Digressions - Nihilistbear's Writings

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Maps Author’s Note: Written for Voluese in the Wes/Faith Ficathon. The challenge was Wes and Faith. No violence, a mention of Lilah and Illyria. Rated Hard R for language and sex Summary: “Because she needed to know. Needed to know where she fit in the spectrum between Lilah and Fred, or if she even fit at all. She needed to know if she was in him somewhere, like he was in her.” ~~~~~ Wait… They don’t love you like I love you. - “Maps”, Yeah Yeah Yeahs ~~~~~ “You can let go of the bars now, Faith,” Wes murmured as he moved away from her and got off the bed. He pulled on his slacks and ran a hand through his hair. Faith arched up slightly, grinned. “In a minute,” she replied, voice slurred. “Kinda worn out.” She released the headboard slowly and stretched again, trying to get Wes back into the bed. Wes sighed and shoved her unceremoniously off the bed, making her yelp. “I have to change the sheets.” He stripped the bed and left the room. “Asshole,” Faith muttered as he walked away. He didn’t bother to respond. ~~~~~~ “Is that my shirt?” Wes asked as Faith joined him in the kitchen. He loaded the laundry into the dryer and closed the closet. “Well, you took my shirt away to wash it, so what else was I supposed to wear?” She brought one knee up beneath her chin and kept the other foot on the cool linoleum. She waited for him to say some “Are you going to make breakfast?” she asked when Wes didn’t speak. “Why don’t you try something new, Faith, and make breakfast yourself,” he replied coolly. “Because I can’t cook, and this is your house.” She smirked at him. “Make yourself a bowl of cereal,” he replied. “That shouldn’t tax your brain. Excessively, anyway.” “You are such a fucking asshole,” she muttered as she got out of her chair. She walked to the cupboards and dug around, trying to find something that looked like cereal. “I bet you never made Fred make her own fucking breakfast.” “Where did you get the idea that you could say anything about Fred?” and there was a dangerous note in Wes’ voice. Something dark, and she was in trouble now. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith said, too angry to care. “I didn’t mean to dirty her name by letting it cross my oh-so-unworthy lips.” She slammed the cupboard hard and opened the fridge, looked for some fruit. “But you did,” Wes whispered, suddenly behind her and holding her in her bent position. “Move your head Faith.” She did as he asked and he closed the door of the fridge. “Place your hands on the door.” She hesitated a little. “Now, Faith.” But she couldn’t. Because this wasn’t part of it; this isn’t for fun. This was Wes, punishing her for something she said, about Fred, who she couldn’t help hating, and not part of their little game, and he’s not doing it to make her hot, he’s doing it because he thinks he can and no one can think they can do anything to her. She didn’t even realize she’d shoved him away until she was halfway to the door and had her shoes on. “You’re wearing nothing but my shirt,” Wes said, amusement in his voice. “And you plan to leave?” “Good thing your shirts are so fucking long, huh?” She snagged her keys and her wallet from the table by the door. “Don’t wait up.” ~~~~~~ He was right; storming out of the apartment in his dress shirt had been a dumb idea. She didn’t drive, and no one in the building would let her in to use the phone. She had that psycho girl with a knife look on her still, and the noise she and Wes made every night probably didn’t help. They’re not exactly considerate neighbours She left the apartment building and hit the pay phone. Called a cab, headed to a store so she could get some real clothes, buy them with Wes’ credit cards in her wallet because she doesn’t steal shit any more, and between being Wes’ whore and the Slayer, she had no time for a job. Clothes, then food, and then she had to figure out some way to spend the rest if the afternoon and half the evening, because she won’t go home and give in. Because she needed to know. Needed to know where she fit in the spectrum between Lilah and Fred, or if she even fit at all. She needed to know if she was in him somewhere, like he was in her. And she needed to figure out a way to say that without coming off too needy, or too bitchy, or too ‘Faith you’re acting like a child’- inducing. But first, she needed to get dressed. ~~~~~~ It was eight thirty before she got back. She paused at the door, shifted on her feet. She had her keys, but she wasn’t sure she should just unlock and walk in. Even if this had been her place too, for going on four months now, she felt weird every time she came home by herself, knowing he was home. A soft tap on the door. No response. She tried again. Knocking a little louder and mumbling his name, hoping he’d hear her. Still nothing. She gave up and opened the door, nearly dropping the keys once or twice before getting the right one in the lock. “Wes? You home?” but she knows he is, there’s something dark and intense simmering