Faith Healing by Queen Zulu

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Fanfic gets me nothing but noticed. Joss and the Mutant Enemy finger puppet own the characters; the plot is mine. No archive, list, or individual gets monetary compensation for my little habit. My other car is also a Porsche.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
The Written Word: http://www.angelfire.com/dragon/writtenrealm/index.html
Feedback: Always welcome.
Spoilers: None AU.
Author's Note: Written for the Buffyverse Femslash Ficathon.
Pairing: Faith/Tara

Summary: Strong and soft aren't that different after all.

The diner wasn't Faith's kind of place. Under a few years of grime and neglect, it was halfway homey, with little touches that showed somebody had cared, once. Even if there were more cigarette burns and food stains than red-checked linen, still, the curtains matched the tablecloths. There were cutesy little glass holders over stubby candle-ends on each table, and framed pictures on the walls of somebody's happy life – kids playing in parks, picnic spreads, barbeques. The photographs showed people too ugly to be models, and their burgers were too charred to be anything but real. Faith didn't believe in homeyness, or happy families enjoying outings, or that the food here had ever passed the health inspection, as a yellowed certificate on the door promised it had. But at two in the morning, when the latest bar she'd trashed had told her quite emphatically that she wasn't welcome back as long as they could remember her face, it was about all she could afford till morning.

The woman behind the counter was pushing forty-five from the wrong side, with nicotine-stained fingertips and brittle, colorless hair tied back in a messy bun. Her only comment on Faith's entrance was to flick her cigarette at an ashtray and glance at the coffee pot.

Faith nodded yes to the coffee, automatically testing the weight of coins jingling in her jeans pocket. Looked like this was one bill she wouldn't have to run out on. She had maybe three dollars, probably enough for a muffin or something to stop her stomach from hurting, at least until she could scam some idiot into buying her a meal in the hope of getting into her pants. That wasn't going to happen if she couldn't clean up a bit. Then maybe she'd have to really put out. If the guy was decent enough, that could work out for both of them. But no decent guy trawled this part of town at this time of night – or, if he did, then he wasn't looking for just a quick fuck. So it was the diner until dawn, and then she'd have to find somewhere to sleep.

The coffee was piping hot and tasted burnt. Faith bent over the mug, cupping it in both hands. The heat, at least, was welcome, and the bitterness – well, she'd put worse things in her mouth, so whatever. It was a change from the furry-mouthed taste of stale alcohol. She never had to worry about paying for drinks. There were enough people just tripping over themselves to offer her as much as she could chug. If she'd been an optimist, that would probably count as an upside. Since she wasn't, she accepted the drinks and said thanks by wearing out potential partners on the dance floor. That was as good as life got, and it still wasn't much. Faith accepted that. She could let the rest of the mess around her pass her by as long as she was dancing.

The waitress walked by and rolled her eyes at Faith's nearly untouched cup. She probably knew that she wasn't even going to get a tip out of it. With an irritated sigh, she took the coffee pot to a booth at the back of the diner. Faith glanced over her shoulder. She hadn't known there were any other customers. She'd kind of wanted the place to herself. The waitress she could ignore. Years of practice took care of that. Other people, though – too often they wanted to chat, to share the dog-end hours of the night, to try for one last pick-up. Faith wasn't in the mood.

Until the waitress's arm moved to pour the coffee and Faith saw the girl's face.

She'd lit the candle in the middle of the table, even though the wick was too long and the flame was barely a point of light floating in a puddle of wax. Her skin was pale, and her hair hung long over one shoulder, dirty blonde and wind-tangled. Her eyes were wide, and bright blue, and she was crying. The grease-yellow candlelight glimmered off the tears streaming down her face. Of course the waitress saw, but she'd probably seen far worse in this dump over the years. Faith figured that, like her, the waitress had learned to tune out any problem that wasn't hers. Besides, the girl wasn't making any noise, and she smiled wanly at the waitress when she'd refilled her cup. But the tears went on pouring down her cheeks, silently, and when the waitress left, the girl's head dipped forward, until her hair hid her face.

Faith turned back to her own cup of coffee, but the girl's face wouldn't leave her alone. She bit her lip, swirled the oily coffee around the mug, then set it down so hard that some spilled over the rim. She swung her legs off the stool at the counter and headed for the girl's booth.

"Hey, no one's sitting here, right?" she asked, throwing herself down in the padded seat across from the girl, not waiting for permission.

The girl looked up, startled. "N-no," she said, and blushed. Quickly, she swiped at her tears and tried to sniff without being obvious. She attempted to pull herself together, but instead her breath hitched in a hiccupy sob.

Faith drummed her fingers on the tabletop and looked out the grimy window, pretending not to notice. Jeez, she didn't know why she'd come over here. She remembered when she'd hitched here from Boston, broke and broken. The first week she'd nearly starved to death, and got a worse beating than her dad ever dished out at home. This girl had that look, of someone thrown out on her ass for the first time. Faith had been there, sure, but she sucked at helping people. She'd never really wanted to help, either. You just didn't. It was right up there on the list of rules she'd figured out to keep her going day after day.

