Yay, for finding old things on your hard drive you had written months ago and forgotten about. There are probably a lot of grammar problems (not to mention bad word choices) here, so if you find something and have an idea for fixing it please tell me. Then I can fix it, and not feel completely incompetent at writing. And just as a warning, there is some slight shoujo-ai-ishness here.
The first thing Angel did once she was alone was check for the scars. It was a childish gesture, one that she felt slightly embarrassed and self conscious of, even as she hid in the locked bathroom of her locked room.
She started at the curve of her spine, spreading her finger tips out across the smooth skin. Less than a day ago, searing welts and gashes had marked that area in testament to Vera's anger or madness. Even now, when Angel closes her eyes she can feel the whip clawing into her, the horrible crack of skin breaking and tearing interrupted only by Vera's voice so horribly familiar.
But now that skin was smooth, as if none of it ever happened, so Angel continued her trail until she hit the age old birth marks on the starting on the curve of her shoulder blade. She ran her fingers down them, as she did countless times as a child, feeling the same familiar indentation and curve that she had so many years ago.
She's still not sure why she had expected the scars to disappear, or what it means that they haven't.
Maybe she really is an angel, or a demon, or a god. Or maybe she is truly nothing now.
She almost asked Roger a number of times, but the moment just never seemed to open itself. Ever time her mouth opened to voice the fears, and insecurities that were still strewn so deep inside of her they would have to be torn and ripped out, she stopped herself. Angel is happy with the way things are at the moment, a first for her really, and she is wary of doing anything to change it.
She once even considered asking for Dorothy's opinion. She likes the sharp witted android more than she would previously have thought possible.
It started after a ridiculous argument with Roger over his inane house rules, specifically the necessity of all inhabitants to dress as if a funeral procession were in session. Angel, who had quickly become more than a flash of color in the back ground, not only flat out refused, but began to launch a campaign to bring more color in to the house. The details aren't important to anyone at the moment, just as they weren't particularly important at the time.
The important thing is that after the shouting had died down a little, and they had both left screaming separate directions, Angel had met Dorothy in the hallway. Before she had time to process what she was doing, Angel had pulled Dorothy along for the majority of the afternoon in search of clothes suitable to be worn among the living in a vengeful display of feminine bonding. Somewhere between the multitude of vibrant colors Angel had forced on the stoic android, and the particularly pleasing discussion of Roger's less than ideal personality traits, they both fell into an easy, amicable relationship, one which they never quite found the inclination to fall back out of.
She suspects Dorothy is beginning to like her as well. Her face grows more eager and open, even more human.
Which absurd in it's own way since she isn't really a human, since none of them really are. But they somehow climbed to the point where that no longer matters
Dorothy even smiles sometimes now. Angel knows those smiles aren't for her, just as she knows the vivacious flame burning in the corners of Roger's eyes, the relaxed looseness of his jaw aren't hers either. She may be part of the reflection, but Angel's not quite part of the portrait itself. She's not quite content with the situation, but she's teaching herself to be.
Angel stays with them for the most part now. It can't be said that she really lives there, since she still has her apartment somewhere in the city. She knows that one day she will have to return to her own life, but at the moment no one pressures her to leave, and she is grateful for that.
There was one day, though, in which she knew, irrevocably and undeniably the way things would be. She had seen the tilt in Roger's smile for months, but Dorothy's features were always so plain, so somewhere deep inside she still held a tiny trace of hope.
Ironically enough it was a romantic movie which changed that. Dorothy had suggested it. Actually she had just asked about it as they passed by, and Angel had jumped at the chance to show Dorothy the experience. Sometimes it feels as if by teaching Dorothy to become more human, Angel herself can remove the deeply rooted insecurities of her own origin.
She didn't think Dorothy would be quite that quick to learn though.
"Why did they kill themselves at the end, "Dorothy asks as soon as the bleak movie had ended, and they situate themselves in the back of some cheap diner, pretending to be old girlfriends, or acquaintances, or anything other then what they are.
"Because they were in love, I suppose." It isn't a question Angel expected, nor is it one she feels equipped to answer.
"So when a person is in love, they do that."
