A/N: I'm actually really proud of this fic. I hope you like it as much as I do.

bisexualcordelia's prompt is at the start of the fic.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine. (Though I really wish Faith was, sometimes.)

The hill where we'd lie down

Was the same hill the universe unfolded upon

All night, as we watched the stars,

When for once our breathing seemed to blend.

- Michael Ryan

One.

You're an idiot.

But, like, the adorable kind. The kind that think it'll be fun to trip me up while we're patrolling, or who think it's fine to pass time just sitting on a headstone and staring at something. Anything. The ground, the sky. I'm not entirely sure what you're so fascinated with, but while you're busy staring at whatever it is, I can't help but stare at you.

Your hair glows in the moonlight, you know?

There's something about the blondeness of it. My hair doesn't have that same shine, no matter how bright the moon, or whatever product I put in it. Yours is just naturally glow-y, and it's kind of mesmerising. Oh, god. You hear me, B? Glow-y. I'm starting to talk like you. Must be spending too much time together.

You hop off the headstone with supernatural grace, though I'm not too surprised by that. The same Slayer grace and control that runs through my veins also vibrates through your body. We're cut from the same cloth, shaped in the same mould. It's a quiet night tonight, and as you make your way to the door of a crypt, that endearing furrowed brow overtaking your features, I hear it as well. Vamps. And, by the sounds of it, a few of them. I'm not entirely sure how we haven't found this nest before, but then again, we might have just found where they enjoy playing poker, or some shit. Maybe it's new. I don't really know, and I don't really care. I'm poised at the crypt entrance, the familiar weight of my stake in my hand, but your hissed command stops me in my tracks.

"Faith," you whisper harshly, and I can't help but look at you. I cock an eyebrow, ready to slay but waiting. Almost as though I'm awaiting your approval. It revolts me that I've become this way, but it's you, B. I can't help it. "We can't go in there. We don't know anything about them."

"They're vamps," I answer easily. My Slayer sense is going crazy, so I know yours must be too. We've always been in sync like that. "That's all we need to know."

As wonderful and mesmerising as you are, and as much as I want to do right by you, I can't help but tear into that vamp nest without a second thought. It's my nature, and I know you understand that. It's what's deep inside you, too, but you just don't let it out. It's what helps me to live on the edge, to do things without caring. It's how a Slayer should be. But you're not exactly what a Slayer should be, now are you? You've got the family, the friends, the school. The life. But me? I just have me. The Chosen One. Not the Chosen One and her friends. It's what makes us different, I guess.

Even though I can hear you curse behind me as I launch forward, I can tell that you're following. Because that's what we do. That's how we are. I go off and do fun, reckless shit, and you can't help but follow. The same way I can't help but follow when you wander, humming tunelessly as we wait for more vamps. This time, we both go hurtling into the darkness, and I can instantly tell it's not as bad as I thought. We can take them.

It's a beautiful dance, then. You and me versus them, our movements agile as we dance and twirl our way around our foes. Punches and kicks that land with solid thuds just add to the musical that we're bringing to life with this attack. The grunts, the curses, the blows. They all form a symphony to my ears, and this is where I know I belong. In this midst of this. Hell, this is where we belong. You and me. The Slayer.

In no time, there's nothing but you and I left standing among some scattered dust that blows in the slight breeze. You're proud of yourself now, even though you didn't want to come here in the first place. I can see that triumphant smile, the one that always brings a grin to my lips, spreading across your face, and despite your slightly rapid breathing, you look as put-together as ever.

I guess that's another difference between you and me. You always look like you're ready to step on a catwalk, taking so much care in how you look and how you style your hair, even for patrol. It must be perfect. Whereas me, I genuinely don't care. Some comfy clothes, my favourite boots, and my trusty stake, and I'm good to go. As much as we're cut from the same cloth, you can't deny we're totally opposite sides of a coin.

You walk back to the entrance of the crypt and out into the moonlight again. I can tell the second you step into it, because you glow again. It's kind of beautiful, really. Not that I'd ever tell you.

I follow as you wander out into the cemetery, then just stop. As you lie down, I can see that this time, your eyes are trained on the stars. Staring into the abyss of the sky, tracing the invisible constellations with your eyes. Not that you know many constellations. As much as Giles has tried to teach us, neither you nor I cared enough to actually listen. You just think they're pretty to look at, I'm sure.

I perch on a headstone and wait for more vamps. Or for you to declare you're bored and we're going home. Or for… well, something. Instead, you just lie there, eyes ever searching upwards, hands resting at your sides. You look like you're sleeping, almost, but your eyes are too awake, too bright, and there's this soft smile on your face. It's kind of weird, but it's so you.

"Can you see that one, Faith?" you ask suddenly, pointing at a star or constellation that I can't distinguish. "It looks like a vamp."

"Yeah, wicked," I respond, humming a little under my breath as I try to find the star you're pointing at. No matter where I look, I can't seem to find your vampire constellation.

