"Unnnh." My head is pounding, feeling like I'm waking up to a bad hangover.
I try to move a hand to rub it, but my hands are chained behind my back.
Opening my eyes, I look around. I'm in Angel's mansion, and, yay, so is he.
He's watching me, his eyes never leaving my face. Creep. I glare back, my mouth set in a don't-mess-with-me line, waiting for him to speak. He doesn't, and after a few minutes I'm bored.
Tilting my head to the side, I ask, "Is there something on my neck?" I add fake innocence to my voice and bat my lashes as I ask.
Angel's eyes drift downwards, then snap back up when he realizes he's staring at my neck. I grin.
"Head hurt?" He asks, voice calm, steady, not sarcastic.
I don't answer. They musta been rough when they were pinnin' me up against the wall; why else would he know my head was hurting? Still, I can't feel any bumps or blood on my head.
He steps toward me, lifting his arm. I didn't notice the cup in his hand earlier, and he raises it to my face. "Drink this."
Staring at him, I let him pour the liquid into my mouth. He lowers the cup, and I spit it out, on his face.
He stands there, the thick, brown liquid dripping off his face, soaking his expensive clothes and pooling at his feet, for a minute, then sighs. Wiping his face on his sleeve, the driest spot left on his silk, black shirt, he reaches for the tray of shiny instruments to my left. He grabs a needle and sticks it into the cup, pulling what remains of the liquid into the vial before placing the cup on the tray.
"This could have been easy, Faith. Why are you making it difficult?" He sticks the needle into my arm and presses, the vial emptying quickly. I struggle, twisting and kicking, but he ignores me.
When the needle's empty, he withdraws it and places it beside the cup, pressing gently on the skin it had broken until the blood stops flowing. He looks at his thumb and licks his lip, hesitating a moment before wiping the blood on his pants.
"Feel better?" he asks, his voice low. For a second I almost think he cares. Surprisingly, the pounding in my head has stopped. When I get outta here, I'm findin' a way to steal some of that. It'll make drinking a lot easier.
Angel's still looking at me, so I nod. If I answer his questions, maybe he'll leave me alone and I can work on gettin' out.
"Good. Giles forgot the darts would do that; when he remembered, he made the antidote."
"Antidote? Those were poisonous?"
Angel looks uncomfortable for a minute. Lowering his gaze, he mumbles, "They weren't lethal. We wouldn't have used those if Giles remembered what they did."
I'm touched. They would have made sure to use non-poisonous tranquilizers. How thoughtful.
"Why am I here?"
Angel looks at me, thoughtful. I can tell he's trying to think of the best way to phrase his answer; the counselor at my middle school used to look just like that before he delivered some phony line.
"We want to help you."
I rolled my eyes. His answer's not surprising. Guess he and B planned out this whole after-school special- I'll pretend to fight their friendship, but in the end, clean, sparkly goodness will win over and we'll go for ice cream. Not gonna happen.
"Why?" he asks.
Wait. Shouldn't that be my question?
"Huh?"
"Why're you helping the mayor, Faith? You're the slayer. It goes against everything you are."
"B's the slayer. I'm just the sidekick."
The sexy, unnoticed sidekick, who one day is fed up and plots to take over the world with the enemy. I watch too much tv. Oh, wait, that *is* my life. Here I thought it was the plot to last week's made-for-tv movie.
"You're both slayers."
"Chosen *one*, Angel. B's been chosen by lots."
Lots more than I have. She's got the mom, the sis, the boyfriend, the support gang. Hell, she's even got the damn father figure handed to her. Me? I gotta kill to get anything.
"Do you know how you got called?"
"Course. The last slayer died. Kendra, right?"
He nodded. "You know how she got called?"
"B bit the dust. Or, the dust bit her, before it was dust."
"Right. Buffy's not the chosen one anymore, Faith."
"She came back."
"Yes. But you have the power."
"So does she."
"She has an echo of it, because she used to have it. But it belongs to you."
