Title: Lost things
Author: Sarah
Feedback: Love it, please leave it. . .positive or negative
Pairing: Angel and Collins. . .again
Word Count: 1,043
Rating: Umm. . .R, just for safety
Genre: Angsty
Summary: Angel finally explains herself.
Notes: Sequel to Harder, Faster.

Special Thanks: Once again to the usual suspects. eudaimon,joannespm,scotsinkilts,sflynn, andshillaire for reading, betaing, and just in general encouraging and inspiring me.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Discussions of rape, sex, prostitution
Disclaimer: I own neither RENT nor Playing by Heart (can anyone spot the reference?)

Lost things came to him. When something small but important was lost, he merely had to look calmly, eventually he would find it. Or it found him, she could never be sure. He said it was because he looked, because he was patient, but she knew it was because he was magic. It was the same with her. He thought she had been the one to rescue him in that alleyway, but she believed with all her heart that she had been drawn to him; a lost thing, needing him to find her. She didn't need to be found; she needed him to find her. There was a difference, she knew. It was subtle, but despite outward appearances, she was a creature of subtlety. That he knew. A sigh, a glance, a twist of the lips, it all meant something with her, and the widening of an eye or the lift of an eyebrow spoke volumes to him.

Which is why I should have known.

But he did know. It was something in her, some inner melancholy, beneath her effervescent personality. He saw it right away. Saw something broken in her eyes the moment she first spoke to him. It was faint, and hidden, but he found it. Because he looked, because he was patient. That first night, when he had asked why she had been so insistent, so ardent, even then he'd realized it. She was lost, broken, and needed him. Needed him to find her, restore her trust: in humanity, in men. He hadn't asked her again what the broken thing was, why she needed him to hurt her physically. The bruises healed and he trusted she would tell him. The night she finally told him seemed like any other; he came home, made her dinner, and woke her gently with kisses:

"Angel-baby, I'm home."
"Mmmph."
"Not awake yet baby?" he teased, mouth mere inches from her ear. She smiled without opening her eyes at his breath tickling her.
"No."
"Well c'mon, sleepy girl," he murmured, pressing kisses into her neck. "It's time to eat."
"Mmm-kay." She stretched, grinned, and offered him a kiss, which he happily accepted.

During dinner, her mood shifted, as it did from time to time. She became quiet, pensive. He knew from experience that the best way to handle her quiet moods was to leave her alone. If he pushed her, she would become reticent. If he left her alone, eventually she would talk to him.

"Honey. D'you remember that first night?"
"Do I ever." He grinned at the memory and glanced at her, expecting to find a similar expression on her face. She merely looked pensive and more than a little sad. "What's wrong, babe?"
"It's just . . . I've been thinking about that night and what made me do that a lot lately."
"Yeah?" he asked softly, afraid that if he spoke loudly she'd stop talking.
"Yeah," she replied, not meeting his gaze, sipping her tea. A long silence fell between them.
It almost killed him, seeing her face, so uncharacteristically melancholy, and being unable to do anything about it. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she smiled again, but instead he just waited, warming his hands on his own mug of tea. Finally, she spoke.
"Honey, I'm sure you know that before I met you, before all this, I had . . . something of a different life."
He nodded. She'd never spoken of it before, but he had his suspicions.
"I had to make money somehow, and well, I . . . I . . . "
He inhaled sharply, wanting to say something, to keep her from saying anything which might hurt her, but she lay her hand on his arm and stopped him.
"I'm sure you can guess what I did." She continued, stronger now. "There was more than one occasion where it went bad. One night, I got in a fight with a guy about paying. Luckily, I had muscle to back me up and I got my money." She paused a moment, gathering her courage and looked into his eyes for the first time since she'd started speaking. The pain he saw there was almost too much for him to bear. "The next night, he came back to find me. He said that I wasn't worth that much, but since he'd paid, he wanted his money's worth. I was alone and he . . ." She paused again, and he hoped against hope that he wasn't going to hear what he suspected. Her eyes remained dry as she continued, but he found himself beginning to tear up. "I was afraid of sex for a long time after that. I was almost glad when I got my HIV results. Meant I had to quit. Before that night with you, I hadn't had sex with a man who . . . wasn't paying for almost three years. Hadn't had it at all in more than a year. When I met you, I knew you were different. You were the one. I couldn't control myself and it was breathtaking. I needed for you to hurt me though. I couldn't explain it then, but I've thought a lot about it since and I guess I needed to know that I could trust you enough to hurt me and for it to be safe. Does that make any sense?" She looked up at him with her huge eyes and he could no longer hold it back. He wept openly, pulling her forehead to his.
"Yeah, baby. In a weird way it really does." He watched her for a minute, seeing the tension melt from her body. "Did it work?" he asked, softly. "Is it better now?"
She smiled faintly. "Yes," she replied, in a voice so quiet he could hardly hear her. "It did. It is. I don't know why, but it worked."

They say that the thing about falling in love is that you learn so much about the other person, and so quickly. And in turn you learn about yourself; what it is about you that is so lovable. Through him, she learned that she was beautiful. He learned that he was magic.