"Liar," you chuckle, and I'm surprised by your demeanour. So relaxed and carefree. It's not something I see on you often. Maybe it's the fact that between us, we've dusted more vamps tonight than any other night this week. Or the fact that it's just been a long-ass week and we made it through. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining. One of us need to be light right now and we both know it will never be me.

"Come here," you say, stretching one arm out in a sweeping motion across the grass beside you. My body wants to jump immediately, to respond to your wish, but my brain rebels. Stupid thing.

"Why?"

"I want to show you this vamp in the stars, you idiot."

"Oh," I hop down off the headstone, my feet making no noise as I land and start towards where you lay. Slowly, I stretch out beside you, less than a foot between us as I stare at the sky.

"Why are you doing this, B?" I can't help the question as it slips past my lips. I want to stay quiet, to soak up the moment, but my mouth keeps wanting to run.

"It's a rare moment of nostalgia. Don't scare it away. Shut up and look at the stars," you tell me, using that no-nonsense tone that I hear you use with vamps, or just people in general, when you really want to get your way. Contrary to what I really want, I shut up.

"Do you see it?" you ask, pointing to the sky. "Over there."

I shake my head, but remember you can't see if you're busy looking at the stars.

"Nope." I pop the 'p', trying to seem indifferent as we lie here, side by side, on the grass.

"Here," you scoot closer, and my body pricks up, feeling your Slayer power as it hums through your body, now less than six inches from mine. Instead of focusing on that, I concentrate on the hand you lift to the sky, attempting to direct my gaze. After a moment, a picture begins to emerge. Granted, it's a far stretch of the imagination to get a vamp from that mess of stars, but I know how your mind works, so it kind of makes sense.

"I see it," I say quietly.

"Cool," you chirp, then return to your previous state of lying in silence, simply watching the stars. And, for once, I watch them instead of you.

Two.

It's a week and four days later before you lie down in the grass again. This time, I don't question it, just sit on the headstone and wait for you to be done with your stargazing. You look ethereal, your glow-y hair spread out in stark contrast to the dark grass, and your face so peaceful, yet so concentrated. It's the perfect Slayer balance, really. I've seen it on your face before, and felt it on my own. In a fight, we're concentrated. You focus so hard on not making a mistake, and that tiny line appears between your brows when the opponent's particularly tough. But at the same time, it's where we're meant to be. It's home for us. Fighting, winning. Slaying. That's the peace that underlies it. The peace I feel in my chest, despite the harsh moves my limbs are making. The serenity that swims in your eyes, mingling with the sharp edge you get in battle. It's quite beautiful.

"Any vamps tonight?" I joke, and you manage to twist your head to look at me with a mixture of amusement and irritation on your face. It's one of my favourite expressions of yours, actually, and I find that it's directed at me quite often.

"You tell me," you retort, then pat the grass beside you. I don't have to ask, or double check. My body takes over, as it seems to do so often these days, and I jump off the headstone and make my way to lie down next to you. As I settle, I realise there's only a few inches of space between our arms, though I'm not sure how I know it. My body just seems to know yours. Well, in a way. I know the Slayer part of you. Of your body. I don't know Buffy all that well. But I guess, lying here, I see her a bit more.

"What do you see?" you ask quietly, and it's almost like you can't be near me, watch the stars, and speak at a normal volume all at once. Two of those things, sure. But three? You can't do it. And I completely understand. Because I can't either.

I hum for a moment, trying to make sense of the bright dots above us. There's no rhyme or reason, but I want to answer you, so I have to find something.

"There," I gesture at a clump off to my left a little, my voice just as quiet as yours had been. "If you join together those two at the top, and then the rest beneath it, it looks like a stake."

"Where?" you ask, and I feel you scoot a little closer. The warm skin of your arm barely brushes mine as your head leans towards me, trying to match my viewpoint. I fight the thrum in my veins at your proximity, and ignore the sudden staccato of my heart, in favour of pointing towards the sky.

"There," I let my index finger rest on the point of my stake constellation. "And then trace up, across, and back down."

"I see it," you laugh lightly, and I notice your head pull back. The rest of your body remains, however, and the heat of your bicep warms me where we connect.

You've always been warm. In the beginning, when I first noticed it, I'd found it a little strange. You ran a little hotter than most regular humans, though I can't blame you. All that power, all that energy and potential had to make its presence known somehow. But a slight brush of our bodies, your hand on my arm, your punches in training, they'd always been a glancing blow of heat. A quick sizzle, then gone. Here, lying beside you, it's hot to start with, but I can feel my skin start to leech some of it, start to blend a little with yours as the heat is exchanged where our bodies touch. You cool until you feel no different than anyone else beside me, just another regular human. But you're not. You're so much more.

We lie there for a long time, though I couldn't tell you exactly how long. I seem to lose track when I'm beside you, staring up at the inky blackness and finding shapes like we're seven years old and looking at clouds. Not that I ever did that at seven, really. But hey, now I'm getting a chance to, and it's thanks to you. My eyes are riveted to the stars, knowing that, in this proximity, if I turned my head to glance at you, it wouldn't be subtle in the slightest. And subtle is the aim of my game so far. So I keep my focus on the sky and the constellations that I try to build, and even though I don't look at you, I can feel your gaze burning into the side of my face, warmer than even your skin.