It the way the tears had been falling, Faith decided, as if the girl was so far gone in terror and uncertainty that she didn't even know she was crying. The kind of tears that tore at your heart, even after you'd decided most definitely that you didn't have one.

Faith sighed and pulled a half-crushed pack of smokes out of her jacket pocket. Now that she was over here she had no clue what to say. The candle guttered between them, sputtering softly. Faith lit her cigarette, the first breath of smoke hitting her lungs just right.

The girl turned her head, and Faith followed her gaze. There was a No Smoking sticker glued to the windowpane, grubby and smoke stained.

"You think anybody pays attention to that?" Faith asked. This girl really was straight off the turnip truck if she thought people did what the little signs said. Nobody around here listened until the cops got out the megaphones, and sometimes not even then. "The fucking waitress has been smoking since I got here," she pointed out.

Faith was about to throw up her hand and leave, tears or no tears, but the girl was watching her from behind the fall of her hair, and now there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. Really. Mousy and afraid but willing to fight over just where the smoking section was. Maybe there was something to her after all. Faith gave an amused snort and crushed out the smoke on the table, letting it join all the other burn marks.

"I-it's bad for you," the girl said, earnestly, as if Faith hadn't seen and ignored every black-rotted lung on every pack of smokes she'd ever opened.

"I plan to die young," Faith said. The fact that it wasn't really a plan and more of an immediate probability didn't bother her at the moment. "Leave a pretty corpse."

Faith's eyebrows raised, the possibilities of this meeting suddenly becoming more attractive. She let her tongue flick out to wet her lower lip. The girl's eyes followed it. Faith sat back and smiled, feeling pretty damn self-satisfied. Definite possibilities. "I'm Faith. You got a name?"

Faith nodded. "So, let me guess. You just got in to town and don't have a place yet." She was willing to leave Tara whatever dignity she still had, and pretend she just hadn't gotten around to her hotel – as if, given a chance, she'd choose to be sitting in this greasy spoon at three in the morning.

"No," Tara said, and that hint of challenge was back. She had a backbone underneath all that shyness. Faith liked it.

Tara hesitated. She probably thought Faith meant her place, which wasn't a half-bad thought. Too bad the last time she'd had a roof over her head was back in Boston. Even then it wasn't worth much.

"For real," she said. "I'm not gonna mug you or anything either. I just...figured I could help." She shrugged apologetically, because probably Tara didn't know why she'd want to help. Faith, for her part, didn't know why anyone would want her help, even if it was offered.

But Tara smiled, the half-grin that was strangely cute, and Faith couldn't help smiling back. Okay, maybe one good deed didn't exactly make her a superhero, but she felt better knowing Tara wasn't going alone into the L.A. night. It was fucking dangerous out there.

Even though she hadn't touched her coffee, Faith left her three dollars on the table, and waved Tara's money away.

"It's after curfew," a strident voice complained as lights went on and a series of locks thunked open. Tara started to back away, but Faith caught her hand and shook her head. Finally, the door cracked open and a face peered out at Faith. "Oh, it's you. We're full."

"Aw, come on, Anya, you know you're gonna let me in," Faith wheedled. "Otherwise I'll just keep knocking."

Anya tilted her head, considering that. "You're right." She frowned, then brightened. "I'll release the hounds!"

"Hmm." Anya nodded. "That leaves me with two options. Buy earplugs, or kill you where you stand. Where did I put my baseball bat...?"

"Well, why didn't you say so!" Anya opened the door wide. "I think maybe there's one bed left. Second floor, first door on your right, sheets are in the linen closet, no drugs on the premises, breakfast is at eight."

Faith tugged on Tara's hand and pulled her into the tiny entryway. "Anya, this is Tara. Tara, this is Anya Jenkins. Don't listen to her."

"Plus you don't like people screwing in your place." Faith shrugged. "Don't worry. I'm gonna split."

Tara opened her mouth to say something, then ducked back behind her hair, hunching her shoulders. Anya said something approaching "Humph!" and slammed the door shut behind Faith. "I also have a couch in the common room."

Anya crossed her arms. "You're arrogant, a chronic risk taker, and you refuse to live up to your potential. But sometimes you make good choices."

Faith brushed the words aside. Anya insisted on talking about her "choices" every time she came to the drop-in center. She looked at it as just another way of paying her way. Listening to lectures edged out handing over cash, but not by much. "Come on, Tar, I'll show you around."

She'd kept hold of Tara's hand through all this, even though her palm was damp. Nervous, probably. "This is a nice place," she said. "There are others, but Anya's better than most of those fucktards. No last names, no paperwork. Not if you don't want."

