A/N: This is the love child of bamonvamppancakes' prompt "wings" and a variation of Bruno's prompt "the man saves the angels because vera asked him". I have no idea how it happened but it did. Since I kinda cheated and used both prompts at the same time, I reserve the right to write for each prompt seperately in the future again. xD
Disclaimer: I own neither the show nor the characters. I don't earn any money with this piece. I just do it for fun.
Through the open kitchen door Vera can hear snippets from the discussion taking place in the other room, Raul's hissed protest, Joshua's barely audible agreement, Koa's sharp interjections and Erin's quiet placation, but it's nothing more than background noise to her. Her focus is on the man sitting on one of the stools in front of her, watching her closely with dark eyes.
"Just so we're clear," she says, her voice soft but her eyes hard and narrowed. "I'm only doing this because you saved Nadia and Amy."
"Oh, Vera," he says, his typical smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. "Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired." He chuckles but the sound breaks off half-way as he winces and squeezes his eyes shut, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the counter edge, and something twists inside her.
"Let's just get over with it," she says brusquely to cover her reaction and places the first aid kit she'd been carrying on the counter before starting to rummage through it. This time, there's no witty retort, only the heavy weight of his gaze on her again, but Vera refuses to look up and instead concentrates on the kit and its content, and after a moment, she hears him stand up.
The last emotion she wants to feel regarding him is pity or sympathy, but even she can't deny that his actions today were selfless – saving two people who are not important to his plan at all. It doesn't fit the picture she has of him as the villain in this never-ending story, only thinking about his own goals and needs. He didn't have to step into the path of the explosion that would have otherwise killed Amy and Nadia, but he did, and though the shrapnel hadn't been able to hurt him, the fragments of the Genesis stone that had been part of the bomb and now are stuck in his back certainly did – and still are, which is the reason why they're in this strange situation in the first place.
Vera dares to sneak a peek at him then and in her peripheral vision, she sees him wince again as he carefully slides his arms out of the jacket and lets it drop to the floor before pulling his shirt from his pants and starting to unbutton it. His movements are slow, careful, but she can tell from the slight tension in his jaw that gets more pronounced the longer she observes him that even those are painful. Gone is his otherworldly and almost overpowering persona, right now he's just a man, bruised and battered, a human being, and she finally admits she's been clinging to a black-and-white picture that has turned a hundred different shades of gray a long time ago.
Everything has changed, they have changed, and now the lines that seemed so clear in the beginning are blurred beyond recognition. It should scare her but instead something eases in her chest and she abandons all pretense of going through the kit and turns towards him.
He doesn't react at first, head bent and focused on the buttons of his shirt, oblivious to her observation and decision, and it's only when she's right in front of him that he looks up. There's an expression of surprise crossing his face, a hint of wariness as if he's not sure what to expect, but as she reaches for another button and slips it free, the look melts into one that resembles something close to relief paired with gratitude, and Vera knows she's made the right decision.
Her nimble fingers deal swiftly with the remaining buttons until his shirt hangs open and she can push the soft fabric aside and over the curve of his shoulders, her fingertips brushing across his skin as she does. He hisses out a breath, his whole body going tense, and she freezes, thinking she might have accidentally hurt him, but when she meets his eyes, it's not pain that's etched onto his face.
His expression is focused and strangely intense, his eyes alight with something she can't quite place but that leaves her dizzy and a little lightheaded, and suddenly, Vera is all too aware of his warm and smooth skin under her fingers, his own unsteady breath ghosting over her face. Her heart speeds up as the moment stretches out, a slow tensing winding its way up her spine, and she feels heat rushing to her cheeks. Mortified by her reaction, she looks away and pulls her hands back.
"Sorry." She clears her throat and gestures at the space between them, still avoiding his gaze. "If you turn around it will be easier to remove it."
Part of her expects him to make some sort of remark, he never passes the chance even now that they're on the same team, but he doesn't, stays silent for a moment longer before nodding and following her suggestion, and it's only when his back is to her, she remembers how to breathe normally again – only to be robbed of it again with the next heartbeat as she carefully removes his torn shirt and she sees the whole extent of his injuries for the first time, all thoughts about strange looks and untimely reactions forgotten.