Three.

I hate that I'm reduced to counting the days between our stargazes. I hate that on the nights we patrol together - which isn't as often as I'd like, given that Giles insists we take turns - I'm waiting with bated breath each time we dust a vamp, hoping this time will be the one where you declare the end of the night, where you find a patch of grass and bathe in the moonlight as you search for constellations with those captivating eyes of yours. But, unfortunately, we don't patrol together all that much, and we've been dusting vamps right up until bedtime, so it's a while before I get to watch you stargaze again. Well, until we get to stargaze again.

It's seventeen days before you find your place on the grass and watch the sky. When we dust the last vamp, and are wandering the cemetery, it makes my heart skip a beat when I see you look upwards, eyes lighting up as bright as the stars when you make contact with them. I know this routine by now, even though we've only done it a couple of times. You lie down, as expected, then look over at me.

For some reason, this time I don't need an invitation. Or don't want one. I'm not entirely sure which, but I try not to think too much about it as I lower myself to the grass without you even having to say a word, or move a muscle. It rained earlier today, and the dampness of the soil hasn't fully disappeared yet. But honestly, if I get to lie here and stare at the stars with you, I'm pretty okay with having a damp ass.

Getting to hang out with Buffy, and not just my twin Slayer, is a rare treat. I don't know exactly how many people get to see this side of you, and so I kind of relish in the fact that I'm one of the privileged. Not that this is exactly a huge step in the bonding department, but it's something. And it's something that when I lie down beside you, our arms not touching but close enough to feel heat, you don't move away.

The night sky is pretty much the same as whenever we look up at it. The inky black, with bright spots dusted across it, like someone's spilled the stars on the canvas of the sky. Tonight isn't much different than the other nights, but it's still a struggle to find our familiar constellations. I know stars move, and I'm sure you do too, but I also know their patterns are usually pretty constant. So I try to find my stake, and your vampire, and the other ones we've managed to find during our time staring at the stars, but there's nothing. Tonight I just revel in the beauty of it, and the warmth that emanates from your arm. I can feel our skin brush when you inhale, and the back of our hands are probably less than an inch apart. But I don't say anything, for fear of breaking this spell. I wonder if you feel the same.

"What can you see?" you ask softly, and I take a second to revel in my favourite timbre of your voice. It's low and quiet, unlike any other tone I've heard you use. It's Buffy, not the Slayer, and not even a combination of the two. I kind of adore it.

"Not much," I answer, my words just as quiet as yours. There's something about you, B, and something about this time here, that totally strips me of the Slayer part. I know that it doesn't have that much of a hold over you, that it's just one facet of the wicked human that is Buffy Summers, but it's such a part of me that I almost lose who I am without it. That's why I'm glad that, when I'm finally exposed, you're still here to remind me that I don't have to worry about being anyone. I can just be here. With you. Looking at the stars.

I can hear your breath as we lie there. It's a comforting rhythm, gentle and soothing, and I can't help but feel my own breaths slow to match yours. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. Breathing is something that, as a Slayer, you have to be in control of. If you're running or fighting, you have to be able to get the oxygen to your muscles to keep going, and not get out of breath. If you're supposed to be quiet, you have to control your breaths enough to ensure they slip past your lips without a single sound. And hell, just living requires controlling breathing. To be honest, I've never found that much of an issue. When my heart starts to pound in a fight, and my breath automatically quickens, I feel more at home than ever. I feel settled, and that soothes my breaths into a calm, even rhythm, even as I slay vampires.

But then, you do something that completely messes up my breathing patterns.

I'm not even sure how it happens. I'm not even sure if it's just through you, or if I play a part. It's easier to blame you, because to be honest, I'd be too scared to do it on my own. But somehow, our hands end up flush against one another, the backs touching and sending spikes of warmth up my arm. And then - through a miracle, I would have to assume - our fingers link. Whether it's your doing or it's mine, I have no idea. But it happens, and I simultaneously feel elated and as though I'm going to pass out.

Your fingers fit perfectly in mine, and I'm struggling to breath as I notice each curve, each callous, each tiny detail that makes this your hand. That hand that's linked with mine. I can feel my heartbeat all the way to my fingertips, and I wonder if you can sense it. The thudding of my blood through my veins that is totally irrational and totally stupid but totally happening because we're - in some sense of the word - holding hands.

Somehow, in the middle of my brain overloading, I manage to notice that your breathing hasn't changed. While mine has lost that rhythm, yours is still steady and solid. I hold onto that, matching my breaths to yours as I did only moments before. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. Within a few moments, I'm calm, and this feels natural. Lying here, your hand in mine. I can hear your breath and I can hear mine, but I can't distinguish whose is whose any more. It's just you and me - just Buffy and Faith, not the Chosen Two - lying here, in the same cemetery and on the same grass as so many battles we have fought, it gives me a sense of peace. That same peace I find in battle I find now, with you. I guess it's just you, B.

And so we lie there and gaze at the stars, with our breaths intermingling and our hands entwined, until the stars blur and all I can sense is you.