out toward the water, probably for privacy. It’s too dark to see the water well, there’s just a rippling sort of inky blackness beyond the boardwalk, but Faith can hear it gently lapping at the legs of the pier.

Buffy gets the key in the lock and Faith follows her inside, accidentally bumping into Buffy when she stops abruptly just inside the doorway.

Faith grabs Buffy’s waist to steady her. “Sorry,” She apologizes even though it’s totally Buffy’s fault for stopping so suddenly. Faith sees why a moment later.

Their room is really nice. Wood-paneled walls, a little kitchenette with a mini fridge, high ceilings, and a door leading off to what Faith assumes is the bathroom. The entire back wall of the place is one big glass window with floor to ceiling curtains pushed to the corners. Right now the ocean and sky still just look dark out there, but the view in the daytime is probably incredible. There’s a sliding glass door that leads onto their own private porch. It looks like they have steps leading directly into the water, furniture with plenty of room for two, and even their own personal hot tub. This space was obviously built for two people to spend lots of time all tangled up together. It wasn’t made for two former sort-of-allies turned enemies turned allies again turned sort-of-friends to set up a home base as a demon hunting expedition as fake wives. Especially when one of them is definitely in love with the other with no chance of feelings ever being returned.

Still, nothing Faith acknowledged so far is what Buffy’s staring at. She has to deal with this sooner or later, so she finally glances at the one object in the room she’s been pointedly ignoring.

“It’s a sex bed,” Buffy says, having regained the power of speech. “It’s a sex…room!” She gestures to the space around them.

Faith snorts but honestly, it’s a fairly accurate description. Obviously they were both aware that they’d be sharing a bed (Faith had been trying not to think about it) but clearly neither of them had expected it to look like this.

The bed is a huge four poster piled high with white linens and a ridiculous number of pillows. The gauzy canopy tied off at each corner of the bed looks romantic as shit for making love the way people who are actually on their honeymoon probably do, but Faith can’t help but notice that the bedposts are perfect for tying somebody up. Faith isn’t into gentle and romantic, but even she can’t deny the appeal of fucking Buffy in a bed like that.

But the bed isn’t even the worst part of all this. No, the worst part is how the resort staff set up the room for them: there are lit candles on every available surface, bouquets of flowers, and—hell, there’s even fucking rose petals on the bed. There’s a table at the foot of the bed with a bottle of champagne chilling on ice, two champagne flutes, and a fancy three-tier tray of chocolate covered fruits. It looks like something straight out of a romance movie, or a fairy tale, which makes it a nightmare for Buffy and Faith in their current situation.

Faith is suddenly aware of how small this place feels, how intimate. She’s still standing close enough to Buffy to feel the heat of her skin and see the pulse flickering in her neck. And the romantic atmosphere must be getting to her, because she can’t help but want to pick Buffy up and lay her down on the bed, press her back against all those pillows and kiss her senseless, peeling off every article of clothing she currently has on so she can worship every inch of her. Faith’s mind continues conjuring up a bunch of very unhelpful images. She wants Buffy fisting the sheets while her back arches off the bed in ecstasy with Faith’s head between her thighs. She wants to go skinny dipping and fuck Buffy in the hot tub, all warm and wet and skin sliding against skin. And when they’re both exhausted and sated, she wants to curl up on the lounge chairs outside and just hold Buffy for hours, listening to the sound of the waves and the tide of her breathing. Faith wants to hang in that moment forever, where nothing matters but just the two of them.

Faith hopes the universe is listening to that wish, though she knows there’s not a chance in hell of it coming true.

Faith needs to move, to distract her mind from these dangerous thoughts because yeah, it is dangerous for her to want something she can never have, especially as desperately as she wants it. She scoots around Buffy, tugging the door shut behind herself as she walks further into the room. The sound of the latch clicking into place helps hammer home that she and Buffy are now alone in this romantic place for newlyweds. This ‘sex room’ as Buffy called it, and rightly so.

Faith flips on the lights as she passes the switch, trying to save them from the romantic lighting at least. It does help dull the atmosphere the staff tried to create, though only slightly. The soft warm lamps in their little bungalow aren’t much better than the flickering candlelight.

Buffy still hasn’t moved. “They think we’re going to have sex. They set this up for us to have sex in. All of this is for sex things to happen. Between us,” Buffy babbles.

“Well, yeah, B,” Faith says easily. “That’s what people tend to do at places like this.”

Their bags have already been brought in and set down. Faith opens the bathroom door and pokes her head in, looking around. The counter is the perfect height for eating someone out and the tub is spacious for bathing in together. The shower has one of those really fancy shower heads, a bench, and what Faith can only assume is a shelf for convenient foot placement so you can rail your girl in the shower too. On second thought that shelf might be for holding a bar of soap, but that’s not what Faith would use it for. None of this is helping to distract her, because it’s clear that like everything else here, even the bathroom is built with fucking in mind.

