Love Is Blind ~ Fuffy ~ Complete to Part 5
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › FemmeSlash - Female/Female › Buffy/Faith
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,997
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › FemmeSlash - Female/Female › Buffy/Faith
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,997
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
//Part 2//
Rain pelts heavily against her living room window, but to me it sounds as close as my own breath. It started just before we got in, it was so quiet then; in fact I only knew it was raining because I could feel it against my skin. There was just one drop at first, it fell so silently and must have been so small, that I only noticed it when she wiped it away. It was cold.
“This might sting a little.” Her voice warns as she approaches, her shoes scuffing on the thick thread of the carpet. I steady myself, my mind filling with ridiculous questions about her shoes that suddenly seem to be so important.
What did they look like? Were they trainers or flats? Is the carpet in here cream?
The couch dips a little as she sits down to the left of me, I adjust my weight accordingly, my head dipping as I feel her eyes on me.
I wonder what I look like right now.
“Here,” Her small hand brushes under my chin, inviting me to lift my head, “I need to see your face.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
She tenderly tips my head to the side, the index finger of her other hand coming to rest on my slashed cheek while I try not to wince.
“It’s pretty deep, but I don’t think it needs stitches or anything. Not that I’m a Doctor, but then uh, you know that.” I frown as she clears her throat nervously, wondering why she’s so fuckin’ worried when I’m the one who can’t see.
I can’t see.
I feel my mouth quiver as I fight expression, fight emotion of any kind. How can I cry with her here, when she can see just how weak I am?
“Sorry.” She apologises quietly, pressing the antiseptic wipe to my cheek. I close my eyes, not that it makes much difference, and try to focus on anything but the increasing sting to my cut as she wipes and dabs. “We should probably get changed soon, huh? Black gunk is probably a bitch to get out.”
I know she’s trying to make things better, easier even, but what could ever be easy about this?
“I’ve got some warm water and a flannel for your, um, well you know?” There’s a cooling whoosh as she removes the antiseptic wipe, but an even bitterer one when she removes her hands. “I-I thought it might stop them, well, hurting. Do they still hurt? They look okay, I mean, okay, bad choice of-”
“I don’t feel anything.” I reply flatly.
“Oh, okay, well that’s good, right? I mean that they don’t…” She trails off, and I turn away from her because I already know what’s coming. “I’m sorry, Faith, I just, I don’t know what to say.”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t say anything then.”
“If I’d have known I’d never have…” I don’t have to see her to know her expression is laced with guilt; just like her tone. “If I’d helped you sooner maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I-I think it’s my fault.”
I do too. Deep, deep down, I think it’s her fault. If she hadn’t been so fuckin’ petty and we hadn’t had that stupid fight then she’d have been with me in this, we’d have fought side by side like we always do.
Cautiously I shift back round, using my hand to guide me. I have no idea where her face is, whether she’s looking at me, hell, maybe she’s even got up by now and snuck out the back door but I’m gonna say this ‘cause I have to.
“Maybe,” I start softly, wetting my lips, “maybe this is your fault.” There’s a sharp movement from her side of the couch. “But, Buffy, if things had been different this coulda happened to you, and I wouldn’t want that. It’s better that it was me.”
“No, Faith, I-”
“Leave it.”
The room plunges back into silence, surrendered only by the rain and the sloshing of contained water as she rings out the flannel before placing it over my eyes. I lean back, halted by the cushioned sofa and, as her hands noisily busy themselves around me, it’s then I release a single tear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really meant what I said to her, she doesn’t deserve this kinda punishment. Which makes me, in turn, wonder if I do.
“That’s it, just two more.” My hand trails along the smooth banister as my feet scuffle and fumble on the increasing slopes and edges. She walks beside me, her arm around my waist as she fills the air with hopeless praise and milestones. It’s just stairs, I want to tell her. Just a staircase like any other, I’ve climbed hundreds before, maybe even thousands, but now, well, it’s like starting again. Starting from the bottom of staircase number one, only this time I can’t see the top.