They found the room and the sheets. Faith threw them on the bed but Tara insisted on hospital corners. Faith left her to it. She'd just mess the whole thing up. She sat on a chair near the window, propped back on two legs, and tried to keep her fingers still. When Anya said "no drugs", that included smoking. She was soft when it came to letting people in, but she was just as hard when it came to kicking them out. So Faith fidgeted and watched Tara. Really watched her, because Tara was pretty in a way that didn't hit you right away. It sort of snuck up on you. After a while you realized she was beautiful and you couldn't understand why you'd thought she was nothing much before. Doing a simple chore like making a bed, Tara was confident and graceful – she didn't try to erase herself the way she had in the diner, or when Faith had first started yelling and banging on Anya's door.

"You wanna tell me about it?" Faith asked, while Tara was busy getting the top sheet to lie perfectly even.

She stopped and turned to face Faith, still kneeling on the floor. "Tell you about what?" she asked. Not a trace of stammer. Faith wondered how many other people Tara brought out the steel for. She was like a beaten puppy, but she could still show teeth.

Faith shrugged. She didn't want anyone asking about her life story, so there was no reason to make Tara all defensive. Everyone had secrets. Maybe she'd figured Tara was the type to talk, to want to get it all out, maybe cry like they did on Oprah or those little group-therapy sessions Anya held every evening. Faith had seen them, hugging and gulping back sobs and making a big deal about their problems. She wasn't here that often, but seeing that shit always made her want to leave again. So Tara didn't want to talk. Neither did she, really.

"I'm gonna find my couch, then," she said, thumping the chair down and heading for the door. "All the comforts of home."

"It's nothing like home," Tara said, soft but vicious. She turned back to the sheets and started stuffing them under the mattress, just so, perfect folds.

Faith stood in the doorway, her hands stuffed into her pockets. "Yeah," she said, after a moment, while Tara tucked and smoothed. "I know."

Tara brushed the sheet again, getting rid of imaginary wrinkles. "Thank you for bringing me here, Faith." She looked up. Her eyes were amazingly blue, and clear, and direct.

Faith dropped her gaze, mumbled "you're welcome," and closed the door. She frowned at it for a long moment, feeling her stomach twist somehow. She tensed, her hands turning to fists. She wanted to hit something, just kick the place apart, and she had no idea why. Fuck.

She clattered down the stairs and hoped she ruined somebody's good dreams. In the common room, there was a clatter of claws on tile, and two beagles came scrambling in from the kitchen to jump up on her. "Hey, guys," Faith said, letting them slobber on her hand. Anya was so annoyingly literal when it came to naming the center’s pets. Faith scratched behind Fido's ears until he went wriggly and wild. Rover's tail thrashed, waiting for his turn. Then they both jumped up on the couch.

"We're full," Faith told them, but when she lay down and they twined around her legs, she let them stay.

The best thing about the drop in center was how it never ran out of hot water. The other occupants might ram the door down and strangle you if you took too long, but you never had to jump out of the shower cursing because all of a sudden the Arctic ocean was cascading down your back.

Faith stayed for a long time. She could sleep like a log when she wanted, and breakfast was over and done, so there wasn't much competition. She wanted to get out of here pretty soon, though. If she hung around too long, Anya would bug her about joining the job search seminar or the high school equivalency class. No thanks. She could hang out, find a way to pass the time before the clubs opened. She didn't give up her Friday nights.

She'd liberated a few of her clothes from Anya's storage space, left here the last time she'd breezed through. The clean jeans she'd snagged were nearly a write off, but there were a few more good times left in them. There was a dime-sized hole just under one asscheek that was growing every time she pulled them on, but it wasn't like she'd had any complaints about that. Faith dumped the stuff she'd been wearing in the hamper and hoped they'd still be there the next time she needed them.

Next order of business was the search for food. The kitchen smelled like dish soap and bacon. Faith stuck her head in and saw Tara scrubbing plates. She concentrated on each dish like she was washing priceless china instead of Tupperware.

"Hey," Faith said, grinning at her view. Looked like Anya had gone through the leftover clothes for Tara. Man, she looked good. The fuzzy-soft sweater was too big, and the faded jeans too small. Just made you want to run your hands over everything.

Tara jumped a foot and turned around with a squeak. Her eyes were wide, and she held her breath, looking down. "F-Faith," she said, letting her breath go. "Y-y-you s-startled me."

"Jeez, sorry." Faith stayed by the door, uncertainly, not sure if she wanted to go busting into the kitchen after half killing Tara with a heart attack. Tara looked so small, even though she was a shade taller than Faith, and more solidly built. She was doing that erasing thing again, cowering back against the sink like she expected to get hit for being surprised. Hell, she probably did expect it. People whose lives were all sunshine and roses didn't turn up crying in L.A. diners in the middle of the night.

Faith walked into the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden moves. She started opening cupboards at random, looking for whatever seemed interesting. "Anya put you to work already," she offered, in case Tara wanted to pretend everything was fine.