“God, how much sex do you think has happened in that bed?” Buffy asks.

Faith crosses the room. She fiddles with the sliding glass door, managing to get it unlocked. “Tons,” she says bluntly. “But no worse than a hotel room and we’ve stayed in plenty of those. If anything, this is probably cleaner. Look how nice this place is.” She opens the door and gestures all around them. A breeze comes in through the door, making the flames in all the stupid candles flicker.

Buffy’s curiosity finally gets the better of her, exactly as Faith hoped it would, and Buffy walks toward her, stepping out onto the porch with Faith. A small gust of wind ruffles their hair. Even the air smells nice here, like salt and sea without being fishy. It’s fresh, almost.

Apparently not willing to let it go that easily, Buffy says, “This is so much worse than a hotel! Plenty of people go to hotel rooms and don’t have sex ‘cause they’re on a family vacation or a work trip or something. Nobody comes to a place like this without having sex, so way more sex has happened in that bed than a hotel bed,” Buffy stresses, pointing back into the room for emphasis.

Faith gives Buffy her widest grin, sticking her hands in her pockets. “Damn, B, didn’t know you felt that way. Honestly, I thought we were on a work trip here. But, if you wanted to seduce me, you know all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Buffy sputters, her face turning bright red. “I didn’t—I mean—obviously this is a work trip, I just meant—you know what I meant,” Buffy says, sounding annoyed with Faith, but really, Buffy walked right into that trap. She’s so easy to tease; Faith can’t be expected to resist.

Starving, Faith wanders back inside and over to the fruit tray. There are lots of different options: apple slices, raspberries, cherries, strawberries, bananas cut into little stars. Faith prefers savory over sweet, but she’s not gonna miss out on dessert, especially not when it’s free. She chooses a raspberry, pops it in her mouth, and hums appreciatively. She might have to rethink her food preferences after all.

“Faith!” Buffy hisses, sounding horrified. “What’re you doing? That’s—”

“Lemme guess,” Faith interrupts, choosing a chocolate covered strawberry next. “It’s ‘sex food’?” She sinks her teeth into the strawberry, biting off the little green leaves and dropping them back on the tray. This is delicious.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy says awkwardly. “Or no, I guess not. But I mean, it’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

“So we’re supposed to just throw all this out? Let it go to waste?” Faith can see Buffy reconsidering, chewing her bottom lip. “It’s just chocolate. Not like it’s gonna make us horny.” Faith pops another fruit in her mouth, grinning wickedly when Buffy’s eyes drop to her mouth. “If bein’ here makes you horny, I think that’s on you, girlfriend.”

“It could be cursed chocolate again,” Buffy mutters under her breath, reminding Faith of the time Joyce and Giles and all the other Sunnydale adults apparently acted like teens after eating some enchanted chocolate bars. Faith’s still sorry she missed it. Despite trying to talk herself out of it, Buffy steps closer.

“Hey, you don’t have to eat any if you don’t wanna. More for me I guess,” Faith says, shrugging nonchalantly. She can see the exact moment Buffy caves.

“Gimme,” Buffy says, stepping back into the room.

Faith lifts the entire serving platter. “Let’s take it out there,” she says, gesturing toward the porch with a tilt of her head. The only place to sit down inside is on the bed, and Faith cannot possibly be expected to sit on a rose-petal covered bed surrounded by lit candles and eat chocolates with Buffy freaking Summers and not make a move. Faith walks down the steps to the water’s edge, sitting in the rectangle of light spilling out from the open door. She kicks her shoes off and rolls her jeans up, sticking her feet in the water. It’s warmer than she was expecting.

Buffy sits down beside her, crossing her legs, and Faith makes sure to set the tray between them, both so Buffy can reach it without leaning across Faith, and as a clear barrier between them. They’re together but not together. There needs to be some degree of separation here for Faith’s sanity. Buffy chooses something off the tray and eats it, making a noise in her throat that can only be described as a moan, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Jesus Christ. Faith shifts uncomfortably, crossing her legs.

“Should we open the champagne?” Buffy asks.

Faith shrugs. “Might as well.”

“I’ve never had champagne before,” Buffy confesses.

“Me either.”

The champagne cork startles a little laugh out of Buffy when it pops. Faith holds the glasses out for Buffy to pour, but she glances away until the glasses are full. Buffy’s so pretty when she’s happy; even as tired as she clearly is, Buffy is still all bright smiles and rosy cheeks. Looking at her for too long is like staring directly at the sun.

“I feel like we’re supposed to toast or something,” Buffy says, setting the bottle down and looking expectantly at her, for some reason deciding Faith is in charge of this.