My breathing is heavy and face flushed when we do finally reach it. Buffy gives me a gentle squeeze as she turns me and guides me further into darkness.
“There, we’re here.” She declares and, just like that, releases me.
Immediately I go to outstretch my hands but, resisting that humiliation, I stand perfectly still. There’s a familiarity about this space that surrounds me and I feel a subconscious calm, a safety that’s instinctive. I feel lost though, like something that’s been left to drift on an ocean, and it frightens me. I cock my head to the side, listening to the recognizable pad of her feet as she journeys across this mysterious abyss.
It’s carpet.
I can tell because her shoes graze it when she walks. There’s a familiar scent too, a sweet and distinctive one, that, once inhaled, expands inside of me and touches every nerve, electing waves of tranquil pleasure which sweep through each and every part of me. This feeling though, it’s only momentary, and I quickly return to my despair.
“B?” I call out louder than I need to. “Are we in your room?” The sound of stillness settles again as her actions cease and my question appears to echo.
“I’m so stupid!” She conceives after a beat. “God, Faith, I thought, I-I just assumed you knew!” I shrug offhandedly. “Hey, how did you know it was mine?”
“Smells of you, I guess.” I respond cautiously, not quite sure how it’ll be received.
“Oh.”
Great, just what I need, for Buffy to get all indignant.
“Don’t get uptight, B.”
“What? I wasn’t!” She protests shrilly, I fold my arms. “I’m not uptight, Faith! You think I smell, no big. I’m not offended.”
“You don’t smell, it’s-“
”No, no, it’s fine! I mean you’re hardly a bed of roses yourself you know.”
“Excuse me?”
Is she saying I smell!?
“Well, demon blood is hardly a turn on.”
“Good job I’m not trying to turn you on then…”
”You’re so-okay, let’s just stop, alright?”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Good.” She concludes, the well-known scuff of her shoes starting again. There’s a short jostle and then a creak of wood. “I’m just opening a drawer.”
“I don’t need commentary, B.”
“Tough.” She remarks on a brisk slam. “I just closed the drawer. Now, I’m coming to get you.”
“Actually, keep going, this is starting to sound interesting.” I remark, causing her to cluck her tongue in disgust. She reaches me a moment later, her hand sliding into the loose folds of my arms and seeking out mine.
“Just walk forward, okay? I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“You better!” I warn, inching forward anxiously, my free hand extending.
“Here.” She stops walking suddenly and takes my other hand, lowering it in front of me. My fingers chafe the very edge of soft material, I pinch it curiously. “It’s my bed.” She reveals, moving behind me, her hands falling onto my hips.
“Hey! What do you think your-”
“I’m just helping you get on it, moron!”
“Oh.”
“Bring your knees up slowly, that’s it…”
“Don’t get too comfy back there, B.” I tease, my hands clawing at the bed sheets as I pull myself upwards, onto the spongy surface. Awkwardly, I crawl round on my hands and knees with her firm hands guiding me, so that I’m facing her again. She pulls my legs forward, so they’re hanging over the edge, and then grasps my shoulders, steadying me.
“I’ve got a shirt for you to sleep in.”
“What colour?” I respond instantly.
“It’s just white really.” She considers, allowing it to fall into my lap. “It has a number three on it.”
“Great.”
“You know, Faith,” I swallow uneasily as her hands come to rest on my knees, “if I talk to Giles he might be able to find a cure.” I shake my head. “But there might be one, you know, something that could make you better.”
Something that could make me better!? What does she think this is - a cold, the flu? You can’t make something like this better, it’s meant to be. I’m meant to suffer.
“Faith, talk to me?” I bring my knees up to my chest slowly, forcing her to remove her hands.
“Get out.” I mutter, edging away from her.
“But-”
“Get out so I can change.” I force each word out on a gust of air, trying to mask the tremble in my voice as my emotional walls begin to crumble. “Leave!”
“Okay.” She grants quietly, her shoes twisting into the carpet as she turns and begins to walk away. I bury my head into my lap as her steps begin to fall into the distance; then I lift it again as they falter, waiting expectantly. “I’m closing the door now.” Buffy reveals and sure enough there’s a click as she does so.
