I don't own Angel or Faith or anyone involved in this, though I pretty much am Faith. This is circa Sanctuary, before Buffy graces them all with her wonderful presence and ruins life for the umpteenth time. Please brace yourselves for angst and minute nuances of Buffy/Faith slash.
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When Angel goes to bid her goodnight, the most awkward brush of movement from his fingers to her skin, she flinches and looks away. Faith Lehane feels like every initiation of movement is a chance for another shot. She's almost convinced Angel's going to rough her up until she bleeds and then take what he wants, but she pushes the delusions down, the hallucinations, the fears and tries to accept the little touch. It's just a little spark, after all. What harm can it do?
He slips back into the room like a bleeding shadow when he's at least somewhat sure she's asleep, and he watches her. Her bruises look almost black in the dark and her eyes are sunken in, hollowed out with experience and not age. He watches Faith sleep because, if he could, he'd find someone to watch him sleep, too. Nightmares are painful when you wake up alone.
"You don't hafta watch me." He jerks almost suddenly, but relaxes when he peers into the dark. Faith's half open, brown eyes stay settled gently on him. "I'm not gonna kill myself or try to off you. Cross my heart, not that I rightly got one."
"I just thought I'd check up on you. You've had a pretty rough night." He doesn't offer anymore than that, only watches her turn over on her right side to face him. She flinches, and he smells the brief, spicy scent of pain float up from her flesh. Tenderized skin.
Angel woke up one day and said to himself 'I'm a bad person, let me be a good one'. Faith woke up after months and said 'I'm a bad person, let me beat up a good one'. Angel was overcome with remorse, guilt, endless pain once he'd regained a soul. Faith had a soul all along and still the guilt didn't seem to pile on. Contemplating this, the dark Slayer doesn't seem to do a thing but stare straight ahead.
"A penny for your thoughts?" He smiles awkwardly in the heat of the LA night. It's a struggle more than an expression, but all she can do is shrug. Her mind is lost again, too far away to be recovered. A rescue team is in order for Faith's inner dialogue.
Buffy turned the tables on her. They'd role reversed long before Faith ever felt the Summers' skin-suit slip into her weary hands. Buffy wanted to use her and get rid of her, forget about her completely after the fun. Faith wanted it, craved the thing Buffy had put on show like a peacock strutting its own feathers. Faith had wanted the love she'd seen too many times. She'd been stupid to think Buffy would reciprocate it; she was nothing but a street urchin with well-muscled hips. Buffy Summers was too busy trying to forget about the vampire man-meat.
"It ever stop hurting?" She's surprised when her voice comes out like that. It cracks delicately and splinters into tiny pieces right in front of her. The evening brings no solace but the feeling of emptiness. Even though Angel stands mere feet away, Faith can't help but feel as though she's in a separate dimension from the 'Dark Avenger' and his six-foot should length.
"It's not supposed to. The hurt is how you learn. Once you have enough of it, once you hit breaking point, you never want to feel it again so you won't do it again. The advantage of the hurt is that it motivates you to do the opposite of the hurt."
Faith holds her breath, counts to five. She finds her fingers gently bunching against his soft, maroon-dark bed-sheets. The feelings are impromptu, she realizes. One moment she was righteously filled with jealousy and need, want to hurt Buffy more than Buffy had hurt her. Faith's only desire was to drive a knife through Buffy's insides and twist it, turn it until it was an inescapable, clockwork pain. Now, all Faith wants to do is shatter every mirror in front of her and hide in every alley she can because she's just too bad too filthy too tainted too damaged.
She holds a fingertip to a cut at her cheek; shallow, all cosmetic. It looks worse than it is, but it stings just the same from the saltwater rush of a tear. A cold sensation clings to her fingertips for a moment and Angel's dark form spreads across her field of vision like the all-encompassing night sky. Her hand stays engulfed by his; held gently like his paws are so much bigger than her hands.
"It doesn't always hurt this bad."