The Chase
by Lucie
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss Whedon.
Author’s Notes: This is the last in my series with no name. It helps if
you’ve read the previous fics or at least the fic before this one, but it’s
not a necessity. Would love some feedback. Enjoy.
There is at least one momentous thing that happens during one’s lifetime. Winning a prestigious award, maybe, or getting married to the person of your dreams. Having a baby. A moment that has been built up from childhood to the present, gaining speed until it eventually explodes at the end of it all. For Buffy Summers, ‘fuck it, I love you,’ encompassed this very moment. She had counted to ten, but the inadequacy of the act was revealed when her breathing began to labour and even her stuttering falter. Eventually she was forced to succumb to the wave of complete emotion, and say nothing at all.
Faith was lighting a cigarette, naturally. She ran a hand through her hair and slowly lay back on the bed as she took the first drag. The clock ticked. If someone had walked in at that very moment, they would have turned around as soon as they put a foot through the door, the room was filled with an air of such undeniable intimacy.
The brunette’s breathing was at present slow and relaxed in comparison to Buffy’s. To Faith, saying the words had been a release of sorts. Only recently aware that she meant them, the utterance had painted shades of black and white onto what had previously been her multi-coloured state of confusion. She was free now, had said her piece. Buffy would just have to deal.
Outside a cricket chirped its confirmation.
The room, suddenly smaller to both the girls, smelt of nail polish and perfume, shampoo and stifled words. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, shut it, opened it again. Shut it. She had always thought that a heartfelt expression of poetic beauty was necessary in times such as these, but nothing was surfacing.
A dog howled in the distance, and Buffy numbly thought of Oz.
Faith pushed herself up onto her knees, exhaling the last of her smoke. Sliding off the bed, she moved with a gentle step past Buffy, reaching up to open the window on the far wall.
‘Gettin hot in here, huh?’
Faith flicked the stub of her cigarette into the black and shut the window. Turning to face Buffy, she smiled, her eyes lowering to the ground.
‘I think I need some fresh air.’
Faith strode out of the room.
Buffy stood, still transfixed. The front door was audibly opened. The front door was audibly shut. Her dark girl was back in the night, where she thought she belonged.
Now there was nothing but silence, and the silence was what forced Buffy to move. Running out of the newly deadened room, a tear streamed out of one eye. Buffy couldn’t help it.
She remembered when her dad had been her dad. Back in…god, how long ago? She couldn’t recall. Millions of years, at least. He would chase her around the house wearing the scary ghost mask she loved so much, (Faithy, I’m gonna catch you!) and when he caught her, after what seemed a monumental struggle, she would give in and he would tickle her until she had laughed herself into oblivion. A few years later, of course, the chase took on a different meaning, anger replaced the ghost, (Faithy, I’m gonna catch you!) and tears replaced the laughter. Faith felt like she and Buffy were stuck in that initial chase, that chase where she could still call her father ‘daddy.’ An intense and exhilarating build-up, with an end result that was nothing short of bliss.
Faith hoped the chase would end soon.
Buffy smiled as she approached the brunette, who was standing outside her front porch, hands in tight leather pockets. Slowly, she thought, do it slowly.
The air was still, holding its black breath.
‘Faith.’
Faith turned.
Buffy strode up to her, yet the hand she placed on her shoulder was tentative.
‘You mean a lot to me.’
Faith glanced at the hand before her eyes returned to the blond.
‘That the best you can do, B?’
Buffy swallowed, and her hand moved up to the back of Faith’s neck.
‘No.’
As the trees swayed back in the breeze, giving the two some privacy, Buffy gently pulled her slayer towards her.
‘Fuck it, I love you too.’
As their lips touched, Faith felt her past, full of malfunction, disintegrate into a meaningless nothing.
There is at least one momentous thing that happens during one’s lifetime, whether it be birth, death, or something in between. For Buffy and Faith, the kiss was one of many.
Because for them, the chase was over.