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*coming around the corner and seeing her standing there, he grins, raising an eyebrow*

I should have known you'd be an Armani girl.

*She shrugs* It was clean and it fit.

And it's the most expensive one of the closet, in the best color to suit you.

*She's honestly surprised by his statement. Her reasons for grabbing this one were so much simpler.* ...it was soft. Didn't rub against the stitches as much.

*he moves closer to her, head cocked to the side, watching her -- she's really quite lovely like this, with his shirt too big on her and her long, long legs* This look . . . it works for you, love.

Uh, thanks. *She's uncomfortable with the way he's watching her and she grabs the pajamas she'd been wearing to change the subject.* Anywhere I can throw these?

There's a hamper behind the shoe-rack in the closet. *he smiles at her, settling down in the chair and watching her* You don't like being complimented, do you?

*She swallows and moves to throw the dirty clothes into the hamper.* Get 'em all the time, no big.

Get them, maybe. But accept them? *he moves from the chair, coming up behind her, giving her a bit of distance but closer now, and when she turns around he takes her chin softly in his hand* Faith Lehane, you are beautiful.

I can take a damn compliment, it's just different coming from you. *She's moving away from him, putting more distance between them.*

*he watches her, frowning slightly* Why is it different coming from me?

Because you have motives beyond just trying to get in my pants. I've seen the real you, know the violence. This? *She gestures at the house, herself, them.* Only gonna last until I'm all healed up.

I told you, this is outside the game, Faith. It doesn't mean that I'm not being honest with you. I've been honest with you this entire time -- telling you exactly what I want and exactly what I think of you. The fact that I'm saying it softly doesn't mean that I'm not saying it truthfully.

The violence isn't all that I am, Faith.

It's enough- I can handle it for now, but it's enough. I don't want to fight for the rest of my life, especially now. You want to know what I want? I want to settle down one day, maybe get a cat. That goes against everything you are. Sex and violence, Azrael. Fun, but not the only thing there is.

We're not fighting now, are we? We don't always have to fight. I just know how you like it, how it gets you hot and kicks up the adrenaline in you.

Get a cat? *he gives her a look* You want to settle down one day, get a cat?

And why does there need to be more to things than fun? Serious matters arise, and are dealt with, in order to allow the fun to continue.

Being around you is a fight. Fight to stay a step ahead, fight not to lose myself, I'm tired of it. Haven't been this exhausted in a long damn time.

*Through gritted teeth, avoiding his look.* Yeah, a cat. Not exactly a big dog person, recent events taken into consideration.

Sometimes things should be calm, lazy, relaxed. All fun all the time, and it stops being fun.

How is it loosing yourself just to talk to me like this? *he's confused -- they're just talking, like normal people. How is this hard?*

Hmm. *he winces a bit at that* Point taken.

*he looks at her, confused again* No, it doesn't. It just keeps a continuation of fun. I mean, it's not like all I do is play, but it's better than the alternative, and just working all the time.

Because you're constantly trying to get in. Don't know what it is I'm gonna say that's gonna give you your next weapon, what I'm going to let slip so I --

*she stops herself.*

Ya know what? Forget it. Really.

It's just talking, Faith. That's all -- not a fight, not a dance. Just simple damn conversation.

Yeah, you're right. Just a simple damn conversation.

Fine! *throws his hands in the air, exasperated* You want to look at it like that, look at it like that. Whatever. *he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, annoyed*

Fine. *She crosses her arms in front of her chest and very sarcastically-* I want kids, a house, and a white picket fence. Happy? How's that for a conversation starter. And my favorite color is purple.

*Dropping the attitude only slightly.*
What the hell are we supposed to talk about Azrael? You made it pretty damn clear you want to break me. Your family is involved because I'm not already broken, and then you wonder why I feel like everything between us is a goddamn fight!

*he frowns* Why would you want those things? I mean, purple's lovely, but the rest of it?

I don't know what we're supposed to talk about, either. But fine -- *his eyes darken a bit* You'd rather we play then try to talk, that's fine. I can do that for you if you'd rather.

I don't *She isn't looking at him and her voice is quiet* but why would I need a reason if I did?

*Her eyes raise to meet his.* And when we do talk, you don't listen. I don't want to play games.

Because it's such a strange desire.

I'm listening now! *he scowls*

It's such a strange desire that half the world wants it? *He didn't seem threatening with that expression on his face, and she pretty much figured she'd regret this later.*

When you get thrown into the whole destiny as a Slayer thing, all that stuff doesn't seem like an option. Normal isn't an option. Guess you just always want what you can't have, even if you didn't want it before; it's just more of a tease when everyone else can. *There it was. Actual honesty.*

*he gives it back to her* Maybe I don't understand that -- normal for me is my life. You've lived surrounded by mortals your whole life, love. You're of them and not of them, so I can understand, to a point, why you would want to be more like them.

But not entirely -- when you have so much more inside you, why would you wish to push it away and settle for something that just anyone can have, as opposed to what's special about who and what you are?

Grass is always greener. *She sighs* Honestly? Dunno, some fucked up wiring women get, this built in desire in the back of your head telling you it's what you're meant to do. God has a sense of humor maybe, warped, but there.

*he frowns* No, that's a societal construct -- god's entirely devoid of humor.

Whatever it is, it's something I want.
*He's being thrown off his game and she allows herself a second to be smug. All the fighting did nothing but turn him on, draw his attention- but simple, boring human wants? Exact opposite, and he'd been the one to give her the idea. Didn't mean she actually had to follow through with any of it, but it was easy enough to pretend.*

Such pedestrian tastes. *he cocks his head, almost studying her* And you think you can rid yourself of your other desires?

*Play the game.* Yeah, been doing it for years now.

*his eyes slip over her body* Then why give in to me, at all?

*She's focusing on her breathing, even and steady.* One last hurrah. Hang that part of my life up in some grand gesture.

*his eyes are still moving over her, sliding slowly over her body, up her long bare legs, down over her breasts* One last, grand hurrah? And you can give that up, after this? Can go and take that part, cut out that side of you, and strap on the apron?

*There are goosebumps breaking out on her skin where his eyes have travelled.* I've done things that were harder, and I look damn good in an apron.

What have you done that's harder?

*he laughs* And nothing else, perhaps.

I survived. Woulda been so easy to just curl up and die, and I didn't. I think that qualifies.