Tara relaxed slowly. She grabbed a cloth and wiped up the soapy water that had spilled when she jumped. "I-it's the least I can do," she said, going back to the dishes. "She's letting me stay if I w-want to. She says she can help me find a job."

"So how are you gonna repay me?" Faith asked, with a hint of a leer. "I don't recommend this place to just anybody, y'know."

Tara blushed. Faith could only see a small crescent of her face, turned slightly towards her, the rest of her attention on the dishes. Jeez, Tara was really gorgeous, in such a gentle way that every time you noticed it hit you as hard as the first time. Tara's hands paused, then continued, scrubbing and rinsing. "I had a girlfriend back home," she said.

Faith hopped up on the counter behind Tara with the box of Lucky Charms she'd found. "Yeah?" she said, digging out a handful and shoving them in her mouth. "What's her name?"

Tara set a plate down and started on the next. "Yes." Whispered, but firm. So, okay. No laughing at the girlfriend's name.

Faith crunched tiny marshmallows, refined sugar hitting her system and waking her up. Better than coffee. After a pause, she asked, "What was she like?"

"She was...she seemed really strong," Tara said. "Everyone loved her. She was...like sunshine. Friendly and...not like me."

"Not like you isn't exactly a compliment," Faith said. She swung her legs, thudding her heels against the drawers beneath her.

"I – th-thanks." Tara put the last dish down and turned around. "I wanted to tell. Even though...but she didn't. She didn't want her friends to know."

Faith rolled her eyes. She knew the type. Give her five minutes with them in an alley outside a bar, and they'd be begging for it, but go back inside and they'd push her away because someone might see. They looked like they could handle anything, but give them one tiny thing that people could talk about behind their backs, and they crumbled. Faith sometimes hated the guys she fucked, or the reasons she had to, but girls who turned cold like that were worse. Made her hate herself, just because she didn't care who saw. Tara didn't deserve that. Faith had just met her and she knew that. "That sucks," she said. "What a bitch."

"That's w-what I thought. So I told her it was over...I went to say goodbye." Tara crossed her arms and blinked back tears. "And she was right. My brother saw us... He w-would have told my father."

Faith nodded slowly. "Okay." She brushed one foot against the outside of Tara's thigh and smiled. "So...you wanna go out tonight?"

It was the first time she'd seen Tara's full smile, joyful and mischievous. "It's the least I can do."

The club was always loud and crowded, two things Faith liked most about it. It was close to the drop-in center, and women didn't pay cover every second Friday, which helped, too. The bass thudded hard and insistent. Tara was looking doubtful, but Faith pulled her inside and then leaned close to yell in her ear, "Trust me!"

Tara eyed the dancers and the people at the bar. She said, "I do. But all these other people..." Somehow her voice managed to carry above the din, even though she didn't shout.

Faith tugged her towards the dance floor. They'd found a shirt for Tara that was less with the fuzzy and more with the cleavage. Faith had growled approval when she finally coaxed Tara out of her room, and since then Tara had been wearing it well, not flinching much or trying to vanish from sight. It wasn't the sort of shirt you disappeared in – more the sort other people wished would disappear off you. Just to Faith's taste, in other words.

The music thrummed through her body and Faith wanted to let go into the strength of the beat. Tara didn't look like she knew how to dance like that, how the rhythm could take your whole body over. Before, Tara probably swayed to awkward slow dances or stayed near the wall, the punch, the bathroom line. Faith was more than willing to teach her what she'd missed.

"Come on!" she yelled, reckless, and this time she took Tara by the belt loops, pulling her way too close for comfort. Comfort was the last thing she needed. Hard and strong and a thigh between her legs, hands on hips, grinding closer. Yeah. Just like that.

Tara moved cautiously at first, but Faith let her hands slide lower and showed her how it was done.

"Yeah," Faith said, letting her voice go husky. "Yeah. Come on. You're having fun, right?"

"Don't worry. Nobody here cares." Faith wiggled her eyebrows, a dare, and pushed close again. "Besides, you look amazing."

Tara didn't answer, but the last of her tension melted away, and she really danced. Faith breathed in and held it for a moment, until she was dizzy and the lights swam around them, and let it out so slowly it hurt. Tara's blush faded, then returned as she flushed from the heat and the effort and the press of Faith's leg between hers. She tossed her head, flinging out her hair, eyes closed. Giving herself up – to the music, to Faith.

They danced to the point of exhaustion, accepted free drinks from guys who thought they were just putting on a show, and let the night flow past around them. It was fucking beautiful, one of the best nights Faith had ever had, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd sneaked around Anya's no-screwing rule.