"Oh, my God," she manages to choke out around the burning taste in her throat, her hands covering her mouth. It's worse than anything she could have ever expected. His back is a mess, skin bloody and charred where the still faintly glowing pieces of the Genesis stone are embedded, some deeper than others, still burning the surrounding flesh like acid.
"Quite the punishment, isn't it?" There's something hard in his voice, and Vera drags her eyes away from his back and up to his profile, studying the tense set of his jaw.
"What?" Up to this point she'd thought the meteorite had been nothing more than a means of transportation but from the bitter laugh he gives, it's been far more than that.
"When He sent me down again, He made sure it hurt." A shudder ripples through him and there's a feeling of dread rising in her stomach. "I'm not talking about the psychological suffering I went through by being thrown out of Heaven again but actual physical torture while it happened."
Vera swallows hard as she imagines what it must have been like for him, the pain, the agony, and she struggles to find words of comfort but nothing that comes to her mind seems to fit. Then again, words won't help much, and so she places her hand on his arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, hoping he understands what the gesture is supposed to convey.
He must do because the muscles relax a little under her touch, and he glances at her over his shoulder but the movement pulls at his skin and his face twists into a mask of pain. It's a harsh reminder of why they're actual here and Vera curses herself for just standing idly there instead of helping him.
"Sit down," she tells him firmly and nudges him towards the stool before turning back to the counter. "What do I do?"
"Just pull them out," he answers between shallow breaths. "I will heal as soon as they're removed."
Nodding, she picks up the pair of tweezers she'd laid out earlier and pulls one of the empty fruit bowls closer.
"Ready?" She asks him, but it's her who needs to take a deep breath before she feels at least somewhat ready.
"Yes."
Gently, Vera rests her left hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the way the muscles beneath her fingers bunch, and goes for the first fragment, her right hand trembling slightly. The moment she begins to extract it, he jerks forward and exhales in a hiss through his teeth.
She snatches her hand back and stares at his back with wide eyes. "Sorry, sor—"
"Don't. Just...just keep going." He presses back against her left hand and she takes slow, calming breaths until her heart beats in a steady rhythm again.
When she begins to pull out the fragment this time, and every other one after it, she's prepared for his reactions and doesn't stop even though it feels like the same shards she's removing from his back are stabbing into her heart. She loses track of time and how many shards she's pulling out but finally she drops the last one into the bowl and places the pair of tweezers next to it before turning back towards him.
"That's the las—" She stops abruptly, the sight of his back driving the words straight out of her head. His wounds are closing up one by one, some faster than others, skin knitting together and blood disappearing right before her eyes within a few seconds until his back is smooth and unblemished again – except for a tattoo, black ink on tanned skin.
It's a beautiful design, and mesmerized, Vera traces the black lines with her fingertips, follows the curves and sharp angles, and watches fascinated as the pair of wings seems to come alive under her caress. She feels a shiver run through him just before he arches into her touch and there's an answering slow burn starting at the base of her spine, slowly traveling upwards.
"Vera." His voice is low, rough, and she doesn't know if her name is a warning or a plea. What she does know is that this tension wounding around and between them isn't something new, it has happened before – the first time they met when they both battled for Leland's soul, during their encounter at the bar and later at the mausoleum, and just a while ago when she removed his jacket – and though she's tried to pretend it's the same tension that builds up whenever he and Raul or Joshua meet, part of her has always known it's completely different.
There has always been more to their interactions than to those he has with the others, another layer that has a deeper meaning, but she's never dared to examine it too closely, not because she thinks she's gotten it all wrong but because she's afraid she's been reading him exactly right.
"You knew what would happen to you," she say quietly, a statement, not a question because she knows his answer.
He stiffens slightly. "Yes."
"And yet you didn't hesitate to step in front of Nadia and Amy." Pressing her palm against his back, right above the lines of the left wing, she feels the thudding beat of his heart. "Why?"
"You know why."
And she does. She closes her eyes and starts to pull her hand back but he spins around, his fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist, and her breath catches in her throat as she sees the dark heat in his eyes.