"If I'm all powerful, why am I chained to a wall with B's pet vamp pulling a Walton moment on me?"
"You abused it."
"Power corrupts."
"Not everyone."
Right. It didn't corrupt him, and it sure as hell didn't corrupt Buffy. How could I have forgotten. We're all supposed to mirror ourselves after their perfect lives, and if we don't meet the standards they set, we're losers.
"I know what you're thinking."
"Like hell."
"You and Buffy are two different people, Faith."
"You know how many people make sure to point that out to me?"
"That's not what I'm trying to do."
"What it sounds like."
"I don't mean it in a negative way. You're not Buffy and you shouldn't have to be."
"That's my song. Pick a different one."
"You can't compare yourself to her."
"Right, cause she's the perfect one and I'm just the fuck-up."
"Look at me." I look at him. He raises a hand, and I suppress my desire to flinch. Slowly, he traces my cheekbone with his knuckles. "Faith, you can't compare yourself to Buffy because you're different. You have a different life, a different personality, a different beauty."
He's just feeding me what I want to hear. There's no way he means all this. Yeah, I know I'm sexy, but in a slutty way, not a beautiful one. Is this another set-up?
"You have to stop putting yourself down because you're not her. You're Faith, and you're as good a slayer and a person as Buffy. You have to open your eyes and see it."
Maybe if I just tell him, he'll see what I mean. "I'm not, Angel, I'm not. I'm a killer, and a slut, and a loser, and-"
"A confused woman trying to figure out life?"
"No! I'm not a woman; I'm just a little girl, acting like she's something she's not." "You're not a little girl, Faith. No one who's the slayer ever is."
"I don't deserve to be the slayer. You saw how I screwed it up, Angel."
"And you're still tough enough to learn from your mistake, let it make you a better person, instead of wallowing in guilt over it. You're strong, Faith, and not because you're the slayer. Because of who you are."
"I'm not. I'm the one who gives into the dark side."
"And the one who comes back from it, wiser and stronger. Buffy couldn't. She can't deal with the darkness, but you can. That's what gives you your strength."
"The darkness is my spinach?"
He smiles, briefly. I'm surprised he caught the reference- I didn't know he liked cartoons. "Yeah."
"So, what's a girl gotta do to get free around here?" Maybe he's relaxed enough to let me outta these chains- my nose is itching, and I don't want to ask for help.
"Why should I let you go?"
I feel myself go angry. Here he gave me this long talk about growing stronger from my screw-ups, but he's still gonna keep me chained to a wall? Why, so I can meditate on them some more? What does he think I do all day I'm not around the Scoobs?
"Because you're the good guy who doesn't keep people chained to the wall?"
"Wrong answer. Why should I let you go?"
Oh, no. Does he want some speech about how wrong it was for me to do what I did? Do I have to beg, or what?
"Because killing is wrong, and I know that, and I'll never do it again. And, um, I have to go to the bathroom?"
"Convince me." He crosses his arms over his chest and settles back, evidently prepared for a very long story. Damn.
"I had a lot to drink before I came over, and all that liquid, just dripping to the ground, off of you, keeps reminding me. Please, Angel?"
He chuckles. "Why is killing wrong?"
"Because its illegal?" I really don't want to get into one of those emotional moments I flip past on tv, so I'm keeping my answers light. If the mood gets too heavy, I won't be able to leave.
"I'm not going to let you go until you open yourself up. Take off your disguise, Faith. Please." His eyes are boring into mine, and I can tell he's for real. For once, I'm not thinking about how corny he sounds, how familiar the lines are. I'm thinking about letting him in.
I've *never* let anyone in. All the guys I screwed, the 'friends' I hung around, I kept myself safe from them by acting like some kinda tough girl. The attitude, the outfit, hell, even the sex drive, it's all a part. If I don't show who I really am, then the insults, the constant put-down, they aren't at me, not really. They're at the slut I'm pretending to be, and they don't hurt as much.