Faith could have stayed there all night, reveling in the lights, the music, but she was impatient and getting hornier all the time. When she jerked her head towards the exit, Tara nodded, and they squirmed through the crowd to escape. The streets were damp and cool, and taxis hissed past them through puddles as they walked home. Tara was tipsy and giggling. Faith had pushed the first drink into her hand, insisting the random guy who bought it meant it for her, and that it was bad manners to refuse. After that, Tara hadn't said no, and accepted the drinks with grave formality while turning her backs on the boys as soon as she could. Faith laughed while Tara tripped over cracks in the sidewalk, and tried to hold her up.

A block from the center, Tara stumbled right into her arms, and Faith gave up waiting and kissed her.

Tara hummed with pleasure and kissed her back, leaning in, and God, she was so soft. Lips and breasts pressing against Faith's. How long since...whatshername? Long enough to forget. Too long.

"Jesus, Tara..." Faith muttered, and pushed her against the brick wall behind them. She traced Tara's lips with her tongue, kissing her deeper, pressing a little until Tara's mouth melted open under hers. She tasted of citrus and alcohol. Her hair smelled like sweat and bar-smoke and fresh rain. Fuck, she was hot, and who cared that the drop-in center was a hundred feet away? The street was empty. Inside, there'd be people to listen, to tattle...and they were here now. Tara moaned a bit, her hands circling Faith's waist loosely. Faith kissed her harder, running a hand around from Tara's hip to the crotch of her jeans. Yeah. Yeah.

"Hmm?" Faith wasn't really listening. She kissed Tara's neck, licking her way down to her collarbone, the skin exposed by her shirt. Her hand was busy on Tara's fly.

"No...I mean, y-yes." Tara pushed away from the wall, keeping one hand on the bricks to hold herself steady. "But – "

"Don't worry about Anya." Faith pulled Tara towards her, so that she could lean on her while they walked. "She's not gonna kick you out or anything."

"That's not...Faith..." Tara's shoulders were tight under her arm. "I don't...I don't want to, uh, d-do this."

Faith stopped short, letting go of Tara and stepping back. Tara crossed her arms and huddled into herself, as if she was cold, her long hair falling in front of her face like a veil. "What?"

"Tara, come on." Faith stepped closer, reaching out a hand. Tara shrugged it away. Faith backed off again, frustrated and bewildered. "I like you, you like me, so what's the fucking problem?"

"I j-j-just...i-it's..." Tara's mouth worked, but she couldn't get the words out.

Tara shook her head, then started walking for the center, making herself as small as possible.

Faith gave a disgusted snort and turned away. Going back to the drop-in center was the last thing she wanted to do. "Fucking tease," she yelled, to no one really. She was just worked up, angry as hell, and she'd been having such a good time and now it was like dirt.

Faith spun around. "What? I thought you wanted someone who didn't care about being seen with you!" She kept yelling, because the words were there, and who gave a shit, anyway? Tara was disappearing right in front of her, but she didn't care. "You were having enough fun back there, but now you're gonna shut it off, right? Like I'm not good enough, or what?"

Tara just kept walking. Faith followed her, still not believing it, really, until Tara stood on the steps of the drop-in center and started opening the door with the key Anya had lent her. Faith glared at her back, trying to figure out where the fuck they'd gone wrong.

"I thought you trusted me," she said. It had been a joke, before. Because no one ever had, really, until Tara. Why should they, right? No reason, no reason at all.

Tara glanced over her shoulder. Bright blue eyes that had been so happy earlier. "I thought so, too," she said, and slipped inside.

"Faith!" Anya stood in front of her, a clipboard in her hand, and a determinedly cheerful smile plastered on her face. "My office. Now."

"Fuck off." Faith kept her boots on the coffee table and stared through Anya's midsection. She'd come back, in the end, because there wasn't anywhere else to go, and at least here there was a lumpy sofa with her name on it. On the T.V. behind Anya, a raspy yelling guy was trying to sell her some funky bleach. Faith tried to care deeply about bleach.

"You're sleeping on my couch. You're on my list as a resident here. Therefore, I have scheduled a one-on-one counseling session for you." Anya prodded Faith's toe with her pen. "You'll talk about your problems and I'll pretend to listen and maybe even care. Then we'll go back to ignoring each other. I can convince rich guilty liberals to give me money, and you can go back to destroying your life."

Faith looked up. "You're not helping anyone, you know. You just want that stupid fundraising trophy to stay in your office."

Anya's bright smile never faltered. "Did I say anything about helping?" she asked matter-of-factly. "No. Besides, you've done your best to convince me you're beyond help. And I don't care about the trophy. The money, on the other hand...and the annual awards buffet – they have nothing but shrimp, but it's a good place to be if you happen to like shrimp..."

"We can talk about your problems right here just as easily. I don't care who knows. You don't either, so that should work out fine." Anya consulted her clipboard. "So, you and Tara were out past curfew last night..."

Faith glared at Anya. Anya clicked her pinpoint, in, out, in, out, and raised her eyebrows.

