Title: What he saw
Author: Sarah
Feedback: Love it, please leave it. . .positive or negative
Pairing: Angel/Collins, and if you didn't see that coming, we need to have a talk
Word Count: 829
Rating: PG-13?
Genre: Fluff
Summary: What Angel doesn't know won't hurt her
Notes: This came completely from shillaire's various fics on Angel and all her body issues. I was in the shower this morning and just started thinking about it, and out this came, which is awesome, since it's been a while since a fic came to me like that.
Special Thanks: Totally unbetaed, since my usual beta scotsinkilts is suffering computer woes (love to you and your computer, my dear), but definite props to shillaire for the reason stated above and for being so freakin' amazing! Oh, and while I'm at it, I'm gonna give thanks to sflynn for being a really awesome Collins!
Spoilers: None
Warnings: umm. . .naked!Angel
Disclaimer: I don't own, barely know, only make up.

Angel shrugged off her robe and stepped into the shower. They'd had no shower curtain since their last one had been called to make the ultimate sacrifice on New Year's Eve, so she carefully made sure that the shower head was pointed at the wall and that there were a few old towels on the floor before turning on the water. Once again, she was grateful that there was running water in this particular apartment, that the water pressure was reasonable (though the noise from the pipes when she decided to shower was a cacophony of clangs, bangs, and shudders; she was waiting for the day when the pipes rattled the cracked tiles off the walls entirely), and that she could count on at least warm water for a few minutes anyway.

She squinted at the bottles on the windowsill and eventually picked out the shampoo bottle. Squeezing a little into the palm of her hand, she began working a lather into her hair, forgetting again that since she'd been letting it grow, she needed more soap to get it clean. She searched again for the shampoo, squeezing out a bit more to work into the ends of her curls, then closed her eyes to rinse out the lather.

Turning, she sought her washcloth and bar of soap and began to go to work on the rest of her body, running her hands quickly over her flat chest and between her legs. Her stomach, arms, and especially her legs got more attention. She let her hands linger on her flat, muscular stomach, liking the way it felt, even while wishing she had the tiny pot belly which most women, no matter how slender had, instead of the flat muscles which her fingers now found.

The warm water starting to run out, she found her razor after a few minutes' search on the windowsill, bringing her face close and squinting a bit. She relathered under her arms and shaved there, followed by her legs, which she had to do mainly by touch, because the little hairs were difficult to see, even with one foot propped on the edge of the bathtub. Her legs had to be rinsed in entirely frigid water by the time she was finished, the warm water had completely given up the ghost before she was through. She shivered now, her lips beginning to turn blue, and stepped out of the shower to quickly find a towel which appeared at least marginally clean and less holey than its counterparts. She smiled at herself in the mirror as she towel-dried the tumbled curls which annoyed her no end, but gave Collins such pleasure.

Once she was dry, her robe restored, she was surprised to see that Collins was home and had made her tea, perhaps anticipating that she would be cold, stepping out of the shower. She greeted him with a kiss and gratefully accepted his warming hug and the steaming cup of tea which he handed to her, settling into her favorite place: on the sofa and in his arms, chatting with him about the activities of the day, as he gently and skillfully worked the tangles from her wet curls.

--

Just coming in the front door, Collins was about to call out a greeting to his love when he heard the clanging begin in the back of the apartment. Irrationally, he tiptoed to the bathroom (he knew there was no way she could hear him over all that noise, but his mind insisted he move softly) and stood silently in the hallway, quietly grateful that the angle, the open door, Angel's slight nearsightedness (she was far too poor and too vain to wear the glasses prescribed to her), and the lack of a shower curtain combined to give him a perfect view of her, without allowing her to see him. Silently, he enjoyed watching her wash her lovely hair, wishing he were running his fingers through it along with her.

When she started to wash the rest of her body, he couldn't help feeling a bit voyeuristic, because he knew how she felt about her body and had, in fact, only recently let him see her naked, though they had been together nearly eight months. She couldn't see him, however, and he found himself running his hands down his own stomach, imagining that it was her skin he was touching.

He smiled, watching her shave her underarms and legs. He was reminded of his live-in girlfriend back in college who had propped her foot in the sink, refusing to shave in the shower since there really had hardly been space. He remembered once helping her shave and wished Angel would allow him to do the same for her, but he knew that physical intimacy like that with Angel was a pipe dream. He saw her expression as the water turned cold and longed to go to her and wrap her in her arms to warm her, but decided he'd better move away and make her some tea instead.