The Answer

by Nikita

Copyright © 2003

death_by_garagedoor@yahoo.co.uk

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the great and powerful Joss.
Distribution: Forever Faith: http://mysticmuse.net/faith
The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
All others, please ask first.
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: I'm thinking of changing my name to ‘I should be working'. I'm on a break. Ultra-short pointless fic before I get straight A's in all my exams and get back to writing the series that I've had in my head for the last few months.
Dedication: Sway – because you're worth it. *does L'Oréal hair flick*
Pairing: Faith/Buffy

She hasn’t asked me. Not yet. But the question, forming for months in her mind has finally risen to the surface, and already I am denying my feelings to her.

I don’t think I ever learned to lie. Not with any kind of efficiency, at least.

Perhaps it’s just the fact that she is gazing so intently at me that causes me to shift uncomfortably, and pray for the vampire we’re waiting for to finally break free of the grave. Perhaps it’s just that I know the moment I open my mouth to speak, words will come. Words that tell her exactly what I have tried to keep hidden inside me for so long, words that scare me. Words that I have only just learned to say to myself.

But I am lying to her, and she knows it.

My eyes are wide, in that way of a person trying too hard to confirm their innocence as I look everywhere but at her. My fingers seem to find my nose irresistible, as they move to it unconsciously with every second that passes, until eventually I am forced to shove my hands deep inside the tight pockets of my pants.

And I bargain with whatever God is listening, begging that she won’t ask me what I’m thinking.

She sees through every lie I make, seemingly more able even than I am to register every waver in my voice, every glimpse of hope that shines in my eyes. It’s not even a question whether or not she knows something is wrong. The only question is if she cares enough to ask what it is.

Part of me hopes she doesn’t.

I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain as I glance at her, before just as quickly flicking my eyes away to the safety of the trees. What am I thinking? I’m thinking that I feel her arms around me when I sleep at night, chasing away nightmares and lulling me into peace. I’m thinking that I never expected to fall in love, and that she was the last person I would have imagined could bring out that elusive and powerful emotion in me. I’m thinking that I’m terrified. Terrified that she won’t love me back, and terrified that she will.

I momentarily wonder how I look to her, my hands stuffed into my pockets, my back and shoulders slouched to the point of doubling over as I stand, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

I’m so fucking cool.

But the fact that she turns me into a huge dork doesn’t bother me as much as I would have expected. That long lost part of me that wants to shout from rooftops and leave barfy love notes on her pillow has suddenly re- emerged after being locked away in my childhood dreams of white weddings and damsels in distress. I can’t help but smile as I think of how my life has changed with the appearance of one person.

See, here’s the problem. When I start thinking about these things, my brain disappears and I can’t stop. I’ll tell her everything, and maybe that’s too much. I have this overwhelming urge to tell her every single detail of every single feeling I have for her. Getting started would mean talking for ever. And I don’t want to scare her.

So I fish out a cigarette and put it slowly into my mouth, unwilling to risk doing something idiotic like lighting the wrong end. Slow is good.

She’s still watching me intently as I attempt to light it, my zippo insisting that it it doesn’t like the weather. Wind proof, my ass.

And then her hands are cupped around mine, shielding the flame from the growing wind and keeping me steady. Even in the cold air, her hands feel warm, sending flushes through my body, not helped by the fact that she’s finally managed to meet my eyes. I’m so glad I never blush.

Warmth surrounds me, and though my cigarette is lit and dangling from my lips, she keeps her hands on mine.

"What are you thinking about?" She whispers to me, the question finally finding an opportunity to break across the gap I have tried to keep between us.

With her eyes locked in mine, I am lost, gone, unable to escape the chains of absolute beauty that radiates from her entire being.

Sighing, I take one hand from hers and take a long, slow draw on my cigarette. And I am suddenly calm, because I know I have nothing to lose. I need everything, and sooner or later, she will find that out.

With one hand in hers, our fingers entwined, I decide there is no reason why it shouldn’t be now.

"You." I say.

As her smile lights up her face, I realize that she has no idea what she has just let herself in for.

But she’s going to find out.

And maybe, just maybe, it’ll be worth it.

The End

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