"Fuck." Faith pushed herself to her feet and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Let's go."

"You see? You're perfectly capable of making good choices." Triumphant, Anya led the way to her office and sat primly in the chair behind the desk, clasping her hands in front of her and leaning forward. Faith dropped into the chair across from her, dangling one leg over the arm. She knew how she looked. Guidance counselors from grades five through eight had told her a thousand times. Sullen. Uncooperative. Sulky. So what. She didn't want to be here and it was Anya's fucking job. She had an uncrackable smile, but that didn't mean she cared. Even if she did, nothing was going to get fixed any time soon.

"Sometimes I feel like I've been doing this for centuries," Anya said thoughtfully, gazing somewhere to the left of Faith. "My job satisfaction isn't the highest. I keep telling them to get rid of the non in 'non-profit organization', but no one listens."

Anya arched an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't have any problems. You seem to like the way your life is going."

"So you're not happy. Who would be, in your place? No home, nothing to do but 'hang', having indiscriminate sex with whoever offers...well...it can't be all bad. But unsafe."

"Right." Anya focused on her, narrowing her eyes. "Your problem is that you don't know when someone is trying to help you."

"Oh, like you?" Faith asked. She started kicking her leg, wondering when she could get out of here. She didn't need the fucking couch.

Anya sighed. "Orgasms are a wonderful way to connect with people. But not the only way."

"You're getting pretty fucking preachy," Faith spat. Tara wasn't anybody's business but hers. And anyway, Faith didn't need her. So what if she didn't want to screw? There were plenty of people in the world who'd give their right arm to be with her.

Faith thumped her feet to the floor. "I thought you were supposed to make me feel better."

"I don't know where you're getting all these expectations. I said I would listen."

Anya steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "Loving someone is a very scary thing. They can hurt you – leave you, or die, or change. It takes a very strong person to be in love."

"What are you saying, that I'm in love with her?" Faith jerked to her feet and started pacing. "That's crazy. We met yesterday! It was just one date, for fuck's sake."

"You're not going to let it be anything more, though. You're going to push her away." Anya shook her head. "That's pretty stupid, considering how much she seems to like you. God knows why."

"I try." Anya smiled again. "You hate being vulnerable, you're too tough to need anybody, and you think if you fell in love then you'd have to change. But, sometimes, you make good choices."

Choices. Right. It always came back to that. Faith gave a derisive snort. "One choice isn't going to make my life any better."

"True. Little choices, little consequences. Right now: apologize to Tara. Or don't." Anya glanced at her watch. "We'll talk about that next time, though."

Faith opened her mouth to ask how the hell she was supposed to apologize, but Anya raised a hand to stop her. She flicked her fingers at Faith, shooing her from the office.

Faith went, leaving Anya with a shammy in hand, polishing her fundraising trophy.

Faith looked out the window, to the stuff on the dresser, anywhere but at Tara. She'd had plenty of times when she wanted to disappear, too, back in Boston. But then she figured she'd get powerful and show everyone that there was no way they could get rid of her. So she went bigger-than-life, rough and bad and obvious, at least, so they couldn't ignore her. And when her dad couldn't ignore her any more he beat her up and kicked her out. So maybe erasing yourself was easier. If no one saw you then you weren't in shit with them. Just that easy.

"Good." Faith tapped on the doorframe. "Great. Okay. Well. Keep it up." She shifted from one foot to the other. "I'll see ya, I guess." She moved away from the door.

"Faith...y-you can come in if you want." Tara pushed the desk chair at her, and took a seat on the bed.

Faith took a deep breath and went in, turning the chair around and straddling it. Tara smiled slightly, her hands folded in her lap. They looked soft. Gentle. Strange how all Faith could see now was the steel she knew was underneath. The sort that let Tara leave home instead of letting her dad rain shit down on her for liking girls. The way she wouldn't let you do anything if she thought it was wrong. Not by saying anything or lecturing, even, but just by letting you know she'd be disappointed if you did.

I'm sorry I yelled at you. Was that so hard to say? I'm sorry I was such a bitch. I'm sorry I called you names. Faith knew she fucked up, so it shouldn't be so tough to apologize. But the words stuck in her throat. She didn't want to be wrong. I'm sorry I pushed you. She didn't want to admit that. She didn't want to be that person.

"Faith, I'm sorry I led you on." Tara picked at the loose threads in her holed jeans. "I-I've never d-danced like that, and the drinking..."

Oh, jeez, this wasn't supposed to be happening. Tara wasn't supposed to be sorry. This wasn't her fault. None of it was. Faith wanted to curl up and be invisible, more than ever.

"And when you k-kissed me, I – I th-thought..." Tara tilted her head and touched Faith's hand, resting on the back of the chair. "Sweetie...haven't you ever just kissed someone? Just...to kiss them?"

No. That answer was easy. Always someone had been trying to go further, to get something out of it.