If I open up, all it would take is one blow. One good jab and I'd never want to be close to anyone, never love anyone, never love myself. I'd be ashamed and miserable and broken. I couldn't be the slayer. I wouldn't even be alive.
Being this close to opening up to someone is scaring me. I can't do it, I really can't. If that's what it takes for me to get free, I'm gonna be here 'til I turn to dust. I turn my head so I don't have to see his face, and close my eyes. I don't want to risk seeing the look of disappointment on his face.
Angel sighs. "I'll be here if you decide you want to talk," he says, and I hear his footsteps receding.
I want to yell "Angel!" and talk to him. I want to tell someone how I feel, now that I've killed someone, now that I'm working for the mayor, but I don't. I don't know why Angel's being so nice to me; I woulda taken away his soul and killed his girlfriend. There has to be some alterior motive. He already knows about the mayor and his plans, so what does he want?
I'm lost in my thoughts, alternately wanting to tell and wondering why Angel wants to listen, when I hear footsteps returning. Looking up, I see Angel carrying a book.
"My favorite chair is in here," he explains, and moves towards it.
"Wait." He does. "Can I ask you a question?" He nods. "Why do you care?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
"I think I'm on my seventeenth."
"So you deserve an eighteenth."
"No I don't. I've killed, and I'm planning the apocalypse, and I tried to take your soul, and I'm gonna do even worse stuff when I get outta here. I don't deserve to be forgiven, Angel."
"You're forgiven because you don't deserve it. Everyone is going to mess up. None of us have any right to judge you."
"Do other people's screw-ups kill people?"
"Mine do."
"That's not you. That's Angelus. You can't control him."
"Could you control it when you staked that man?"
"I could have stopped it. I could have aimed differently. I could have paid attention, sensed he wasn't a vampire. I could have listened to Buffy."
"If you had been able to do any of those things, don't you think you would have? Did you willingly kill that man? Or was it an accident?"
"It doesn't matter. He's still dead."
"What about all the others you've saved, through slaying?"
"There are more I haven't saved, when I've been partying or screwing or something."
"No one's perfect."
"I know that. But I should be more perfect, less mistake."
"You are who you are. You can't change it."
"This isn't who I am."
For a moment, everything's still. I just casually told Angel the biggest secret of my life. I'm tense. I know that he's gonna stay something soon, and it's gonna ruin me.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I said that wrong."
"No, you didn't. You meant something."
"No I didn't."
"Don't lie to me."
"Why not?"
"I thought you trusted me."
"Yeah, because you're so honest and forthcoming."
"I've answered all your questions."
"Not truthfully."
"I haven't lied to you, Faith."
"You won't tell me what you're really trying to get, keeping me chained here."
"I don't want you to leave and do something stupid."
"Right. You're not letting me go because you care about me so much."
"Is it that hard to believe, that someone actually could?"
"No. It's not."
"So you believe me?"
"No. Of course not. I know you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Prove it."
"Prove that I am."
Damn. I forgot that Angel's not as dumb as he acts. But I'm not going to admit I can't prove it. I don't say anything.
"Just take my word. Please."
I hate it when he says please. He's so pitiful. "Whatever."
"Who are you, really?"
"I'm Faith. The Vampire Slayer."
"That's not what I mean. You said this isn't who you are. What did you mean?"
I'm not answering.
"I'll let you go if you tell me."
"And if I don't?"
"I guess I'll have to start shopping. You'll get hungry eventually."
I can tell he's serious. He's not gonna let me out until I tell him what I meant. I don't want to stay here, but I don't want to tell him.
"Angel... I've never told anyone this."
"I'm here for you."
"It's hard."
"Would it mean as much if it were easy?"
I shake my head. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"What you'll say."
"Faith, I would never hurt you."
"Not on purpose."
"You can't live your life afraid of what will happen if you do."
"Isn't that a bit hypocitical, coming from you?"
"Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"
We both smile slightly, and that's what pushes me to tell him. His smile's sincere, and he's willing to admit when he's made a mistake.
"My whole life, I've been the little ghetto girl, the one with the bad home and the bad parent. That was who I was. People used to make fun of me, just because of that, and it hurt. So, I decided I wouldn't be myself. I'd dress up as something else, and that way, people could say whatever they wanted. It wouldn't matter, because they'd be criticizing an act, not a real person."
"But it still hurts."
"Yeah. It does."
"If you're not willing to open yourself up and let anyone close to you, how do you expect anyone to be able to love you for who you are?"
"I don't. Nobody would, and I don't want to deal with the pain."
"Some people wouldn't. But some people would."
"Who?"
"I would."
"No you wouldn't."
"No one can keep up an act all the time."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Sometimes, the costumes come off, whether we want them to or not."
"Still not following."
I was, but I wasn't sure if he meant that I had slipped or that I would.
"Whether you've wanted me to or not, I've seen what you're like when you're not trying to be a macho girl. And I like what I've seen."
"You're making that up."
"I'm not. I've seen the way you treat Giles, with respect, and I know you're good to Joyce. You still go out and slay, even though you're supposedly evil, and Buffy told me about the little girl you saved."
"That's not what she thought at the time."
"Buffy, at times, can be an idiot."
We're both smiling again.
"You're a beautiful woman, Faith, you just have to accept it."
He doesn't say it, but I know he means on the inside, too. I'm glad he didn't; his line already sounded corny enough. It was a forgivable sin, though.
"Thanks, Angel, you're sweet."
"I'm not being sweet. I mean it."
"I've screwed up too many times to still be beautiful, if I ever was."
"That's funny, because the woman I've seen is still beautiful."
"I can't see myself that way."
"You could learn."
"I could. Do you know any good teachers?"
"I know a guy who's going through the same thing, trying to accept himself. He might be able to help."
"Really? Does he have a name?"
"Angel."
"Not to ruin the moment, but do you think you can let me go now?"
He grins, and unchains me. I rub my wrists. It's silent for a minute, and then he asks, "Do you want some ice cream?"
He's watching me, his eyes never leaving my face. Creep. I glare back, my mouth set in a don't-mess-with-me line, waiting for him to speak. He doesn't, and after a few minutes I'm bored.
Tilting my head to the side, I ask, "Is there something on my neck?" I add fake innocence to my voice and bat my lashes as I ask.
Angel's eyes drift downwards, then snap back up when he realizes he's staring at my neck. I grin.
"Head hurt?" He asks, voice calm, steady, not sarcastic.
I don't answer. They musta been rough when they were pinnin' me up against the wall; why else would he know my head was hurting? Still, I can't feel any bumps or blood on my head.
He steps toward me, lifting his arm. I didn't notice the cup in his hand earlier, and he raises it to my face. "Drink this."
Staring at him, I let him pour the liquid into my mouth. He lowers the cup, and I spit it out, on his face.
He stands there, the thick, brown liquid dripping off his face, soaking his expensive clothes and pooling at his feet, for a minute, then sighs. Wiping his face on his sleeve, the driest spot left on his silk, black shirt, he reaches for the tray of shiny instruments to my left. He grabs a needle and sticks it into the cup, pulling what remains of the liquid into the vial before placing the cup on the tray.
"This could have been easy, Faith. Why are you making it difficult?" He sticks the needle into my arm and presses, the vial emptying quickly. I struggle, twisting and kicking, but he ignores me.
When the needle's empty, he withdraws it and places it beside the cup, pressing gently on the skin it had broken until the blood stops flowing. He looks at his thumb and licks his lip, hesitating a moment before wiping the blood on his pants.
"Feel better?" he asks, his voice low. For a second I almost think he cares. Surprisingly, the pounding in my head has stopped. When I get outta here, I'm findin' a way to steal some of that. It'll make drinking a lot easier.
Angel's still looking at me, so I nod. If I answer his questions, maybe he'll leave me alone and I can work on gettin' out.
