A/N: Sorry no internet for a few days... enjoy!
Angel wondered why it was always so difficult to get fingerprint ink off your fingers, even when you used a wet cloth. She smirked when it crossed her mind that it was almost like law enforcement agencies wanted to brand you as their own, no matter what side of the law you resided. While repeatedly swiping at her discoloured fingertips, she paused and had anyone been looking, they would've seen her face grow pale when she suddenly realized she was, in fact, branded. Or at least she would be. Today she'd be forever marked as either Angelique Deville or Penelope Garcia and in a few minutes, she'd either be leaving with her doubts erased, or her fears confirmed. Moisture gathered in her eyes as she discovered she didn't know which outcome she preferred. Before her tears could gain momentum and start to fall, she blinked rapidly and fought for control. She then turned towards J.J. and quietly spoke.
"I'll be right back. I'm just going to go to the washroom and wash the rest of this ink off my hands." Not waiting for a response, Angel stood and walked away, unaware of J.J.'s watching eyes.
Pushing past the door to the washroom, she immediately walked over to the row of sinks and began scrubbing almost viciously at her fingers. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and got control of her runaway emotions. As she rinsed her soapy hands clean, something in her reflection captured her attention. Raising her eyes a fraction of an inch, she realized what caught her eye and her hands stilled. Her body was partially bent over the sink as she washed, and it caused a small gap to open in her top. Through the opening, a small, blush-coloured shape was visible. Slowly she turned off the running tap and dried her trembling hands. With fumbling fingers, she undid the top button and gently pushed the fabric apart. There nestled just above the lacy trim of her bra, lay a heart-shaped birthmark... including the ornate script inlay at it's center. With a light touch of her fingertip, Angel softly traced the letters. They were of such artistic script and intricate design that she never even once considered they could be actual letters, though she still remained unconvinced that they were the D and M that Morgan claimed.
Abruptly, a cloudy image of a tattoo gun at her breast and pair of tightly entwined hands at her side, promptly flashed through her mind and it was gone before she could focus on the hazy details. It disappeared so fast, she couldn't even be certain it was her sitting in the chair, but no other explanation made any sense. Although the appearance of the image was startling, it was neither unfamiliar nor entirely unexpected. It surfaced each and every time she paid any attention to the marking on her chest, increasingly so in the last two months, but with never more detail than that one brief glimpse. This time, determined not to let the possible memory disappear again without a fight, Angel redoubled her efforts to remember the day she got the tattoo. It was something she'd been unable to do, even before Morgan pointed out her lack of other memories. The problem was she never told anyone, so she couldn't figure out how he even found out about it. But it was time for her to find out if he was right, one way or another. With Morgan's words still ringing in her ears, she closed her eyes in concentration and brought the fuzzy image back. Then she began to focalize her undivided attention on individual details, rather than the whole picture.
Gradually, the details began to sharpen and her heart rate sped up a few notches as a result. Now she could easily see the deep purple of a one piece bathing suit and a pair of worn, fraying jean shorts covering what was now without a doubt, her body. Draped casually over the arm of the chair was a gauzy, abstract patterned, blouse. At her side she was tightly gripping someone's hand for support, but the harder she tried to focus on who the hand belonged to, the blurrier the image became. Not wanting to lose the memory completely, Angel let it go and tried a different tact. Instead of focusing on what she could see, she decided to try focusing on what she could feel and hear.
Freeing her mind from the pressure of trying to see, she began to feel the sharp, stinging bites of the tattoo needle and could hear the buzzing of the gun's motor. With each tiny nip to her delicate flesh, her hand tighten its grip, and the grip was immediately returned by what was without doubt a masculine hand. A light smattering of kisses rained down on the top of her head when she turned her face away from the work being done to her body. Her cheek pressed reassuringly against the solid warmth of his chest, the accompanying scent of cologne both familiar, as well as instantly comforting and reassuring. At the same time, the scent frustratingly remained completely unknown and elusive.
Angel now understood why whenever she smelled that particular cologne, it always made her smile and brightened her day, yet simultaneously lit her candle and turned her page. But she still could not quite place to whom it belonged. It was obvious she knew the man at her side, but could not bring her mind to identify him by scent and touch alone. It was there tickling at her, poking at her, and nudging her from behind as it played a haunting game of blindfolded tag with her awareness. Quickly letting the wayward thought go for now, she cautiously eased herself back into the memory, surprisingly still within her grasp. Concentrating on her senses once more, she could feel a gentle and rhythmic glide of fingertips slide over her hair, before they brushed soothingly across her cheek. The deep timber of his voice made her shiver in awareness, pleasure, and even happiness, as he softly murmured calming and supportive words in her ear. Then he brought their joined hands to his lips before dipping his head to claim her lips for his own.
The kiss she felt had her lips tingling in complete remembrance, the simple words she heard had her eyes snapping open in full recognition, and she was thrust her back into the present with an almost painful and alarming jolt. Her mind's correlating image was now complete and in vivid, breathtaking Technicolour - the single memory now fully and electrifyingly intact. Angel didn't have to wonder who the 'he' was anymore. She knew the answer beyond a shadow of a doubt. She knew his smell, his touch, his voice. And she most assuredly knew his lips and his kisses. In fact, if that memory was anything to go by, it told her to believe he knew her better than she knew herself.
"Oh frack," She softly uttered.