THE PROFUNDITY OF CONVICTION

By Julie John

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Buffy S3-S4, Angel S1

Timeline: post-War Zone

Summary: Sometimes others believe in us more than we believe in ourselves…

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created these wonderful characters, who are controlled by Mutant Enemy and all related companies, but whose spirits belong to David Boreanaz and Eliza Dushku. I'm not claiming any sort of ownership or making any money – I'm just trying to fill in the blanks that were left for me.

Distribution: Ask, please.

Feedback: Will be treasured and guaranteed a reply.

Endless thanks to Evan Como for encouraging me, guiding me, and turning this work from something ordinary into something special.

***

I stare suspiciously at the prison guard's back as she leads me down the concrete- and steel-lined corridors. Even though I've been in jail for a little over a week, it only took a couple of days to figure out how everything works. Jail has a schedule that it keeps and, whatever this is, it's not a part of what's normal. I don't like it. The usual routine is nice – don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up, but I like knowing what to expect. I never had that before. Something screwing around with my day like this isn't making me happy.

Someone to see me, the guard had said. Who? It's not like I know anyone in this town.

The public defender again, maybe? That short, anxious woman drives me nuts – always completely hyperactive. Instead of talking she should just chill – way too much stress in her life. Besides, if she manages to get my case dismissed I'll be pissed as hell. Can that even happen to a confessed murderer? I don't know. Maybe. Hell, knowing how justice in the United States works, probably.

Even if it is Ms. Strung-Up-Way-Too-Tight, it's still better than the only other people who might want to see me – the *other* lawyers I know, my scumbag former employers.

Damn, I'm like a friggin' trapped animal in here. They've already tried to take me out once. I'm not stupid, I know I can cause major problems for them. Just because I don't have any written proof of our little deal doesn't mean they're gonna let it slide. All it would take is one reporter believing my story… Pretty Boy & Partners would probably feel better if they at least threatened me a little, if they don't just knock me off to be done with it.

Shit, how would they do that? It's probably not that hard if they know the people who run this joint. Slip 'em some cash, and it looks like Faith picked the wrong fight in the –

The guard's stopped. She opens an oversized steel door, turns and looks at me expectantly. I stare back defiantly, returning her condescending gaze – then figure out that she's waiting for me to go through the doorway. I do, and take in this new room. It's long and narrow, with one side paned in glass. In front of the window is a big gray countertop that's divided, each section with a chair and a phone. Definitely not an interrogation or a meeting room. Weirdness…

…wait, it's the visitor's room. Okay – even weirder.

The guard is frowning at me impatiently, and points to the third booth on the wall. I step slowly towards it, not sure that I want to see who's there, but I don't have much of a choice.

My eyebrows jack up when I see who's on the other side "Angel," I say before I know what I'm doing, stunned at the sight of the tall, gorgeous vampire. He's sitting in the chair across from me, dressed in his usual black, observing the room of prisoners and civilians taking advantage of their right to visitation.

He looks up, though he couldn't have heard me – or maybe he did. His face gets – I dunno, brighter somehow, almost like he's smiling, even though he's not. He leans forward, picks up the phone.

I take the chair in front of me, and my own phone. Damn handcuffs make me have to move my hands together. Hmph. Handcuffs used to be fun.

"Angel," I repeat, this time through the mouthpiece.

"Faith." He says my name in that quiet, somber way that he has. "How are you?"

I don't respond – I still can't believe he's here. How the hell did he get here, in the middle of the day? And how did he get past security without an ID? I want to ask him, but I'm pretty sure the phones are tapped and I don't want him to get in trouble. But why *is* he here?

Oh, damn, I haven't answered his question, I've just been gaping at him like an idiot. Well, he *is* pretty stare-worthy, but… I try to come up with something to say.

"I'm okay, I guess," is all that comes out. As I say it, I realize that I'm telling the truth. I'm kinda surprised by that. Obviously this pit isn't the number-one way I want to spend the rest of my life, but it sure beats the hell out of hitchhiking down Interstate 5, not knowing where I'm going or even who I am anymore.

Angel's absolute attention penetrates me. It should make me nervous. But instead I feel… safe. Damn, when was the last time I felt like that?

"Are you being treated well?" he asks, his voice just as intense as his gaze.

I shrug. "As well as can be expected." I've found that even prison has a code of right and wrong, and murder is definitely on the 'wrong' side. As a murderer, I don't get any favors, but at least so far no one has threatened to beat me to death.

