Waiting
by Nikita
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the great and
powerful Joss.
Spoilers: Set somewhere post S5, helps if you know
what happens.
Author's Notes: Horrible writer’s block + escaping horrible
sociology essay = tiny pointless fic!
Feedback: Please!
Waiting is nothing new.
She sits on the hood of her car in the warm Californian night, and waits, flicking her cigarette against her thumb, watching the sparks of light fade into blackness.
It’s supposed to be just them tonight. She almost smiles at the thought.
But she has changed. She doesn’t let hope in anymore, she stopped a long time ago. It’s kept at bay, locked out of her mind and her heart. She doesn’t remember when she stopped hoping.
She stopped, and that’s what matters.
She gazes off into the night, and tries not to wonder where it all went wrong. She turns her mind to other things. Old leather sliding on the car’s red paint, smoke clouding her eyes, pinpricks of light far below which she supposes are the lights from homes.
But she doesn’t want to think of that either. Warm, comfortable homes, not like the cold, stark room she knows she’ll soon be alone in. A room that doesn’t feel safe anymore. She doesn’t want to think of much, really. But that’s always when the memories come.
They’re all of her, they always are. Conscious, dreaming, dead, they’re always of the one she lost, the one she pushed away.
The one she can’t believe she found again.
She shakes her head slightly, clearing it once more, and looks up at the sky. The stars glint softly in the distance, and she remembers that she once thought they were souls. But that was before. Now she knows they’re just stars.
The first firework explodes in the sky with a bang, and she sighs. She’s not coming. Why should she? But it doesn’t matter, she has no hope to lose.
Her knees are pulled up to her chin now in an act that looks protective, but it’s not.
Because she doesn’t care.
They’re exploding everywhere now, the sky is lit up with reds, golds, whites, blues, and she just watches from the darkness with nothing in her eyes but blankness. It’s easier that way.
She stubs out yet another cigarette with a shrug, and puts her hands on the hood, ready to leave.
But she doesn’t.
The sound of her breathing is as familiar as it has always been. Her boots on the ground, the swish of her clothes, the feeling of her closeness. She sits and waits, not needing to turn, not wanting to let her see the look of relief that has crept onto her face.
She feels her slip in behind her, and strong arms slide around her waist. She leans back slightly, relaxing into the firm body behind her.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
She shrugs like she does every time, like she doesn’t care. “Doesn’t matter.” She replies, as her smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, begging for release.
Soft lips touch her neck in apology, in need, in love. She whimpers quietly, surprised that she can still make her feel.
And she does what she does for a few short hours every time they are together. She pulls Faith’s arms around her tighter, and let’s herself go.
Because Buffy has changed.
But love stays the same.