Tara must have seen that on her face, because her eyes widened. "Oh, Faith." She said it so softly, like maybe she cared after all. After everything.

Faith felt her throat close and go tight, like someone was pressing, cutting off her breath. She recognized it, hated it. She didn't cry. Not ever. Not her.

And suddenly she was beside Tara on the bed, and Tara was stroking her hair, holding her so fucking tight. How did that work? How was Tara suddenly the strong one?

And Tara kissed her, and it was so different. A whisper of lips against hers. Faith wanted to taste her, but Tara moved away, then closer again, with small closed-mouth kisses, brushing like butterfly wings. It felt so warm, like trust. Just a touch that said it was all right not to want more. This was comfort, compassion. Faith tried to relax, not to push or press, but to let Tara be in charge. It was hard. Her hands were restless and she didn't know where to put them, and her hips lifted instinctively but Tara gently pressed them down.

Faith opened her eyes to see Tara half beside, half above her. When exactly they'd lain down she didn't know. Didn't really care.

"I mean...I'm sorry," Faith said, because it was simple; she knew she was forgiven. "I'm sorry."

She kissed Tara back, just kissing, lips and tongues and teeth. Slow. She'd never done slow before. She let go, and backed away, and Tara smiled. She brushed Faith's hair back, fingertips like feathers.

Anya eyed her sideways, snickering, when Faith was still at the drop-in center two weeks later and, more than that, still following all the rules. Faith tried to stare her down, but she'd lost the power of her death glare at some point and she couldn't quite get the anger back.

Faith was pretty sure that Tara had some kind of magic about her, because this staying in one spot thing had never been what she was about. Now, though, she stayed and she was pretty damn happy about it. She took over walking Rover and Fido, because Tara gave her little wounded glances at chore sign up time if she didn't pick something. She fidgeted through the group therapy sessions and had to pinch herself awake in the resume writing class, but she stayed.

And in the afternoons, if there was nothing else to do, she'd follow Tara up to her room. Anya stared pointedly and heaved huge, long-suffering sighs, but Faith just smirked and ignored her. Rules were rules, but once you knew how they bent, you could shape them how you liked. Besides, Tara and Anya talked every day, long involved conversations that made sense to the two of them if no one else. So Anya probably knew that Faith wasn't getting her fraternization freak on. Not yet.

"Not yet," Tara would say, with a teasing smile, and Faith had learned to let it go, to enjoy what she got, to take it for what it was. The smallest kiss or touch from Tara felt better than a hundred alley-fucks, so why fight it?

There were a lot of things she wasn't fighting anymore. Sometimes Faith wanted to go out and trash some bar just for the action of it, finding a calm in movement that she didn't really understand. She was afraid of sitting still. You were safe if you could move – it was the only way you knew you were free. Tara could sit without moving except to breathe, for hours it seemed, and watching her Faith didn't know if she envied that or not. But she always pushed down the urge to break away. She watched Tara and learned stillness, and when she couldn't stand it a moment longer, she whistled up Fido and Rover and took them running.

They could kiss in front of anybody, for no reason at all. The whole center knew. Faith heard a few people whispering "fucking dyke" behind her back but she'd heard worse. Felt worse. Those words couldn't touch her now.

"Relax," she whispered into Faith's collarbone, her hands moving down her arms in long, massaging strokes. Her tongue darted out and slipped under the v-collar of Faith's shirt, far enough to find the curve of her breast. "You're so tense."

"Jesus, Tar, of course I'm fucking tense, when you're doing – uhn – that..."

Tara let out a hushed breath, like laughter. "Hmm, am I making you this tight? You need a good masseuse."

"Nah, I need you." And Faith rolled on top of her, tracing the side of her throat with delicate nips. Tara moaned, and lifted her chin, encouraging Faith to go further. "You like this...?"

"Yes...Faith..." Tara opened her eyes, and they were so full of trust, deep and dark as twilight skies. "Let me take this off."

"Yeah?" Faith rested her hands on Tara's hips, then slipped her fingers higher, trailing over the smooth skin of her stomach, pushing the shirt up. Tara half sat up and pulled it over her head, then lay back, smiling in the lazy, joyful way she had. Letting Faith know she was completely in her hands.

Faith dipped her head to place kisses on Tara's stomach, holding her still with her hands. She didn't have Tara's instinct for the tender touch, the light strokes rather than hard, urgent contact. She sucked at the curve of Tara's belly, nibbling and licking, leaving marks where she passed. Tara kneaded her shoulders, tiny whimpers exploding from her lips as Faith mapped the sensitive places on her body. Faith lifted her head, pushing her hair over her shoulder so that it didn't fall between them. She tucked a finger under Tara's bra strap and tugged. "What about this?"