Angel nods. I know he knows what I mean.

There are no words for a minute. I fidget with the phone, propping it between my shoulder and my ear so I can let my hands down. I'm not much for small talk, and I don't think I've ever heard Angel do it. This might be a short visit.

"I – I thought you were Wolfram & Hart, at first." I try to smile. "You know, come to tie up loose ends."

He blinks and shakes his head.

Under the counter, I fiddle with the cuffs, wondering what else can be said. There's definitely a lot of subjects to pick from, but none of it is stuff I really want to bring up. Shit… but I really should… I slump against the straight-backed metal chair.

I glance back up at Angel, who is perfectly still.

"Um… how are Wesley and Cordelia?" Absolutely the last thing I want to talk about, but I need to know. I really wish I hadn't hurt them. I knew that they only wanted to help me; I just didn't want their help, so I punished them for it. I really hate myself sometimes.

"They're getting better," Angel answers. I don't hear any anger in his voice. "Wesley's still pretty sore, but he's got feeling back in his arm now. Cordelia's eye is yellow, and she's started trying to cover it up with pounds of makeup –" I think there might be a hint of a smile in those dark eyes, "—it's not working."

I can't help myself, I laugh a little bit at the idea of the Homecoming Queen wannabe trying to deal with the wicked black eye I must have given her. "Still as vain as ever," I quip, but I feel almost… fond. Cordelia was never my friend – was never more than a self-absorbed bitch, really – but she was always *there*. A consistency in my life.

"Still vain, yes," Angel replies. "But she's changed in other ways, Faith. We all have."

His voice is gentle, but I drop my eyes. His words are bringing back all the confusion I've felt since rejoining the land of the living.

"I know," I say, "everyone's different, every*thing's* different." I pause, trying to decide if I should continue. "You know, when I woke up from my coma I thought it was still graduation day." My voice shakes, and I try to control it. Ever since Angel offered his embrace so that I might release my emotions, I've been crying at the drop of a hat, and I hate it.

"I know." His voice is even softer, and I look at him again, blinking to get rid of the damn tears in my eyes. "It's so confusing;" he goes on, "it feels like you've been forgotten. The whole world moved on without you –"

I remember the Mayor telling me the same thing. My laughter gets stuck in my throat. "You have experience in this area, too?" I try to sound sarcastic, but I don't pull it off.

Still… I feel better. I wonder how deep his darkness goes, if he still struggles with it at all, and that's how he understands me so well. Angel never sounds like he's pitying me, or that he's better than me because he's made it through all of his incredible problems. He just wants to help. It's his attitude that makes him different from Wesley. I wonder what would have changed if I'd had a Watcher like that…

"When I was returned from Hell," he answers me, "except I had been there for a couple of centuries, and only four months had passed here."

I shake my head. Unbelievable. "We're a pair, aren't we?" I joke weakly.

His lips curve up in the corners, acknowledging the irony of the situation. "I guess we are."

Oh, fuck. And Buffy walked in on us being a 'pair' – I feel guilt rip through me. I lean forward, needing for him to see that I mean every word. "Angel, I'm *so* sorry you and Buffy fought. I never wanted – "

"Don't be."

I sit back a little, blinking. Don't be sorry?

"I know you didn't want that to happen. It's not your fault."

"Like hell it's not." I deflate, wishing that getting rid of my guilt was as easy as Angel made it sound. "All I ever did to Buffy was take advantage of her life. She had a right to be mad when she walked in on us like that. I'm just sorry she took it out on you." Maybe the debacle at Angel's apartment didn't happen on purpose, but it was definitely my fault Buffy reacted like she did.

"Faith." Angel's voice is urgent. "Buffy and I aren't together anymore. I don't belong to her. You and I weren't doing anything wrong."

I'm silent. That's something else that's been confusing me. Buffy and Angel aren't together – Buffy has a new boyfriend. I thought Angel must have died. Then I came to LA and found out Angel *wasn't* dead, but Wolfram & Hart wanted me to finish the job. My purpose in life – getting rewarded to take out Angel, and never getting it done. But why is Angel here, two and a half hours away from B? And them fighting like they were? That really freaked me out.

"What happened?" The words come out before I can stop them, and I watch pain surface in his eyes. "I'm sorry… You don't have to say if you don't want to. It's just…" I shrug, guessing I might as well spit it out, "Buffy tried to kill me for you. So I was kinda surprised to wake up and… you not be there. I figured you must've died."