“Right,” Faith says, shifting slightly. “Erm. Okay.” She looks out at the water and the sky beyond, thinking. It’s so quiet Faith can still hear the champagne bubbling in their glasses. There’s no normal way to define what she and Buffy are to each other, no easy phrase Faith picked up from watching TV that she could use. She’s never even heard someone give a toast before in real life, let alone had to make one up. So she won’t try to toast to something normal, she’ll toast to something that’s them. She turns back to Buffy and holds her glass up, Buffy mirroring her. “To the Chosen Two,” Faith says, hoping that’s good enough.

“To the Chosen Two,” Buffy repeats, clinking her glass to Faith’s. Her eyes are wide in the moonlight, and Faith wonders if she could see her own reflection in them if she leaned in close enough.

Faith takes a huge swallow of her champagne.

“To us,” Buffy adds, a little bit softer, before taking her own sip.

Faith chokes.

Buffy shudders and makes a face at the taste. Then she turns to Faith, who is still coughing, and whacks her on the back slightly harder than necessary, though maybe that wasn’t intentional. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Faith says when she can speak again, though her eyes are watering. “That shit is nasty though,” she rasps, and means it. She’s not just trying to cover her reaction to Buffy’s words. What the hell is wrong with rich people anyway? Who would pay more money for alcohol that tastes worse than the cheap stuff? Champagne burns, but instead of the somewhat satisfying burn of liquor in her throat, champagne apparently burns like carbonated bubbles in her nose. Or maybe that’s just because she choked on it. Either way, Faith isn’t giving it a second chance, so she sets down her half-drunk glass. “Disgusting.” She grabs another chocolate covered something at random to get rid of the taste in her mouth.

“It totally is,” Buffy says agreeably, before downing the rest of her glass, sticking her tongue out in disgust. It’s somehow adorable.

Faith laughs, “The fuck did you drink it all for then?”

Buffy glances from her empty glass to Faith. “I have no idea,” she says, giggling like she’s managed to get drunk off a single glass, though it’s probably just the exhaustion. “Habit, I guess. I don’t like the taste of most alcohol unless it’s mixed with lots of other stuff.”

“You mean you only like alcohol when it doesn’t taste like alcohol?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, this crap’s overrated. Let’s order room service with something you do like,” Faith suggests, feeling emboldened by the realization that they can pretty much order anything they want.

“Actually, I was pretty much planning on eating, showering, then passing out. But we can order something less terrible another day for sure.”

Faith nods agreeably, trying not to feel like she’s getting the brush off. Buffy needs sleep, and Faith needs a break from playing fake marriage. But there’s this insane part of her that wants to spend every single minute over the next week with Buffy, that feels like every moment they spend sleeping or not together is a moment wasted. “Sure. Nothing we gotta do tonight slaying-wise?”

Buffy shakes her head. “I think we should just get a good night’s sleep. We can talk demons and plans in the morning.”

Faith nods. She still feels a little wired, but she doesn’t think she’ll find any vamps around the resort. “I’m gonna check out the gym while we wait for our food. Too much time sitting still.”

After placing their room service order, Buffy gets in the shower and Faith quickly gets changed and heads to the gym. It’s apparently one of those twenty-four hour types, though it’s empty except for Faith. She’s in the mood to run, needing to burn off lots of restless energy. Knowing she needs to push herself or she’ll just be awake all night freaking out over sharing a bed with Buffy, she uses the treadmill until the day of traveling catches up with her, and only then does she let herself return to the bungalow.

Back in the room, Buffy’s already climbed into bed and fallen asleep. She’s curled up on her side, facing away from the door. The rose petals are missing from the bed, and all the candles have been extinguished. Buffy left a lamp on for Faith and, after a little quiet poking around, Faith finds her burger and fries in the fridge. She eats them so quickly she hardly tastes them. The shower has what seems to be a million different settings, but Faith is too tired to really linger and enjoy them. Running seems to have done the trick; she’s falling asleep under the spray.

Once she’s all clean and dressed, Faith takes a big breath to steel herself for what’s about to happen, then steps out of the bathroom. Buffy has since rolled over and now she’s sleeping facing Faith, snoring softly. Her hand is tucked under her cheek and her damp hair is all fanned out around her head like a golden halo. She looks angelic, peaceful. Faith thinks she could stay awake all night and she’d never get tired of this view.

But that would be wicked creepy and she needs to be a functioning slayer that’s actually useful to Buffy in the morning, so Faith flips off the lamp, climbing into bed. She tries to move as little as possible so she doesn’t shift the mattress and wake Buffy, carefully keeping to her side of the bed. It’s a gigantic bed so that shouldn’t be too hard to manage. Trying to pretend she isn’t falling asleep right next to Buffy is a lot harder. Faith is glad they went to bed separately because it’s a little easier just listening to Buffy’s snoring and not having to wonder what she’s thinking. The bed is the softest Faith’s ever felt, and the sheets already smell like Buffy. Faith thought sleeping next to Buffy was going to be incredibly difficult, but right now it…actually doesn’t seem that bad. Within moments of closing her eyes, she can already feel herself drifting off.

She might just survive this experience after all.