"Vera," he says again, and she will remember forever the way he said her name – like a prayer. She doesn't resist when he tugs at her hand, drawing her into the space between his knees, nor when he reaches up and skims the backs of his knuckles over the curve of her cheekbone.
His fingers linger for a moment, warm against her skin, giving her one last chance to back out, and Vera knows he will stop if she choose to, but even though part of her is scared of what is happening between them, another part of her is welcoming the burning sensation. When her hands rise to rest lightly on his shoulders of their own volition, his eyes sharpen with awareness and he holds her gaze as he slides his hand to the back of her head and leans in.
The first press of his lips to hers is soft and yet the light contact sends a wave of energy through her, drawing a sudden gasp from her, and from there, it's out of control.
He makes a raw sound and threads his fingers through her hair, his other hand releasing her wrist only to finds its way to her back as he stands up and turns them around, crowding her back against the kitchen counter. His mouth is rough on hers, teeth nipping at her lips, tongue a wet slide against hers as he deepens the kiss, persistent and hungry, and all Vera can do is kiss him back.
It feels as if she's caught in a raging fire and a rainstorm at the same time, one second invisible flames are licking at her skin, the next it's like ice cold raindrops are landing on her skin, every part of her body is sensitized, and she arches into him, moaning softly. One of her hands curls behind his neck, the other clutches at his back, fingernails digging into the lines drawn across his skin, and he pulls away to look at her, breathing harshly.
Darkness rises behind him, drawing her gaze, and something hot and dark blooms inside her as she realizes what it is. Slowly, he spreads his wings, shadows streaked with hellfire, dark and terrifying, and yet strangely fascinating and beautiful in their own way. A thrill runs up her back, a cool thrickle that settles just below her shoulder blades, and even before Vera catches sight of herself in the glass door of the cupboard behind him, she knows that her own wings are unfolding.
Her gaze flicks back to his, and there's a red glimmer in his eyes but it's not threatening, not at all, and when he slowly pulls hers closer and lowers his head again, she—
"Vera?"
Erin's voice brings the world to a screeching halt, and Vera jerks back with a gasping breath, trembling hands falling to her side, her pulse racing in her throat, but then his fingers tighten in her hair and the slight twinge bursts through the moment of panic.
"Are you...alright?" Erin adds, sounding confused, and Vera looks over his shoulder to the doorway but through the shadows of his wings, Erin is nothing more than a blurry spot, and realization dawns on her - his wings are hiding them from sight. There's the sound of footsteps coming closer, more blurry shapes joining Erin's, then Raul's voice, demanding to know what the hell is going on here, but Vera doesn't really pay attention to them.
Hers is on the man still staring at her, locked down in silence and expression blank, any signs of what happened in the last few minutes erased, and for a moment, she doesn't know what to make of it. But then there's a flicker of resignation behind his dark eyes, barely noticeable, and suddenly Vera understand.
"I'm fine, Erin," she says without breaking away from his gaze.
"This doesn't look fine at all!"
"Raul, stop. It's okay." She tilts her head slightly, studying his face for a moment, and then adds, "Everything is okay."
And it is. It doesn't matter what the others think, what's important is how she's handling it, and she won't hide behind walls again. Vera gives him a soft smile, and fire bleeds into his gaze until nothing is left of his hard stare, the corner of his mouth turning up. His hands drop away from her to the counter edge on either side of her body as he folds his wings in, letting them disappear into the tattoo again, and his smirk widens at the sudden intake of breath coming from the others followed by furious whisper.
"Thank you," he murmurs, stepping back, his fingers grazing hers as he does, and she fights the urge to shiver, acutely aware of the others watching them. From the knowing glint in his eyes, he's done it on purpose, but before she can react, he's gone, leaving her to deal with the five angels, their expressions ranging from curious to suspicious.
As she's besieged by the others, Vera lets her thoughts wander back to him. They're not perfect and what they have is against every rule in Heaven and Hell, but given the chance, they could have something worth fighting for, and maybe it is this something which will finally break the cycle of each generation having to prove to God that humanity is worth saving from the Rapture.