Angel sighs and opens his mouth, then stops. I squirm in my seat, dropping my eyes again and cursing myself for my big mouth.

After a long moment, I start, "Look, Angel, forget that I – "

"I don't mind telling you," he says at the same time, and I shut up, daring to glance back at him. "But it's still hard to talk about."

He's quiet for a minute, focusing inward. Then, "A couple of weeks before graduation I told Buffy I was leaving."

I can't help myself – my eyes go wide. "Shit, and I thought it would take the end of the world to separate you two. Maybe not even that." Even if I had managed to kill him, I would've half-expected him to come back and haunt her.

And *Angel* left *Buffy*? I had never seen a guy so whipped before in all my life – what on earth had changed? I want to get everything straight in my head. Not many things are, up there.

Despite looking so young, Angel's showing every one of his years. "I did it for Buffy," he forces out, his voice getting a little rough. "She couldn't ever have a normal life with me. I'm not good for her. I can't ever give her what she needs." He sounds like he's reading off a list. "So I told her I'd leave after the ascension."

Check, still loves her. Come to think of it, his reasons sound a lot like the stuff Boss told them the night we traded Willow for that box of spider-things – he wanted to shake them up.

"For what it's worth, I liked B a load better before my coma." Shit. Probably not making him feel any better. Way to go, Faith. "Though us trying to kill each other probably has something to do with that," I finish lamely. I try to find something else to talk about.

All I can come up with is, "so all this was before I shot you?" Not too swift on the subject change.

Angel nods, and runs his hand through his dark, spiky hair, which immediately springs back into place. Seems he discovered hair gel in the big city… the style is nice. The fluorescent lights reflect off of the ends like highlights. "Yes." He sighs. "When Buffy couldn't get you, she came to me." He closes his eyes. "She cured me."

Holy shit. I get it now. Buffy had said that my blood was the cure. Not the blood of the assassin – the blood of a Slayer. "Damn, Angel, that blows." But I have to be honest. "Not that I would've changed anything I did, then, but – I'm real sorry it came to that," I fumble. I plow on with the hard questions. "And you still left?"

"Hardest thing I've ever done." Angel meets my gaze, but his eyes seem to ache. "I came here. It's getting better."

"Yeah, 'till a blast from the past comes and opens up the can of worms," I mutter. "I had no idea, Angel."

I remember ragging on Buffy about her new boytoy, and her telling me I still mouthed off about things I knew nothing about. She was right – again.

"I know. You had no way of knowing." Somehow, that makes me feel better. "It's okay, really. Buffy has a pretty normal life now, a normal boyfriend that she loves. It's what I wanted her to have when I left." He takes a deep, needless breath. "And I'm okay, too. I have a place here now, a family of sorts. It's good." His eyes drift away. "It's good," he repeats softly to himself.

Bullshit. And I haven't helped, as usual. All I ever do is cause pain. Even when it's just talking with someone who cares enough to take the time to talk to me.

I drop my head, feeling tears again. "How can you not hate me?" I choke around the lump in my throat. I've done so many fucking awful things to "Angel, I've tried to make you screw around on your girlfriend, tried to steal your soul, tried to kill you – twice, no, three times – and abused your friends."

I feel that pain in my chest, the dark pressure rising up in me, making it hard to breathe, but I can't stop. "Not to mention all the shit I did to Buffy. But you saved my life, saved my *soul*, and now you're visiting me in jail!" My lungs are tight, and I try so hard to stay in control. "Angel, how can you do that? How can you be so nice to me?!"

I lose the fight with my emotions and sob, bringing my hands up to cover my face. I don't deserve him caring about me. And it hurts so badly that he does… I hear him say something, but I can't respond.

"*Faith*." Angel's voice breaks through to my mind. His tone is firm, enough to get my attention, but still… what's the word? Compassionate. He doesn't want me to feel bad. I look up at him, but he's all blurry.

"I don't hate you, Faith, and I never will. I'll never give up on you." His eyes capture mine. "I've done more evil than you could ever possibly do. I've been given the opportunity to make up for it, and you deserve the same chance." My attention is riveted to his, sincerity twisting something inside of me. "I believe in you, Faith. I believe you can overcome this."

I stare at him for a long time. What can I say? *I* don't know that I can do it, but so help me, Angel makes me want to try. "Thank you," I whisper.