in the air, and not only is Wes home, he’s fucking pissed. She dropped her keys and her wallet on the hall table. “I took your shirt in to be dry-cleaned,” she said softly. “And I bought a new dress… I kind of hope you’ll like it.” And this was so weird, the little girl voice, the pleading, when the hell did she start talking like this? Since Wes waltzed into Cleveland and got her away from Robin with a few whispers in her ear and a hand up her skirt. Because she’d wanted Wes for ages, since she’d straddled him and tortured him and felt him go hard underneath her. Since he broke her from jail and made her do her job. Since… fuck, since he was in Sunnydale for God’s sake, looking prim and proper and she’d wanted to wipe that smug little grin off his face. Wanting Wes had become a habit, after six years. She didn’t know how to break it. Robin was sweet, and nice, and teased her really gently and wanted to give her chances. And she could never want him even half as much as she wanted Wes, no matter how hard she tried. “I know you’re here,” she said softly. “And I know I was a bitch, leaving like that this morning.” She walked into the living room… And was confronted by a very drunk Wes, slumped in his armchair, staring at the glass of whiskey in his hand. “So kind of you to let yourself in and spare me the trouble of opening the door,” he said coolly. “Yeah well, this is my home too, right?” and a little of the edge was back, because the last thing she’d expected is Wes wasted in the fucking living room. It just didn’t make any sense. “Did I imply it wasn’t? How very rude of me,” his eyes were still focused on the glass; he still hadn’t looked at her. “You know, you get more uptight and English when you drink,” she said, trying to irritate him, trying to make him do anything but sit there and look defeated. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he mused. “Must be genetic.” And she didn’t know how to handle this shit; she didn’t know how to handle depressed Wes. She could take angry Wes, and super dominant Wes, and she lived for those rare moments when she knew he looked at her and saw her, not some low rent Lilah replacement. But this Wes is beyond her scope. “Snap out of it,” she hissed. “I hate this. I can’t - ” “Bear this?” Wes said in reply, a harsh chuckle escaping. “My dear child, you haven’t the vaguest concept of what bearing something means.” And that was it, because maybe she wasn’t book smart like Wes, maybe she didn’t speak eight human languages and half a million demon dialects, maybe she wasn’t raised right like him, but she knew how to bear something. She’d born more than he could ever get, because he’d never been dead poor and starving and fighting off his parents disgusting partners who called him cute names while they tried to put their hands places they didn’t belong. Wes can’t ever try to get bearing everything she’s born. “Oh that’s right. I forgot. You lost your princess to some demon goddess who wandered around wearing her face.” That got something; a harsh glance, a stifled hiss. “Oh yeah, and I bet you wanted her, the leather queen who stole your girl. Bet it tore you up inside and you hated yourself, but you wanted her, because she wasn’t all breakable and girly like - ” And he’s out of the chair finally, slamming her against the wall. “Shut up,” he growled. “Don’t want to hear the truth, Wes?” she taunted. “Don’t want to accept that she wasn’t Lilah, and you couldn’t fuck her like Lilah, you couldn’t fuck her like you fuck me. She might have been your golden girl, but she’d never let you do the things that I let you do, would she?” And he dropped his hands from her shoulders, and smiled, one of those smiles that let her know that whatever he said in the next few seconds was gonna hurt worse than all the spankings and whippings and handcuffs ever would. “Are you feeling insecure, Faith?” he murmured. “Why? It isn’t as if either of them are going to come back.” A hand played in her hair, but she dodged away from it. What the fuck made him think she was insecure? She thought about what she’d said, word-by-word, and realized somewhere between the taunting and the accusations, she’d let herself slip into the conversation. Well, that had been dumb. “But if one of them did, I’d be gone, wouldn’t I?” she said, and there was a hitch in her voice, and she hated herself for it. “If you could have your angel or you demon back, you’d take one of them and walk away from me.” “It’s not something worth considering,” Wes replied. “It doesn’t matter.” “It does fucking matter, Wes!” she screamed, losing any control she might have had, and remorse for making him think of girls he’ll never see again. “It matters to me! Okay?” She shoves him back, just hard enough to remind that he might be the dom around here, but she was the one who had the real power. “It matters because I need to know!” she continued, walking out of the room, unbuttoning her dress as she left. “Not that you give a damn.