Rain pelts heavily against her living room window, but to me it sounds as close as my own breath. It started just before we got in, it was so quiet then; in fact I only knew it was raining because I could feel it against my skin. There was just one drop at first, it fell so silently and must have been so small, that I only noticed it when she wiped it away. It was cold.
“This might sting a little.” Her voice warns as she approaches, her shoes scuffing on the thick thread of the carpet. I steady myself, my mind filling with ridiculous questions about her shoes that suddenly seem to be so important.
What did they look like? Were they trainers or flats? Is the carpet in here cream?
The couch dips a little as she sits down to the left of me, I adjust my weight accordingly, my head dipping as I feel her eyes on me.
I wonder what I look like right now.
“Here,” Her small hand brushes under my chin, inviting me to lift my head, “I need to see your face.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
She tenderly tips my head to the side, the index finger of her other hand coming to rest on my slashed cheek while I try not to wince.
“It’s pretty deep, but I don’t think it needs stitches or anything. Not that I’m a Doctor, but then uh, you know that.” I frown as she clears her throat nervously, wondering why she’s so fuckin’ worried when I’m the one who can’t see.
I can’t see.
I feel my mouth quiver as I fight expression, fight emotion of any kind. How can I cry with her here, when she can see just how weak I am?
“Sorry.” She apologises quietly, pressing the antiseptic wipe to my cheek. I close my eyes, not that it makes much difference, and try to focus on anything but the increasing sting to my cut as she wipes and dabs. “We should probably get changed soon, huh? Black gunk is probably a bitch to get out.”
I know she’s trying to make things better, easier even, but what could ever be easy about this?
“I’ve got some warm water and a flannel for your, um, well you know?” There’s a cooling whoosh as she removes the antiseptic wipe, but an even bitterer one when she removes her hands. “I-I thought it might stop them, well, hurting. Do they still hurt? They look okay, I mean, okay, bad choice of-”
“I don’t feel anything.” I reply flatly.
“Oh, okay, well that’s good, right? I mean that they don’t…” She trails off, and I turn away from her because I already know what’s coming. “I’m sorry, Faith, I just, I don’t know what to say.”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t say anything then.”
“If I’d have known I’d never have…” I don’t have to see her to know her expression is laced with guilt; just like her tone. “If I’d helped you sooner maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I-I think it’s my fault.”
I do too. Deep, deep down, I think it’s her fault. If she hadn’t been so fuckin’ petty and we hadn’t had that stupid fight then she’d have been with me in this, we’d have fought side by side like we always do.
Cautiously I shift back round, using my hand to guide me. I have no idea where her face is, whether she’s looking at me, hell, maybe she’s even got up by now and snuck out the back door but I’m gonna say this ‘cause I have to.
“Maybe,” I start softly, wetting my lips, “maybe this is your fault.” There’s a sharp movement from her side of the couch. “But, Buffy, if things had been different this coulda happened to you, and I wouldn’t want that. It’s better that it was me.”
“No, Faith, I-”
“Leave it.”
The room plunges back into silence, surrendered only by the rain and the sloshing of contained water as she rings out the flannel before placing it over my eyes. I lean back, halted by the cushioned sofa and, as her hands noisily busy themselves around me, it’s then I release a single tear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really meant what I said to her, she doesn’t deserve this kinda punishment. Which makes me, in turn, wonder if I do.
“That’s it, just two more.” My hand trails along the smooth banister as my feet scuffle and fumble on the increasing slopes and edges. She walks beside me, her arm around my waist as she fills the air with hopeless praise and milestones. It’s just stairs, I want to tell her. Just a staircase like any other, I’ve climbed hundreds before, maybe even thousands, but now, well, it’s like starting again. Starting from the bottom of staircase number one, only this time I can’t see the top.
My breathing is heavy and face flushed when we do finally reach it. Buffy gives me a gentle squeeze as she turns me and guides me further into darkness.