Angel's eyes warm to a rich chocolate and smile at me. "You're welcome. I'm so proud of you, Faith. I want you to know that. It's hard to change, and it hurts, but you did it. That's a major accomplishment."

A tear rolls down my cheek that I quickly wipe away. "Yeah, well, I'm not there yet," I say gruffly. Don't get your hopes too high, Angel. I'd hate to disappoint you.

"You're right," Angel agrees. "It'll be an ongoing process. But I want to help you with that, Faith, in any way I can. I'll always be here for you. Remember that."

Dammit, at some point I'd like to be able to swallow normally. I nod, because I don't know what else to do. What did I do to deserve this? Not a frigging thing. But when I got to the end of my rope, Angel was there to catch me. Even after he's lost so much, and what he had left I tried to take from him. Amazing.

I blink away the rest of my tears, sniffing, and twist my neck to relieve the cramp starting there. Ever since my first Watcher died, I've made it a point to not have anyone to lose. She was the first person I'd trusted in a long time, and then she was dead, right in front of me, *because* of me. After that happened, I decided that getting attached to people was more trouble than it was worth. If it turned out they really weren't out to screw me, then it hurt too badly when shit happened to them.

I wasn't expecting to care about the Mayor. And I was wary at first, but I felt safer – after all, odds were that nothing was going to happen to an impervious immortal demon. Even that fell apart. Boss still came through for me after I woke up, but it didn't change how much his death hurt.

Caring about people is something I swore off a long time ago.

But maybe that's why I did the things that I did, I think suddenly. Sure, being the Slayer made it easy to do, and gave me an excuse for doing it. But maybe not caring was what made it so easy to live with hurting people.

"Angel –" I concentrate hard, leaning forward, "—do you think having someone to lose is a good thing or a bad thing?"

I startled him. Way to keep up the tough questions, Faith. "Well…" he pauses, then blows out a breath. "When I first moved here, I thought it was easier to be alone. I knew I didn't want to go through something like losing Buffy ever again."

I nod. He keeps talking.

"I thought I'd be all right if I just kept to myself and helped people without getting attached to anyone. And it *is* easier, it's simpler.

"But having someone to lose gives you strength and drive. Doyle taught me that. He was a friend and… a mentor, of sorts." Again with the pain in his eyes. I need to quit asking questions that cause that. "Since then I've lost him, and it hurts, but he was right. You need to let people in to keep life in perspective. Otherwise it's too easy to fall into the darkness."

His words make sense. "I understand," but I don't know that I can do it. "But it hurts so much to lose someone, Angel. I've lost everyone I've ever cared about – my Watcher, even the Mayor died, and he was never supposed to die!" I breathe deeply, surprised at how much it still hurts to think of Boss being gone. He might have been evil, but he loved me in his own way. "I'm afraid to care."

"But you already do."

I hesitate when I hear Angel's soft words.

"The guilt you feel, Faith, is caring. If you didn't care, you wouldn't feel guilty. But you have to embrace it, to deal with it, or you'll just be right back where you started. You need to make amends."

My stomach clenches. "But how do I? What can I do to make it better?" I need an answer. Where do I start? "How can I make things right with Buffy?" I want so badly to make it up to her. I know I can't, not completely, but I at least want her to believe that I'm sorry for what I've done to her… my only friend – besides Angel.

Angel sweeps his hand through his hair again. "It's different for everyone, Faith. Sometimes you can't make it right. But you have to try. I don't think Buffy's ready to forgive just yet." His eyes drift away from me, seeing something in his mind. "Not yet," he repeats. "But it doesn't mean you should stop trying. Just be prepared to wait awhile."

I'm disappointed – but maybe I do just need to wait. "I just hope she forgave you." The last thing I want is her blaming Angel for everything – he doesn't deserve any of it.

He smiles tightly. "I think we're okay now. Not great, but okay."

"Good," I say softly.

Angel's gaze shifts behind me and I turn.

The prison guard is standing there. "Your time's up," she states flatly.

I'm sorry to hear it, but I know I can't argue.

"Faith," Angel's voice sounds in my ear, and I turn back to him. "I'd like to come visit you again, if you don't mind."

A thrill runs through me, but I only allow him a small smile. "Yeah, that'd be good."

His smile is more confident. "I'll see you next week, then."

Reluctant, we hang up our phones and stand. I'd forgotten about my cuffs until the guard grabbed my elbow to lead me away.

I feel oddly light walking back to my cell, the smile still curving my lips.

This just might work.

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