"Good. Giles forgot the darts would do that; when he remembered, he made the antidote."
"Antidote? Those were poisonous?"
Angel looks uncomfortable for a minute. Lowering his gaze, he mumbles, "They weren't lethal. We wouldn't have used those if Giles remembered what they did."
I'm touched. They would have made sure to use non-poisonous tranquilizers. How thoughtful.
"Why am I here?"
Angel looks at me, thoughtful. I can tell he's trying to think of the best way to phrase his answer; the counselor at my middle school used to look just like that before he delivered some phony line.
"We want to help you."
I rolled my eyes. His answer's not surprising. Guess he and B planned out this whole after-school special- I'll pretend to fight their friendship, but in the end, clean, sparkly goodness will win over and we'll go for ice cream. Not gonna happen.
"Why?" he asks.
Wait. Shouldn't that be my question?
"Huh?"
"Why're you helping the mayor, Faith? You're the slayer. It goes against everything you are."
"B's the slayer. I'm just the sidekick."
The sexy, unnoticed sidekick, who one day is fed up and plots to take over the world with the enemy. I watch too much tv. Oh, wait, that *is* my life. Here I thought it was the plot to last week's made-for-tv movie.
"You're both slayers."
"Chosen *one*, Angel. B's been chosen by lots."
Lots more than I have. She's got the mom, the sis, the boyfriend, the support gang. Hell, she's even got the damn father figure handed to her. Me? I gotta kill to get anything.
"Do you know how you got called?"
"Course. The last slayer died. Kendra, right?"
He nodded. "You know how she got called?"
"B bit the dust. Or, the dust bit her, before it was dust."
"Right. Buffy's not the chosen one anymore, Faith."
"She came back."
"Yes. But you have the power."
"So does she."
"She has an echo of it, because she used to have it. But it belongs to you."
"If I'm all powerful, why am I chained to a wall with B's pet vamp pulling a Walton moment on me?"
"You abused it."
"Power corrupts."
"Not everyone."
Right. It didn't corrupt him, and it sure as hell didn't corrupt Buffy. How could I have forgotten. We're all supposed to mirror ourselves after their perfect lives, and if we don't meet the standards they set, we're losers.
"I know what you're thinking."
"Like hell."
"You and Buffy are two different people, Faith."
"You know how many people make sure to point that out to me?"
"That's not what I'm trying to do."
"What it sounds like."
"I don't mean it in a negative way. You're not Buffy and you shouldn't have to be."
"That's my song. Pick a different one."
"You can't compare yourself to her."
"Right, cause she's the perfect one and I'm just the fuck-up."
"Look at me." I look at him. He raises a hand, and I suppress my desire to flinch. Slowly, he traces my cheekbone with his knuckles. "Faith, you can't compare yourself to Buffy because you're different. You have a different life, a different personality, a different beauty."
He's just feeding me what I want to hear. There's no way he means all this. Yeah, I know I'm sexy, but in a slutty way, not a beautiful one. Is this another set-up?
"You have to stop putting yourself down because you're not her. You're Faith, and you're as good a slayer and a person as Buffy. You have to open your eyes and see it."
Maybe if I just tell him, he'll see what I mean. "I'm not, Angel, I'm not. I'm a killer, and a slut, and a loser, and-"
"A confused woman trying to figure out life?"
"No! I'm not a woman; I'm just a little girl, acting like she's something she's not." "You're not a little girl, Faith. No one who's the slayer ever is."
"I don't deserve to be the slayer. You saw how I screwed it up, Angel."
"And you're still tough enough to learn from your mistake, let it make you a better person, instead of wallowing in guilt over it. You're strong, Faith, and not because you're the slayer. Because of who you are."
"I'm not. I'm the one who gives into the dark side."
"And the one who comes back from it, wiser and stronger. Buffy couldn't. She can't deal with the darkness, but you can. That's what gives you your strength."
