by daneorange
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns everything.
Date/Time: February 9, 2004 | 10:34am
Timeframe: Post Season 3.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated.

Willow tells you always, she didn't deserve you, she was evil, and she was wrong, and it was just right you put the knife through her gut, she deserved that.

You didn't think so, though. She looked so beautiful, even while in a coma. You watched her, you traced her scars, and they were those you made yourself, and you think back to all those times she made you feel like you were made for something else, something other than this.

Willow taps your shoulder as she notices you've zoned out, and you force a smile, claim you're okay (she would've said, five-by-five, but then saying that yourself would probably give you away) and then excuse yourself.

This was just wrong. You feel like it's time, finally, to concede. They always say, diversion, diversion, diversion - but it just doesn't work that way, it's about time you come to terms with that.

When a person leaves, and leaves a gap at the fucken center of *everything*, no amount of overwork could ever fill that space. You had thought it probably would take another person, but the depressing thing actually features how you were wrong about that too all along.

It hurts realizing things could get *this* pathetic, but what could you do? You could, of course, try to be happy and act as if nothing happened, and pull it off for a few weeks or months, but somewhere in the middle, it just gets to you - there is something missing. And it is something which used to be there, and it was GOOD.

Good. Willow has always asked you what it was all good for, slight sarcasm in her tone, but you couldn't blame her really, not after Faith almost drove that same knife into her neck. You couldn't blame her, and you couldn't make her see, either - how it was good.

How it was good, when Faith could look at you as if you were beautiful. She made you feel as if you were, and you couldn't make Willow see that. That and the millions of other things she made you feel.

Good was when you could lie there, and she could lie there, and you could say nothing and be all right, be safe. Good was when you could feel like you didn't have the world to take care of just by yourself. Good was when you could feel like you were made for something other than this, other than trying so hard to be what everybody expects you to be - good.

Good was when she could look at you, as if to tell you, you didn't have to try so hard.


The door of the lavatory opens and you look up from your hands. Willow enters with that look on her face that says she would probably understand, but you know better - in all probability, despite all her good intentions, she probably wouldn't, anyway.

But you don't mind. You needed desperately to be held, and despite the fact that Willow's shaky arms were never a good substitute for Faith's sturdy ones, you think they could come just as close - for now.

As for now, they were good.

The End