Shadows danced across his walls like ballerinas, forever twirling in their pink little leotards that stretched over perfect, lean bodies and straight toes balancing as they twirled and twirled, and he was mesmerized at the grace which they moved. Staring, staring at the shadows moving and leaping and soaring across the across his walls from the high window above his head, a teeny tiny rectangle that he could see nothing but blue skies out of. And fluffy clouds like the sweet marshmallows he used to eat by the truckload that coated his mouth and his lips with the sugar that he loved so much. Especially in the steaming cups of dark coffee that burned his tongue but he drank it anyways because no one would believe he was a mature adult if he didn't and he wanted to show that he could at least attempt to appear responsible. But it always tasted more like hot chocolate after all the sweeteners and the creamers and the sugar but it was the thought that counted.
Did anything ever count anymore? Other than the brilliant dances of light and dark on the otherwise plain walls, such graceful dances yet never the pure beauty he remembered. Such pure beauty that lays in the forefront of his mind; the wide, innocent green eyes and perfectly parted hair revealing such soft, round cheeks that easily flushed pink from the littlest of things, and the way his bottom lip jutted out slightly farther than his top lip to make a heart shape, glittering in the light as the tip of his pink tongue slid from right to left in concentration and he just looks like an angel. He is an angel who saved him from himself, and not even the grace of professional ballerinas dancing in sync to the light tinkering and flows of the orchestra could even begin to compare to all his stuttering, blushing, geeky beauty.
The door opened and he jumped, eyes spinning and he tried to stand but the world spun and the walls melded away so he fell back down to his seat in the corner, pulling his knees to his chest and drank in the image of his guardian angel, standing before him in all his glory, as if not a day was past from the time he became his savior. "How are you today, Tony?"
Every bit of him so stunning. The patience in his voice and the calm timbre made him shiver and pull his arms close to his chest, wishing to feel nothing more than those arms around his torso once again, like the night he was found. He couldn't bring himself to speak, entranced by the image, in disbelief, watching he sat across from him, badge glinting in the light pouring in from the high window that Tony couldn't touch, not even on his tippy toes with his ugly, clunky hands reaching upwards. "Tony?"
He knew he was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't stop staring at the way the sun streaked his face he could only see half of the sweetness he knew, like the Phantom of the Opera, and Tony had always liked the way the way the mask accentuated the Phantom's better half and it definitely worked for his own angel of music. "…Probie?"
His laugh sounds weak and shaky, yet Tony doesn't seem to notice much. He can still make his Probie laugh, just like always. He was the funny guy, the jokester, everyone always laughed at his jokes and even if they didn't, he flashed that million dollar smile and everything was alright again.
Nothing was alright, and hadn't been for a while. No matter how much he smiled. "Things are so different without you, Tony. Gibbs is even stricter than before. Can you believe it? And…and I finally published Rock Hollow. Everyone missed Tommy, so much more than McGregor. He really steals the lime light."
Tony wouldn't have noticed that his guardian was crying if he hadn't paused to sniffle slightly and wipe his reddening cheeks. And then it became the most obvious thing in the world; the droplets slowly falling from red-rimmed eyes, dripping red raw tracks down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, to slightly wet his otherwise perfectly starched shirt. His arms felt like lead when he lifted them, wrapping them around the shoulders of his Probie…
…who pulled away from him, out of his grasp, out of his arms, to stand and wipe his face some more, trembling within his clothes, which shook like an earthquake within his body. "I can't, Tony. I can't let myself get any closer than I already am. I-I just…I…"
Tony didn't understand, but he nodded anyways. Smiling the same smile all the ladies fawned over and impressed Gibbs with and tried to impress Probie with but he was pretty sure he failed on that front. Hiding, trying to pretend that his heart wasn't cracking slowly and painfully within his chest, catching on fire to spread as if his internal organs were a forest, crushing his insides like Godzilla crushed the city of Tokyo and all its poor little Japanese inhabitants. He could almost feel the vibrations of its big monster feet if he imagined hard enough, but he was starting to get distracted by the stingy prickling in his eyes that always resulted when he focused too hard on the screens when he had to watch hours and hours of security tapes in one sitting, but this time his focus was being softened and then blurred and oh god, he couldn't see his Probie any longer, and images were all he had to go on. "…please…" He whispered, his smile turning into a grimace but it was still there, even though it could have been mistaken for pain or just cynicism but he just wanted things to be alright again. "…please…"
Probie turned around again, slowly, to sit back down across from Tony again, who was marveling over how smooth and shimmery his angel looked through the tears, almost like the ray of light that had moved ever so slightly so instead of only half of his body encased in light, his entire back was, and he truly became an angel in his glistening eyes. All he needed were the wings, magnificent white wings like the guy from X-Men that shed the kind of large feathers that people sharpen and make quills out of that never bend or break and loose any of the little fine strands that were so soft against fingertips because they were protected by the magic of angels. Tony figured he was just hiding his wings so he didn't frighten anyone, even though Tony would never be frightened by something like that. Stretching out his hand, Probie's thumb wiped a tear from his cheek, trembling as his palm lingered on the side of his face, and he couldn't even fathom a reason for his guardian to be shaking. "Don't worry, Probie," He whispered, his voice rough and gravelly from disuse and thirst, "We're going to fly away together. Right? You're going to spread those angel wings and fly us out of here."
He stared at Tony for a long moment, a moment that his lungs burned and burned because air just wasn't finding its way down to them like it used to be able to. His hand had fallen from the side of his face, and he yearned to feel its heavy warmth again, anywhere on his body, he wasn't too picky where, so long as he felt it. "I have to get back to work," His angel's voice squeaks out, like a mouse that's being squeezed and squeezed and all it can do is wriggle and squeak out wordless protests. "You know how Gibbs can get. See you, Tony."
And then Probie is out of the room, so fast his shoulder hits the doorframe with a slight thump and the door hasn't even had time to shut properly before he disappeared from view. Not even a minute later, a nurse appears, lean body fit into her tiny little white dress and all he can think about was those wings. Fly me out of here, Angel.