“There, we’re here.” She declares and, just like that, releases me.
Immediately I go to outstretch my hands but, resisting that humiliation, I stand perfectly still. There’s a familiarity about this space that surrounds me and I feel a subconscious calm, a safety that’s instinctive. I feel lost though, like something that’s been left to drift on an ocean, and it frightens me. I cock my head to the side, listening to the recognizable pad of her feet as she journeys across this mysterious abyss.
It’s carpet.
I can tell because her shoes graze it when she walks. There’s a familiar scent too, a sweet and distinctive one, that, once inhaled, expands inside of me and touches every nerve, electing waves of tranquil pleasure which sweep through each and every part of me. This feeling though, it’s only momentary, and I quickly return to my despair.
“B?” I call out louder than I need to. “Are we in your room?” The sound of stillness settles again as her actions cease and my question appears to echo.
“I’m so stupid!” She conceives after a beat. “God, Faith, I thought, I-I just assumed you knew!” I shrug offhandedly. “Hey, how did you know it was mine?”
“Smells of you, I guess.” I respond cautiously, not quite sure how it’ll be received.
“Oh.”
Great, just what I need, for Buffy to get all indignant.
“Don’t get uptight, B.”
“What? I wasn’t!” She protests shrilly, I fold my arms. “I’m not uptight, Faith! You think I smell, no big. I’m not offended.”
“You don’t smell, it’s-“
”No, no, it’s fine! I mean you’re hardly a bed of roses yourself you know.”
“Excuse me?”
Is she saying I smell!?
“Well, demon blood is hardly a turn on.”
“Good job I’m not trying to turn you on then…”
”You’re so-okay, let’s just stop, alright?”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Good.” She concludes, the well-known scuff of her shoes starting again. There’s a short jostle and then a creak of wood. “I’m just opening a drawer.”
“I don’t need commentary, B.”
“Tough.” She remarks on a brisk slam. “I just closed the drawer. Now, I’m coming to get you.”
“Actually, keep going, this is starting to sound interesting.” I remark, causing her to cluck her tongue in disgust. She reaches me a moment later, her hand sliding into the loose folds of my arms and seeking out mine.
“Just walk forward, okay? I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“You better!” I warn, inching forward anxiously, my free hand extending.
“Here.” She stops walking suddenly and takes my other hand, lowering it in front of me. My fingers chafe the very edge of soft material, I pinch it curiously. “It’s my bed.” She reveals, moving behind me, her hands falling onto my hips.
“Hey! What do you think your-”
“I’m just helping you get on it, moron!”
“Oh.”
“Bring your knees up slowly, that’s it…”
“Don’t get too comfy back there, B.” I tease, my hands clawing at the bed sheets as I pull myself upwards, onto the spongy surface. Awkwardly, I crawl round on my hands and knees with her firm hands guiding me, so that I’m facing her again. She pulls my legs forward, so they’re hanging over the edge, and then grasps my shoulders, steadying me.
“I’ve got a shirt for you to sleep in.”
“What colour?” I respond instantly.
“It’s just white really.” She considers, allowing it to fall into my lap. “It has a number three on it.”
“Great.”
“You know, Faith,” I swallow uneasily as her hands come to rest on my knees, “if I talk to Giles he might be able to find a cure.” I shake my head. “But there might be one, you know, something that could make you better.”
Something that could make me better!? What does she think this is - a cold, the flu? You can’t make something like this better, it’s meant to be. I’m meant to suffer.
“Faith, talk to me?” I bring my knees up to my chest slowly, forcing her to remove her hands.
“Get out.” I mutter, edging away from her.
“But-”
“Get out so I can change.” I force each word out on a gust of air, trying to mask the tremble in my voice as my emotional walls begin to crumble. “Leave!”
“Okay.” She grants quietly, her shoes twisting into the carpet as she turns and begins to walk away. I bury my head into my lap as her steps begin to fall into the distance; then I lift it again as they falter, waiting expectantly. “I’m closing the door now.” Buffy reveals and sure enough there’s a click as she does so.