*****

Some nights, Faith holds Willow for hours and hours, and sings songs neither of them really know.

"It's evening time, the sun she closes her eyes, she closes her eyes the moon open his, and as she sets she sings something la la la la la la, I will always stay near..."

Willow smiles inside. "Isn't it usually the moon that's female?"

"Eh, everybody knows women are always hotter." Nuzzling Willow's hair.

"That doesn't seem to stop you from... you know."

A little silence, Faith's hold not as natural and Willow wants to wriggle just enough to set them right again, but afraid that if she does Faith will let go entirely and... Willow can't handle that right now.

"Does it bother you that I'm, well, fucking your ex?"

And does it? A little, but... it's different. "I like that you go back and forth between us, so that I can feel him, smell him. And maybe he feels a little of me, too."

"Yeah, me and whatsisname. Big nose. Poetry."

"Cyrano?"

"Is he the one always running errands and never getting what he wants?"

"Yeah, but Faith..." A shrug, but even though Faith is spooned up against her back Willow knows she's not really looking at her.

"It's OK. You guys have this history thing. Doesn't go away in a second."

"Faith, I... I need *you*. Not Oz. I just... when it comes to Oz I'd like to know that we're... going somewhere. Good. No pain."

Faith squeezes her. "There's *always* pain, Wills."

"Not with you..."

Purred into her ear. "That's just 'cause we haven't played rough yet."

"Oh..." Memories of sinking enspelled fangs into smooth, white skin, the brush of too many knuckles inside her and Willow... there's the system. Thinking of the bad things is allowed to make her feel bad, thinking of the good things is not and.... it had been *good* with Drusilla and Faith... Oh, Faith is dark, too and Faith always holds her as she goes to sleep and never *does* anything.

Zorbetted her belly a few times, kisses her hair and her forehead and her dirty short fingernails and Willow *wants*.

"Why don't you touch me, Faith?"

"I suppose I can't stall by mentioning that I *am* technically touching you, hunh?"

"You just did."

"Damn."

Pause.

"Faith..."

"All right, all right. I'm a little scared, girly. Of what happens when we... when we fuck."

"Oh." Words and images, Willow screaming and crying and needing and clinging and never ever letting go and she isn't sure they aren't true because Faith... She's so good. Part of the earth. Earthy and fresh and warm and sweet and strong and sexy. "I... I understand. Um. It's OK?"

"Willow, Willow... you're so pretty and *so* fucked in the head. Look, I've *been* the girl who had too much happen and it's just... you don't wanna go too fast. And I don't wanna be the one who takes you too fast."

"Sometimes I cry..."

"Shh, I know, baby."

"I mean, I cry when I... when I'm aroused. Because I'm afraid, too."

Faith rolling her over, face-to-face now, and she can picture it, the contrasts blending in, Willow's scars pale against pale, Faith is warm-colored and filled with sunshine. Willow's never ever cold with Faith.

Warm hand on her face, rough with work. Violence and blood, too, and Willow shivers.

"She's dead, you know. All gone. Never coming back. But I wish I could go back just to pop a squat on her ashes."

Shocking a giggle. Sometimes Willow thinks about keeping the laughter locked away just so Faith will always break in but "ewwwww."

And also:

"She's inside me, Faith. No matter how much Holy Water you guys slip into my Poland Spring. You think I don't notice how *spicy* the water is around here?"

"I *told* Giles, but he insisted. Just be happy I kept the crumbled up communion wafers out of your corn flakes."

Giggling hard now, so that it's hard to see out of her squinched up happy eyes. Dangerous that way, wide eyes see everything, but Faith's there. It's OK.

"There's my girl," and Faith is playing with Willow's hair again, twisting it into locks that she'll brush out tomorrow, or maybe the next day, or maybe steal Oz's gel and spike it for real.

Faith has promised to give her a good, old-fashioned, weed-whacker 'do just as soon as nobody's around to protest.

Willow doesn't like having smooth hair anymore, it sits too close to her face, binding her in, a little. The weed-whacker will be very short, and safely away from her face. It'll go well with Faith's clothes, that sit baggy on her, the way she likes them. Safe and aware and also safe.

The soles of her sneakers are all in dirt and grass, and also safe. Sometimes Willow knots belladonna around her wrists in tiny braided ropes. It keeps her from biting.

And Faith has her eyes closed, and is breathing more and more slowly. Heart beating steady as a Swiss watch. Willow sometimes thinks about being a Watcher. Her eyes would be wider than anyone else's.

Willow knows she's sleepy, but this part is still hard: One thing to snuggle close in wakefulness, but to sleep next to Faith... she could move! Or Willow could move, and wake her up and she wouldn't be happy, even if she did kiss Willow on the nose and --

"Go to *sleep*." Mumbled command, complete with sleepy grunt, like Faith can feel Willow's mind race and it's annoying her.

"I love you." And there, she said it and Faith is holding her tighter.

And mumbling something into the pillow that sounds a lot like "dangerous."

Which makes Willow smile, because she knows *that* much is true.

End