"Well, not generally, no. But sometimes. Among other things," Angel isn't sure if it is amusement, sadness, or uncertainty which make her chose the words so carefully. She tilts her head slightly and realizes she has moved so close to the red head that she can see the momentary freeing of her features as the android process this information.
"I don't understand," is the mechanical reply after a moment's contemplation.
Angel is practically on top of Dorothy already, and it is so easy to lean into Dorothy, to take her face in her hands and demonstrate her point, that she does it without thought.
Dorothy's eyes fix on her, and if Angel had been a few inches apart, the mechanical gaze would have stopped her instantly. But since their skin is already touching, since she can already feel Dorothy underneath the delicate softness of her lips, and the electric sensitivity in her finger tips, she simply closes her eyes and gives herself to the kiss.
She hadn't meant for it to be like this, hadn't meant for it to happen at all, but the feel of the Dorothy being so close to her and so far at the same time seems to strike something in side of Angel which is why she pushes harder against Dorothy. She brushes a hand against Dorothy's cheek, still room temperature, and when that provokes no response, she wraps herself around the girl's neck, pulling her closer until she can feel every deceptive curve of her body.
Dorothy doesn't respond, but she allows Angel to pull them together, and doesn't pull away as Angel caresses with her hands, and her tongue, and her fear. Angel feels the lack of response, and she knows she should back off, but there's something she still needs there, so she continues roll against her.
Dorothy, for her part, processes the situation as Angel positions their faces next to each other, and arranges her hands around Dorothy's shoulders in support. They strain and shift to her upper back, and their muscles both contract, their tension playing off each other. Angel's skin is pale and rosy, but now that it touching her, Dorothy realizes how warm and alive it is. Angel places a hand against her cheek, and the change in enthalpy as her body heat drifts slightly into Dorothy causes slight patches of warmth to rise between them. Angel's sticky, slightly chalky lipstick strengthens the bond between their lips, and as Angel's mouth twists wider, the surface friction created by flesh and the dry compounds coating Angel's lips causes Dorothy to do the same.
And beneath it all, beneath the motion, and friction, and soft, warm textures, stands the base of something else entirely, something Dorothy cannot find the vocabulary to categorize.
So the Dorothy does nothing. Merely watches with calculating eyes, that Angel tries desperately not to feel, and allows Angel guides her though this kiss, even as she gets lost in it herself.
When Angel final releases her from the probing kiss, allowing her hands to drop away, and her eyes to open once again, she scans Dorothy as if trying to gauge her reaction. They are still so close that Dorothy can feel the change in pressure Angel's short breaths cause in the air separating them, can still feel waves of energy radiating off Angel and into her.
Angel looks away, then, slightly ashamed, although completely unrepentant. She suddenly remembers that they are in a public place. She has done far worse in far less discreet locations, but it's still nice to pretend to uphold decorum, so she folds her hands in her lap and waits.
Dorothy, doesn't move away, but turns to the side. The feel of Angel's breath, and her human warmth aren't necessarily unpleasant, but because she needs space before she can work out this new information.
Angel takes a few steps once Dorothy has turned her back to her, and even though the image of Dorothy turning away from her is painful enough, others soon rush to feel her mind. She sees Dorothy telling Roger about this moment. Instinctively she knows that will never happen, and, at any rate, she is not particularly concerned about it. That image is just a cover up to distract her from the far more disconcerting image.
The image of Dorothy and Roger, laying together one day, as close as she and Dorothy were moments early. She images their smiles, their peace at that moment. That flesh will meet flesh and they will not need to compete or search to be filled by each other. And Angel thinks that, maybe when that day comes, and the two are existing together in those moments which will seclude her entirely, some thin tendril of this moment and of her will remain.
That image isn't horrible. The thought itself only became terrible in the way her heart leapt when she conceived it, and her mind screamed yes in spite of herself, and then she noted, with a less amusement than usual, that maybe all those bad things that were said about her were true after all.
When Dorothy seems to come to some conclusion, she turns back to Angel. Her eyes are bright and living once again, but her gaze goes right through Angel as she asks with a newfound note of anticipation or confidence, "So this is what people do when they are in love?"
Angel smiles, and turns to face Dorothy, because even now she doesn't want to leave. She stays silent though because, as much as she wishes she could answer, she can't.