anythingbutblue | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's cold outside.

Really cold.

But Faye's never let the cold stop her before. She gets a coat (her coat, which she asked the bar for) out of her closet and pulls it on, then her gloves, and doesn't bother to bundle up more warmly than that.

She steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. The door automatically locks as it closes, and she does a double take when she spots a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. She stops in surprise and stands with her back against the door, almost like she's been somehow caught in the act.

"It's you." She reaches in her pocket for her gloves. "What are you doing around here?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He laughs quietly, hearing his own words from long ago echoed back at him.

"You have a good memory, Faye."

You distanced yourself from them. You didn't want to be alone, so you left them.

Something like that.

He thinks he learned his lesson the other night about betting when Faye's around, but if he were going to bet, he'd put money on the fact that she sure has been wanted. In more than one way.

"Sometimes," she agrees breezily enough. "I--"

She stops herself, and there's a short silence as she fingers the lighter in her pocket.

"It's funny," she starts again, without much humor. "But for a long time I had amnesia."

"You did?"

He never knew that about her.

"But you don't any more?" That's good, probably. Hopefully.

Maybe.

"No, not really. I don't remember everything, but... I remember enough."

She gives the whole thing an almost delicate shrug of her shoulders.

"I spent a long time wishing I could remember anything about my past and when I finally did, nothing good came of it."

And that's not pessimism. It's the truth, but she doesn't necessarily expect him to realize that.

She doesn't know how he always gets her to tell him things.

He gazes down at her: she looks so petite and almost childlike out here in the moonlight.

She's anything but that and he knows it, but still, he finds her aura fascinating. "I think we all have things in our past we're not really proud of, or happy about, or even things we want to remember." Everyone has amnesia to a degree, but it's usually selective. "But wasn't there anything about your past that meant something to you?"

If not, that's one of the saddest things he's ever heard.

Faye crushes the tip of her cigarette between her fingers, lets it fall to the ground, and even steps on it with the toe of her boot.

"Yeah."

That fountain, her room, that one pleated skirt she used to love so much when she was little, Sally and Amee and Beverly and Li Mei, and running uphill to get to her house.

She can even remember how excited she was to take that shuttle trip.

"It's just that I can't ever go back."

Gren gets a smile from her again. "I guess neither of us is quite what we seem to be."

She starts walking again, slowly, boots crunching through the snow.

He watches her thoughtfully as she walks away, but he hastens to catch up with her. "Faye, stop." Gren puts a hand on her shoulder.

"No one can ever go back."

"Maybe, but you don't know the half of it."

And then she meets his eyes and they're so blue, and she looks away again just as suddenly.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, almost grudgingly.

It costs her just to say it.

If anyone knows what it's like not to be able to go back to anything near what things were before, it's him.

"It's all right."

He does know the half of it. He knows a lot more about it than she might think. After Titan and prison he couldn't go back either. "My life before the war seems like someone else's story. Like some fantasy. After I escaped from prison, I couldn't go back home with a bounty on my head. And even if I could have, things were different. I was different."

Just like he did that night on Callisto, he reaches for her hand. This time, though, no street gang is chasing after them; the only person she needs protection from is herself. He looks into her eyes.

"I'm sorry you couldn't go back home either."

Surprised, she lets him.

She let him drag her away from those thugs on Callisto, let him take her back to his apartment without knowing anything about him. This is nothing in comparison.

"I told Spike once that I didn't think I'd ever know about my past, and he acted like it didn't matter. I accused him of only saying that because he had one, but he said that I still have a future."

She pulls her hand back. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

This is becoming a habit with him.

"Must be my inner preacher inspiring you to disclose all your secrets." He smiles. "I think Spike was right. Not that the past doesn't matter -- if he even said that -- but that you still have a future. Just think of all the opportunities waiting for you to reinvent yourself."

Even gloved, Faye's hand is small in his. He looks down on it like it's the most curious thing he's ever seen, a why am I holding your hand? look on his face. Letting go, he looks away.

"Want a drink or something?" He doesn't look back at her face yet.

"Yeah, that must be it." She barely smiles, glancing in the opposite direction. "You really missed your calling."

It's a tough decision. She knows he's always good for getting her a free drink, but she's already started falling back into the confession mode she'd wanted to avoid.

"You start plying me with drinks and you might get my whole life story out of me."

Both of her hands go back in her pockets.

"I think I'll just go back upstairs and get a shower."

The never-ending supply of hot water is still one of the best things about this place.

She takes a few steps back toward the bar, then turns to glance at Gren again. "I'd tell you to make sure you're not one of those peeping Toms, but I always keep the bathroom door locked when I take my showers."

He laughs, like she's just scored points against him and in a way she has. He's still chuckling as she walks off, and he calls after her.

"Take care, Faye."

Polite, he waits until she's back inside before following. He doesn't want her to think he's stalking or anything. Instead, he turns into the bar and gets himself a cup of tea. He's not cold: it just sounds good.

And when he gets it, he toasts an invisible Faye with his cup before heading back upstairs.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only