Team Angel, with the addition of Faith and Lindsey, spent the next
week working on their problem. Gunn and Faith tailed Connor during the day,
while Angel took the night shift. Wesley, Lindsey, and Fred spent their
days researching the prophesy and looking for ways to track down the other
person mentioned in the scroll. Lorne took up his usual role of bringing
the funny -- and the muffins.
But the nights were what interested Lindsey the most. He and Faith had spent every night of the week together. Either he would end up at her door, or she would come to his. After the second night, they'd dispensed with words entirely. They merely fell into each other, knowing what the other wanted and needed, and several hours later they'd fall asleep tangled in limbs and sheets, sweaty and exhausted. One night she was slow answering the door, and he felt a sharp stab of desperation, which eased only when the door creaked open to reveal her barefoot, pajama-clad body.
On the eighth night, they didn't have sex. Instead, she kissed him softly over every inch of his body, and he spent the night tracing her curves and many battle scars with his fingertips. He'd taken to resting his face in her neck, where he could inhale her scent. She didn't smell of perfume or body powder or any of the things women usually smelled of. She was all soap and power and startling vulnerability wrapped in a black satin package.
Faith opened her eyes to see him staring at her.
"Do I have bitchin' morning breath?" she asked, groggy.
"No," he replied seriously. "You're perfect. And beautiful."
Many men had told Faith that she was beautiful, and she knew she was attractive. Guys were drawn to her because she exuded a "go all night until you collapse in a pool of your own sweat" kind of sexuality, but no one had ever said it with the sincerity she heard in Lindsey's voice. Men told her what they thought she wanted to hear because they wanted what she had to offer. Lindsey was already getting a nightly booty call, so he had no reason to try to charm her.
As he watched her, his expression changed subtly. "Faith, why are you here?" he asked.
"Because you invited me in, genius." She lifted herself and they were both sitting up, their faces inches apart.
"You know what I mean. Why are you here every night with me?"
She wanted to say something flip, something that would roll off her tongue and fly through the air like an acrobat, but the only thing that came to mind was the truth, and the words lodged in the stone altar in her chest.
"I get it," Lindsey said. His tone was clipped, and he rose off the bed and onto his feet. "You're on a mission."
"Wh-what?" she asked, still foggy with sleep. The sudden mood swing caught her off guard.
"Is this how Angel worked you over?" he asked sharply. He dressed as he spoke, fumbling with the buttons on his white cotton shirt. "Did he screw your brains out until you turned into a good little girl? Until you spread 'em whenever he came calling?"
Faith struck out, landing a punch that sent him staggering backward.
"I am not a whore," she said, enunciating each word carefully.
"I know," he agreed. "You're not a whore. At least whores get paid." He grabbed his backpack and stormed out, leaving Faith furious and wondering what the hell had just happened.
But the nights were what interested Lindsey the most. He and Faith had spent every night of the week together. Either he would end up at her door, or she would come to his. After the second night, they'd dispensed with words entirely. They merely fell into each other, knowing what the other wanted and needed, and several hours later they'd fall asleep tangled in limbs and sheets, sweaty and exhausted. One night she was slow answering the door, and he felt a sharp stab of desperation, which eased only when the door creaked open to reveal her barefoot, pajama-clad body.
On the eighth night, they didn't have sex. Instead, she kissed him softly over every inch of his body, and he spent the night tracing her curves and many battle scars with his fingertips. He'd taken to resting his face in her neck, where he could inhale her scent. She didn't smell of perfume or body powder or any of the things women usually smelled of. She was all soap and power and startling vulnerability wrapped in a black satin package.
Faith opened her eyes to see him staring at her.
"Do I have bitchin' morning breath?" she asked, groggy.
"No," he replied seriously. "You're perfect. And beautiful."
Many men had told Faith that she was beautiful, and she knew she was attractive. Guys were drawn to her because she exuded a "go all night until you collapse in a pool of your own sweat" kind of sexuality, but no one had ever said it with the sincerity she heard in Lindsey's voice. Men told her what they thought she wanted to hear because they wanted what she had to offer. Lindsey was already getting a nightly booty call, so he had no reason to try to charm her.
As he watched her, his expression changed subtly. "Faith, why are you here?" he asked.
"Because you invited me in, genius." She lifted herself and they were both sitting up, their faces inches apart.
"You know what I mean. Why are you here every night with me?"
She wanted to say something flip, something that would roll off her tongue and fly through the air like an acrobat, but the only thing that came to mind was the truth, and the words lodged in the stone altar in her chest.
"I get it," Lindsey said. His tone was clipped, and he rose off the bed and onto his feet. "You're on a mission."
"Wh-what?" she asked, still foggy with sleep. The sudden mood swing caught her off guard.
"Is this how Angel worked you over?" he asked sharply. He dressed as he spoke, fumbling with the buttons on his white cotton shirt. "Did he screw your brains out until you turned into a good little girl? Until you spread 'em whenever he came calling?"
Faith struck out, landing a punch that sent him staggering backward.
"I am not a whore," she said, enunciating each word carefully.
"I know," he agreed. "You're not a whore. At least whores get paid." He grabbed his backpack and stormed out, leaving Faith furious and wondering what the hell had just happened.