"The darkness is my spinach?"
He smiles, briefly. I'm surprised he caught the reference- I didn't know he liked cartoons. "Yeah."
"So, what's a girl gotta do to get free around here?" Maybe he's relaxed enough to let me outta these chains- my nose is itching, and I don't want to ask for help.
"Why should I let you go?"
I feel myself go angry. Here he gave me this long talk about growing stronger from my screw-ups, but he's still gonna keep me chained to a wall? Why, so I can meditate on them some more? What does he think I do all day I'm not around the Scoobs?
"Because you're the good guy who doesn't keep people chained to the wall?"
"Wrong answer. Why should I let you go?"
Oh, no. Does he want some speech about how wrong it was for me to do what I did? Do I have to beg, or what?
"Because killing is wrong, and I know that, and I'll never do it again. And, um, I have to go to the bathroom?"
"Convince me." He crosses his arms over his chest and settles back, evidently prepared for a very long story. Damn.
"I had a lot to drink before I came over, and all that liquid, just dripping to the ground, off of you, keeps reminding me. Please, Angel?"
He chuckles. "Why is killing wrong?"
"Because its illegal?" I really don't want to get into one of those emotional moments I flip past on tv, so I'm keeping my answers light. If the mood gets too heavy, I won't be able to leave.
"I'm not going to let you go until you open yourself up. Take off your disguise, Faith. Please." His eyes are boring into mine, and I can tell he's for real. For once, I'm not thinking about how corny he sounds, how familiar the lines are. I'm thinking about letting him in.
I've *never* let anyone in. All the guys I screwed, the 'friends' I hung around, I kept myself safe from them by acting like some kinda tough girl. The attitude, the outfit, hell, even the sex drive, it's all a part. If I don't show who I really am, then the insults, the constant put-down, they aren't at me, not really. They're at the slut I'm pretending to be, and they don't hurt as much.
If I open up, all it would take is one blow. One good jab and I'd never want to be close to anyone, never love anyone, never love myself. I'd be ashamed and miserable and broken. I couldn't be the slayer. I wouldn't even be alive.
Being this close to opening up to someone is scaring me. I can't do it, I really can't. If that's what it takes for me to get free, I'm gonna be here 'til I turn to dust. I turn my head so I don't have to see his face, and close my eyes. I don't want to risk seeing the look of disappointment on his face.
Angel sighs. "I'll be here if you decide you want to talk," he says, and I hear his footsteps receding.
I want to yell "Angel!" and talk to him. I want to tell someone how I feel, now that I've killed someone, now that I'm working for the mayor, but I don't. I don't know why Angel's being so nice to me; I woulda taken away his soul and killed his girlfriend. There has to be some alterior motive. He already knows about the mayor and his plans, so what does he want?
I'm lost in my thoughts, alternately wanting to tell and wondering why Angel wants to listen, when I hear footsteps returning. Looking up, I see Angel carrying a book.
"My favorite chair is in here," he explains, and moves towards it.
"Wait." He does. "Can I ask you a question?" He nods. "Why do you care?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
"I think I'm on my seventeenth."
"So you deserve an eighteenth."
"No I don't. I've killed, and I'm planning the apocalypse, and I tried to take your soul, and I'm gonna do even worse stuff when I get outta here. I don't deserve to be forgiven, Angel."
"You're forgiven because you don't deserve it. Everyone is going to mess up. None of us have any right to judge you."
"Do other people's screw-ups kill people?"
"Mine do."
"That's not you. That's Angelus. You can't control him."
"Could you control it when you staked that man?"
"I could have stopped it. I could have aimed differently. I could have paid attention, sensed he wasn't a vampire. I could have listened to Buffy."
"If you had been able to do any of those things, don't you think you would have? Did you willingly kill that man? Or was it an accident?"
"It doesn't matter. He's still dead."
"What about all the others you've saved, through slaying?"
"There are more I haven't saved, when I've been partying or screwing or something."
"No one's perfect."
