The Flow

rating: r


summary: two lost souls find comfort with each other


author's notes: this is my first faith/angel fic. it just


begs to be made into a series. time will tell. though i just


know if it goes on, buffy's gonna show up and my little b/a


lovin' obsessive heart will crush the budding romance. *g*

In a single human heartbeat, things can change.


"Is it the slayer thing? I mean, I guess I'd understand, you

having a hard-on for slayers. The danger buzz alone . . .

probably why I've got a thing for vampires. I was just sort

of . . . You know, cause of what we just did. I know you

miss B, and . . ."


"Faith, if you have something to say, just say it."


"Is it the slayer thing?"


Cool hands smoothed their way along her pale stomach. His

flesh was no less pale, but it was a result of his

non-existent body temperature, his inability to go out in

the sun. Her pallor came from a fear of daylight, the

inability to look past her own darkness and see the light

she was called into.


That, and the dark make-up under her eyes. Never

underestimate what thick, black circles can do for a girl's



"Why would you ask me that?" His voice was even enough, but

she detected something beneath the surface. A darkness that

rivaled her own, a demon longing to be un-caged, set upon

the world to rip it apart, and howl in its triumph.


A shrug was her answer.


A sigh was his non-verbal contribution to their



"I been outta prison for what . . . a month now? And in case

you haven't noticed, you're hot, and I'm horny on a good



Snorting, he shook his head. "Faith, don't--"


"Don't what? Be honest? Cause I'm telling you, boss, I don't

see how I can afford to be anything but at this particular

point in my life."


He looked down, uncomfortable with the fact that she was

right. His path to redemption was rocky, and he'd been on it

for nearly a hundred years, in one way or another. She'd

been at it barely a year, and already, she seemed to know

more than he did. Slayer's burden, always knowing what was

expected of them, even when it was unfair.


"Don't call me boss. It's creepy now. Makes me feel like a

dirty old man."


A grin split across her face, a genuine one, and he was

pleased to have put it there. "You are a dirty old man."


The unselfish, jovial woman he'd brought home from prison a

month ago was starting to rub off on him. As had happened

with Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn before her, humanity was

starting to re-assert itself in his life. Faith had chased

away the darkness that had almost consumed him, soul or no,

and she'd scared it so terribly he nearly believed it

wouldn't dare return.


With the others, the ones he thought of as his family, he

was terrified on their behalf. It scared him when he thought

about what his enemies might do to their frail, human

bodies, and it horrified him when he thought of what =he=

might be capable of doing to them, body and mind. He

remembered, all too well, the hell his demon had put Buffy

and her friends through.


What kind of man, monster or no, would he be if he allowed

it to happen again, to another set of people who trusted



Faith, though . . .Faith could hold her own. No matter how

deep she got, she would be able to see, to understand if

something went wrong, exactly what she'd have to do. And she

didn't love him like Buffy had, with all her heart and her

considerable strength of conviction. If anything, Faith

loved him like a brother. A brother she'd just had sex with

. . .


Refusing to draw any comparisons with vampire lineage, he

shut that train of thought down quickly. No need to dwell.




His attention was drawn back to her, wide brown eyes filled

with all her insecurities. In that moment, she was

vulnerable to him, and he knew exactly what that cost her.


"Why aren't you evil?"


He couldn't help it. He winced. That was a question he

hadn't wanted her to ask, the answer to which he'd

considered briefly before getting swept away earlier. There

was so much they didn't know about his curse, so much that

was unclear . . . just what was 'perfect happiness,' anyway?

Obviously, given that his soul was still firmly tethered to

his body, it wasn't synonymous with 'orgasm.'


Apparently, the look on his face was all the answer she

needed, because she laughed bitterly. "Right. Not Buffy.

Like I could make someone happy just by screwing them."


Carefully, not wanting to startle her, Angel moved closer to

her until their bodies touched. His palm still rested

against her stomach, and some part of him delighted in the

feel of her breathing.


"I have a theory," he said quietly, noting that she held her

breath, her pulse speeding almost imperceptibly.  "Would you

like to hear it?"


Once more, she allowed an inelegant shrug serve as her



"There is nothing in this world that scares me more than

letting the demon free again. It scares me so badly, that

two years ago, on Christmas, I tried to kill myself."


Her eyes widened, and he felt a pang of gratitude toward

Buffy. The two slayers had been close then, and he was

intensely thankful she'd kept his confidence, not telling

the others how close he'd come to the edge.


"Maybe that fear keeps me from being truly happy. Maybe the

terror is enough to keep my soul with me, no matter what."


Faith nodded, and they both accepted what he said, though it

was a hollow acceptance at best.


"So what now?"


Small and afraid, her voice got his protective hackles up.

Cordelia would call it his knight-in-shining-armor complex.

The sad thing was, he had to agree with her.


Slowly, he let his hand slide along her skin, between her

breasts, his touch as soothing as it was sensual. When his

palm reached her face, he cupped her cheek gently, turning

her head until they were facing one another.


"We go on," he said quietly. "I need you, Faith. Right now I

need you more than I've ever needed anyone."


"You're the one who fired your support system," she

chastised lightly, laying her hand against his chest, over

his un-beating heart.


"I had to," he whispered.


"Shh," she soothed, bringing her other hand to his head,

fingers gently sifting through his hair. "I know. Chances

are, I'd of done the same. Doesn't make it any easier to



Tears stung his eyes at her words. It never got easier in

his life. Only harder. Gently but firmly, she brought his

head to her breast, and he let her, shutting his eyes,

feeling true comfort for the first time in longer than he

could remember at the moment.


"I need you, too," she whispered into his hair.


"I promised to save your soul," he managed to get out, his

throat clogged with tears he would not shed. If he started

crying out all the sorrow in his heart, he would weep for



"So we'll save each other." He felt her smile against his

head. "Things change. Just gotta go with the flow."


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