I'm a bitch, I'm a tease
I'm a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I'm your angel undercover
I've been numb, I'm revived
Can't say I'm not alive
You know I wouldn't want it any other way

--Bitch, Meredith Brooks

Faye stared out the window. Mars glowed red at the outside of her vision, she could remember pictures from before the gate disaster now. She could remember some things.

Spike threw a punch at the bag in the middle of the hanger. He couldn't remember anything. Everything just fell through his mind. Numb from the heart out.

Her feet shuffled along the cold steel floor, the rivets tearing little holes into the bottoms of soles. Purple hair hung limp around her face, they all looked like death these days. Death and tequila.

Silhouette in the hanger door casts a shadow across his bag, pause, beat, beat, pause. What? Whispered across the empty room. Her lips parted in an answer, then close and she cut across the hanger.

Black and white movie playing in Spike's head as he watches her. Too many late nights. Too many old movies. Her hips swung and her eyes smoldered green in a sea of sepia tones. Her hands shoved him against the wall, nails biting into his sweating abs. "Faye? What are you doing?" her hand slides down his pants stretching the elastic top.

"Shut up Spike." She drops to her knees, his pants sliding down his thighs. Part stark white against the darkness of her hair, hard tousled line. Her mouth wrapped around the sudden hardness that grew against the heat of her palm.

Spike's eyes rolled back. For that second they're suspended in time. Not a memory. Nothing. Her tongue flicks the delicate skin behind his head and his knees go weak. He trembles and presses hard against the wall. "Faye stop." He moans, betraying himself.

Julia scowls in his memory. Hate filling her eyes. Filling his head. "Stop."

Faye leans back licks her lips and pulls him to the ground. "Not this time." She sheds her clothes and he's staring at the body of a porn star. Only it's real. She's astride him and his eyes roll back.

He's trying to keep up. Her body moving. He clutches her hips to slow her frantic rhythm and she shoves his hand away.

"No touching the dancers." She hisses. Hair lashing her face.

She works herself into a frenzy and stops, panting, face distorted in the shadows. But those green eyes burn. "That's what you were missing. That's what you left on this ship. That's the heaven you're never gonna get another taste of. That's what passion is."

She stood and cold air rushed across him. Naked goddess towering above him. Worship me her body whispered. He'd grovel. He'd anything. Just one more taste.

"Faye." His voice reached for her in the shadows and he touched her ankle. Ice practically rolled of her skin.

"No Spike."

Her clothes fitted onto her body again, a jigsaw puzzle of faded color. He watched her, mind wrapping itself around everything.

Julia screamed in the shadows, hatred burning off her body, blood pooling around her again. Spike crawled to the wall and huddled there. "Why?"

"Because you killed me." She said. "You killed me so you can't be happy."

"Why?"

"Give up Spike." Her lips moved, soft pink without their lipstick. "This is hell, and I'm the angel that brought you here."

Faye moved out of the room, sweat clinging to her skin, body screaming with magnificent triumph. Let him stay in hell. She rolled another cigarette and lit it as she leaned against the wall. Cool metal reminding her of her once icy grave. She turned pressing her body against it, fingers drawing patterns in the frost.

His fingers dragged through the blood, writing, writing anything that came to mind. Nothing. He moaned, turning his head. She was dead, gone. Which was it? His angel where did she go? To the grave? To the living room? Tumblers caught in his brain, falling into places they weren't suppose to unlock. Her fingers ran down his body again. He pushed into her, and her body moved with him, their bodies fit together perfectly as she pressed her face against his neck clutching his shoulders as she screamed to a breathtaking climax. Gold and purple and green and blue and red red lips and those long legs. What was it? Where was the right memory? Why wouldn't his body stop throbbing?

Her face pressed against the pillow, darkness engulfing her. Take her away. Take her back home where she belonged. Take her back to the time when she should have died. Because she knew she was dead now.

They were dead.

Something clattered.

Tumblers filled with ice and vodka, their shadows mingled on the floor as they stood at opposite ends of the couch, staring as their bodies sang out for the other. Coffee table filled with the wet rings of condensation. Her back was hot under his fingertips.

"You're real right?" He whispered, kissing her skin. She pressed against him.

"I'm real."

"Good. My dreams were getting pretty crazy." Her laughter danced through the room, angel's chorus and the sharp undertow of hell fire.

Vodka pooled on the floor, ice cubes melting in the heat they were generating. The ceiling fan rocking to their rhythm as she bit his shoulder and gasped. He locked eyes with her and watched her soul in those green eyes.

Angel. She smiled. No, just an angle. Always just an angle.

He knew he couldn't have it any other way, couldn't live without her anymore. They completed each other.

Her breath brushed across his shoulder as she slept quietly next to him. Russet eyes watched her breasts move with ever breath. She gasped as his fingers slid over sensitive skin, waking her in an instant.

He rolled her onto the floor and made the world go round.