"I know that. But I should be more perfect, less mistake."
"You are who you are. You can't change it."
"This isn't who I am."
For a moment, everything's still. I just casually told Angel the biggest secret of my life. I'm tense. I know that he's gonna stay something soon, and it's gonna ruin me.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I said that wrong."
"No, you didn't. You meant something."
"No I didn't."
"Don't lie to me."
"Why not?"
"I thought you trusted me."
"Yeah, because you're so honest and forthcoming."
"I've answered all your questions."
"Not truthfully."
"I haven't lied to you, Faith."
"You won't tell me what you're really trying to get, keeping me chained here."
"I don't want you to leave and do something stupid."
"Right. You're not letting me go because you care about me so much."
"Is it that hard to believe, that someone actually could?"
"No. It's not."
"So you believe me?"
"No. Of course not. I know you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Prove it."
"Prove that I am."
Damn. I forgot that Angel's not as dumb as he acts. But I'm not going to admit I can't prove it. I don't say anything.
"Just take my word. Please."
I hate it when he says please. He's so pitiful. "Whatever."
"Who are you, really?"
"I'm Faith. The Vampire Slayer."
"That's not what I mean. You said this isn't who you are. What did you mean?"
I'm not answering.
"I'll let you go if you tell me."
"And if I don't?"
"I guess I'll have to start shopping. You'll get hungry eventually."
I can tell he's serious. He's not gonna let me out until I tell him what I meant. I don't want to stay here, but I don't want to tell him.
"Angel... I've never told anyone this."
"I'm here for you."
"It's hard."
"Would it mean as much if it were easy?"
I shake my head. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"What you'll say."
"Faith, I would never hurt you."
"Not on purpose."
"You can't live your life afraid of what will happen if you do."
"Isn't that a bit hypocitical, coming from you?"
"Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"
We both smile slightly, and that's what pushes me to tell him. His smile's sincere, and he's willing to admit when he's made a mistake.
"My whole life, I've been the little ghetto girl, the one with the bad home and the bad parent. That was who I was. People used to make fun of me, just because of that, and it hurt. So, I decided I wouldn't be myself. I'd dress up as something else, and that way, people could say whatever they wanted. It wouldn't matter, because they'd be criticizing an act, not a real person."
"But it still hurts."
"Yeah. It does."
"If you're not willing to open yourself up and let anyone close to you, how do you expect anyone to be able to love you for who you are?"
"I don't. Nobody would, and I don't want to deal with the pain."
"Some people wouldn't. But some people would."
"Who?"
"I would."
"No you wouldn't."
"No one can keep up an act all the time."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Sometimes, the costumes come off, whether we want them to or not."
"Still not following."
I was, but I wasn't sure if he meant that I had slipped or that I would.
"Whether you've wanted me to or not, I've seen what you're like when you're not trying to be a macho girl. And I like what I've seen."
"You're making that up."
"I'm not. I've seen the way you treat Giles, with respect, and I know you're good to Joyce. You still go out and slay, even though you're supposedly evil, and Buffy told me about the little girl you saved."
"That's not what she thought at the time."
"Buffy, at times, can be an idiot."
We're both smiling again.
"You're a beautiful woman, Faith, you just have to accept it."
He doesn't say it, but I know he means on the inside, too. I'm glad he didn't; his line already sounded corny enough. It was a forgivable sin, though.
"Thanks, Angel, you're sweet."
"I'm not being sweet. I mean it."
"I've screwed up too many times to still be beautiful, if I ever was."
"That's funny, because the woman I've seen is still beautiful."
"I can't see myself that way."
"You could learn."
"I could. Do you know any good teachers?"
"I know a guy who's going through the same thing, trying to accept himself. He might be able to help."
"Really? Does he have a name?"
"Angel."
"Not to ruin the moment, but do you think you can let me go now?"
He grins, and unchains me. I rub my wrists. It's silent for a minute, and then he asks, "Do you want some ice cream?"