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I want to sleep by myself tonight, okay? I’ll take the spare.” She opened the door to the guest room and slammed it as hard as she dared, hoping everyone in the building got woken up. She stripped off the dress she’d picked so carefully and fell across the bed, naked and crying. ~~~~~~ When she woke up, she pushed herself back against… nothing. For once, Wes had listened to her and left her alone for the night. And that really pissed her off. Because she wanted him to come in and clear shit up, and why the fuck hadn’t he gotten that? She wasn’t being all that subtle, cuz that really isn’t her big strength. She grabbed the dress she’d loved so much yesterday, all flowery and sweet and kinda frilly, like something Richard would have bought her, and she figured Wes would like it. But she didn’t care anymore. She just threw it on because it was there and she wasn’t in her room, so she didn’t have anything else lying around. She opened the door quietly and walked into the kitchen, hoping Wes had finally considered sleeping in. No such luck, but it wasn’t like she’d expected any luck when it came to him. The fucker had ‘unlucky for Faith’ scrawled all over him like the graffiti she used to do before she was the Slayer and had time to think up witty shit like ‘go fuck yourselves’ and spray paint it in allies. Fuck. What the hell had been in her damn food yesterday? Why was she all caught in the past today? What happened to living in the now? “Good morning,” Wes said as she opened the fridge and grabbed some orange juice. “I made breakfast.” She looked at the table. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, pancakes. He’d really gone all out. “Not hungry,” she said coolly. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and leaned against the counter as she swallowed it quickly, then poured another. “Don’t be silly, you always wake up ravenous.” Wes filled a plate with food and brought it too her. “Letting yourself starve is no way to rage at me.” She shoved the plate away. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Wes?” she said angrily. “You and your stupid games and your bullshit baggage and all your crap. Just keep it away from, okay? Because I can’t deal with my shit and yours at the same time.” She pushed away from the counter and headed for the door. At least this time she had the sense to get dressed. A hand on her arm stops her. “Wait.” And she should just shove the hand away, just shove herself away from him, but she was so weak when it came to him. And his voice, it sounded like maybe he was pleading with her, begging her to stay, and fuck, she wanted to. Because as messed up was life is with Wes, it was better than life without him, no matter who tried to fill the space he’d always left in her. “Why?” she asked. Gimme a reason, Wes, and I swear to God I’ll stay forever. I’ll do whatever you want just tell me that I matter to you somewhere in all that shit. Lie to me, but don’t make me have to leave. “You asked me a question yesterday, and I didn’t answer you,” he said softly. “Just come eat something and we’ll talk about it.” So she let him lead her back to the kitchen, back to the meal he made while she slept and dreamed she’d wake up next to him. ~~~~~~ On his lap when the meal’s done, skirt shoved up over her hips, kitchen chair braced against the wall as she rode him, stared at him. Made him tell her the truth. “Am I better than them? Do you want me more? Would you pick me?” she demanded, pausing for a minute to tense around him, drink in the moan. “Tell me or I’ll stop.” And this is so off, her dominating him, this little treat he gave her to make up for the crap. She was in control here, but as Wes fixed his eyes on her and moved inside her somehow, she figured that maybe he hadn’t given anything up. “Tell me,” she said, voice a little harsher now, and maybe she could crawl off him if she tried hard enough. Maybe that came through in her eyes, because he starts talking. “I don’t know,” he said, trying to move, but she won’t let him. “I know I’d keep you over Lilah; you have a better taste for this than she did,” and she moved up and down a few more times, “and I want you more than I wanted her, at least I think I do,” and he was gasping a little, trying to get closer as she rode him a little harder. Its kind of fun, making Wes as incoherent as he regularly made her. “Maybe now’s not the best time for you to think about it, huh?” she said with a little laugh, something kind of breathless because, hey, this is wearing on her a little, too. And she wanted to ask about Fred, but now wasn’t the time, there probably wouldn’t ever be a time, no good time to ask the man you would die for whether or not he was still hung up on his great love. Because there are answers you never want to hear. So she slid down on him again, ground her hips against him, twisted and tensed and moaned as his fingers dug into her ass, and they’ll bruise, she can tell, not for long, but for a bit, she’ll have something to prove he’s hers. That’ll have to be enough. Other Standalones Choose a Different Series 29 October 2002