Moving On
Chapter 1: Don't Know What You've Got
For Gina aka Oral. Maybe not exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
...
It's funny that you're calling me tonight.
And, yes, I've dreamt of you too.
And does he know you're talking to me?
- Hinder, "Lips of an Angel"
Buffy had always assumed that she would be the one to move on from whatever was between them in the past. That she'd wake up one morning more mature, and more focused, and in love with someone. Preferably a big, handsome, beefstick of a guy. That was her thing. And then there was Spike. All sinew and bone, lanky and graceful in his movements. But Spike was merely a distraction. A side road on the highway of her life, if she wanted to be poetic about it. With the exception of him, her partners tended to be on the burly side. Chiseled and handsome, with strong jaws yet soft eyes and boy-band-member hair.
All of her partners, however, had been decidedly male. Buffy had never felt herself attracted to another female, not even when she was fourteen and drunk and made out with Hunter Medkowski, her best girlfriend from middle school.
Well, maybe not never. It wasn't out of the question that she was moderately attracted to Cordelia when she first started at Sunnydale. Cordelia was gorgeous. Supermodel gorgeous. Until she opened her mouth, anyway.
Buffy knew that Faith had been enamored with her since the first time they met. There was a tingle when their hands touched, a shiver when they made eye contact, and the subtext of unspoken thoughts haunted them constantly. But Faith's crush was just that--a crush. Flattering, but a waste of time to think about.
Except when it was late, and it was dark, and Buffy ached for someone to be in bed with her. Anyone. Curling up around her pillow and pretending that it was emanating its own warmth instead of just reflecting her own back to her. The loneliness was devastating; even paralyzing, sometimes.
So maybe she'd thought about it. Maybe she'd considered giving as good as she got with Faith, and crash-landing into bed with her at the end of the night. Just to have someone. A warm body next to her. And Faith wasn't bad to look at, either. If you went for that sort of thing.
Which Buffy didn't.
She'd seen Faith disappear out of her life more than once, yet instead of slamming the door on her ass, she opened it and welcomed the girl back again and again. There were times after Sunnydale that Faith would show up unannounced and crash on the couch, she and Dawn stumbling out of bed in the afternoon and demanding pancakes while they developed video-game-thumbs. Buffy hoped sometimes, watching Faith ruffle Dawn's hair and cajole her into doing homework.
Then one day, as suddenly as she'd shown up, she'd be gone again. Off to another job, another guy, another life. And so it was. She was like an unruly boomerang in Buffy's life.
Until she wasn't.
Months had gone by with no contact. Dawn decided to look her up on the internet, but when she asked for Faith's last name, Buffy was too ashamed to admit that after eight years, she still didn't know it. She felt bad, as though she'd used Faith and her little crush to boost her own self-esteem and never bothered to consider the girl as an actual person, never mind as a potential mate.
She had assumed Faith would always be there.
Buffy found herself Googling odd things. Faith Slayer vampire. Faith Sunnydale Police Record. In a last ditch effort, she searched Faith "Wolfram & Hart" only to be disappointed by a fancy splash page encouraging her to place her faith in Wolfram & Hart and call their toll-free number today.
She browsed the page for awhile, but found nothing of interest with the exception of a photo of Angel looking uncomfortable at a conference table that made her heart ache.
That was Sunday. On Tuesday she flipped through the mail as she walked back to her side of the duplex. Bill, bill, pre-approved credit, bill, won a million dollars, overdue bill, and at the very bottom of the stack, a small square envelope with no return address. Ms. Buffy A. Summers and Ms. Dawn E. Summers. It was a strange way of addressing an envelope, but Buffy's heart raced as she quicked her pace. Even if it was a change from the normal crayoned notes on diner napkins, she'd know that handwriting anywhere.
Dawn was volunteering somewhere after school--Buffy couldn't for the life of her remember where. Animals? Elderly? Elderly animals? Whatever. She had the house to herself, so she curled up on the couch after dumping the rest of the mail onto an end table, and fingered the envelope lightly. 'Just checking in' it would say. Or maybe, 'coming for a visit soon. got that fold-out couch yet?'
Buffy was actually hoping it was a blind confession of love that she couldn't ignore and would be forced to act on. The more she thought about her-and-Faith, the more she hoped it would happen. Maybe. If she felt like it.
She turned the envelope over and opened it carefully, frowning as she pulled out a stiff white card.
Faith Penelope Lehane
and
Casey Donovan Fitzpatrick
request the honour of your presence
at their marriage
on Saturday, the eleventh of June
two thousand and five
at two o'clock
Buffy furrowed her brows, not quite understanding what she was reading. She was pretty much still stuck on the opening line.
"Penelope?" she muttered, scanning the text again. It seemed like a long time before the word "marriage" hit her, causing her to choke on her own saliva, sputtering indignantly. Faith? Married?
She searched the envelope and card frantically, hoping for a tell-tale sign that it was a joke. Maybe a "P.S. Gotchya!" in fine print at the bottom. An extra scrap of paper wishing her a happy April Fool's Day even if it was December. Did people play Christmas pranks?
Her face flushed hot as she realized that it was no joke. That Faith--loud, brash, all-around good time girl, was settling down. With some guy named Casey who was no doubt a douchebag that didn't deserve her. Thoughts flashed through Buffy's mind. Strange thoughts. Thoughts of sweeping in at the last moment to take Faith away. Walking in on him beating her, maybe. Kicking his ass and saving the day.
She swallowed hard, tucking the card back into the envelope. Walked upstairs and stuck it under her mattress. Like a child's game of Hide-and-Seek; if I can't see you, you're not really there.
She poured a glass of wine, took a cigarette out of a stash that Dawn thought she didn't know about, and started cooking dinner.
A few weeks later, she was sitting on her bed holding the envelope again. It had become a ritual--comb over every centimeter of paper looking for a mistake. Buffy stared at the card for hours like a twelve year old boy with his first porno magazine.
Then suddenly, one night, she knew what she had to do.
She grabbed her credit card and maxed it out over the phone. Snuck into Dawn's room and pulled the Hello Kitty suitcase that she couldn't bear to get rid of out of the closet while barely avoiding an avalanche. Packed it quickly. Tried to remember underwear and socks. Left Dawn a note with an apology and semi-cryptic directions to the emergency fund, hoping Xander or maybe Willow would step in and buy some groceries.
Left her car key next to the note, called a cab, and two hours later, she boarded the plane.