Tara smiled. "All right." She pushed up from the bed and kissed Faith, so deeply it felt like she was breathing her breath. Faith kissed her back until she was dizzy. She didn't rush, but she guided Tara to the tiny spaces of her mouth that flooded her with electricity. With one hand she reached behind Tara and unhooked the bra; with the other she held Tara close until the kiss drew out and ended of its own accord and Tara was half naked beneath her.

"You're fucking beautiful." They'd never gone this far and suddenly Faith didn't know what to do, like in two weeks she'd forgotten how to fuck, where to go next with lips and fingers.

"Y-you're overdressed," Tara said with a hint of her stutter. It was the first time she'd hesitated while they were together, and Faith knew she was nervous, too.

"You figure?" she asked, sweeping her fingers over Tara's belly, then higher, until her palms brushed over Tara's nipples.

"Y-yess – " Tara brought both hands up to cup Faith's cheeks, and kissed her again. "I want to see you."

"Okay." Faith pulled her t-shirt off, glad she hadn't bothered with a bra today, and tossed it to the floor. Tara's face glowed beneath her, blushing a gorgeous shade of red.

Faith raised her eyebrows but did as she was told. Tara touched her lips to her temple, the point of her shoulder, the dip beneath her breast. Faith's pulse hammered a mile a minute, seeming to center on each spot Tara kissed. Tara explored her body, as calm and careful as in everything she did. Faith closed her eyes and let her. She was breathing harsh and uneven and Tara already knew every spot that wanted her so bad.

When Tara's mouth reached the edge of her jeans, Faith gasped and opened her eyes. "I thought we were going slow?" she said, as Tara undid the snap and pushed her jeans down.

"Yes, I think I remember you saying that." Tara pulled her jeans down, leaving Faith naked and flushed beneath her. Then she took of her own pants, and lay down again. She kissed Faith, lingering, so fucking goddamn slow. Faith moaned, reached for her, wanted her.

"Wait." She sat up and worked her way lower. She ran her fingers up the backs of Faith's calves. Faith felt her breath hiss between her teeth. Tara smiled, the playful, kittenish smile Faith had learned so well in the last weeks. "It'll be good. I promise."

Faith forced her hands still. Tara caressed her so lightly she barely felt it, and at the same time it felt like Tara was right inside her skin, feeling what she felt, drawing it out.

When Tara's hands ran up between her thighs, Faith groaned and arched up, seeking more contact. She was wet and Tara's fingers slipped through her folds so easily. She rocked forward, delight rushing between her legs.

"No." And Tara kept on with her barely-there touch. She was everywhere in the feel of it, soft and gentle and so tender it almost hurt; and if Faith tensed then she would pause, wait, patient and serene. "Relax," she whispered.

Faith panted and begged and there was nothing but Tara. She was right on the edge of coming and Tara left her hanging there for so long, the tingling sense of almost rushing through her whole body until she couldn't think, couldn't move. The world was white and empty and there was nothing anywhere until Tara said, "Let go," and she did, loosening her whole body at once. Tara pulled ecstasy from her body, longer and longer and oh God it had never been like this. She came in waves, until the pleasure was so strong it was nearly pain; sweet and overflowing; and when Tara kissed her she felt it in every pore of her body.

Tara loved her with her touch, delicate and deep. Nothing so powerful as gentleness. Nothing so strong as peace.

And even as she rolled over to love Tara back, Faith knew that she never wanted it any other way.

"Faith! You did it!" Tara flung her arms around Faith and kissed her cheek. "I knew you could!"

Faith grinned. "Yeah, I guess I did." She crumpled the Doublemeat Palace chicken-hat in her hand. "I don't know if I want everyone to know, though."

Anya paused in the common room and pointed at Faith. "You don't have enough self-esteem, you procrastinate, and if Tara hadn't pushed you you wouldn't have even applied for that job. But sometimes you make good choices."

Faith made a disgusted face. "The grease stink says I suck at decisions. Frying burgers isn't the joyride the orientation video makes it out to be."

"Well then," Anya said. "Shower twice and then sign up for my next high school equivalency class. Education is the first step towards a profitable career, possibly in retail."

Anya stared at her blankly for a second, then stalked out of the room, muttering.

"Yeah, but I like messing with Anya's head better." Faith threw the chicken-hat on the couch, where she was, by Anya's edict, no longer sleeping. She'd reassigned Tara's room as a double, glaring the whole time. "But celebrating I can get behind. We could go dancing?" she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"As long as you're there." Tara kissed her. "I'm sure it'll be the best celebration ever."

Faith grabbed Tara and pulled her into her arms. "I guess Anya was right after all."

"Blech. No." Faith kissed her again, slow, because slow was good, but with a promise of fast and hard when the time came. It didn't matter that people could see them, or that they might fuck this up somewhere down the road. Tara smiled at her, so tender and so fucking strong, and yeah, this was the best decision she'd ever made. "About me," she said. "Sometimes, I do make good choices."

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Faith Healing

by Queen Zulu

Copyright © 2005

Queenzulu47@yahoo.com