She was awake. Not that he knew that. There was no reason for him to know. That would make this morning awkward, and she wanted none of that.

An awkward morning would make her feel that people were right, that she was in the wrong. Hey, it's called the 'walk of shame' for a reason, right?

Yet she never felt shame from this. The look, the touches, her name panted out in the dark. No, none of that shamed her. It was her choice. Who were these others, to decide for her what was a good choice? The ones capable of real relationships? They didn't have what it took to judge her. She refused to be called to account on their standards.

So she pretended to sleep. A hand brushed against her cheek, the soft caress almost causing her to give herself away. "Angel..." the sigh burned in her ears. It was the name she always gave in bars, after that one Cyprian. He had told her that when he woke up, he had been sure he was cradling an angel in his arms.

He had understood, and roused her for breakfast. He knew the rules of this game. It was a onetime thing. A way to feel the fire of life again, to feel she was contributing to society. He had recognized the look in her eyes as being one who has not been a child for many years. He had some similar pain, she was sure. But she never asked. It wasn't her business. That was understood between them also.

So they had chatted, in English, and he gave her a pseudonym that she would bear as a reminder that she wasn't the only lost soul offering redemption in the night.

Yes, redemption. People like them didn't go to bars searching for the most attractive, the richest, the smartest. They didn't search for humour or charm or wit. What they looked for, what they found, was hurt. Those with the little voices saying 'I'm not good enough, I'm never enough'. For one night, they were picked by beauty. For one night, they were chosen for ecstasy.

Yes, it was always ecstasy with someone like her. She knew all the right points, said all the right things. It was a night the recipient would never forget.

It was never special enough for her to remember.

Her one night with him was the only night that stood out. It didn't matter the prowess of her partner, the skill or stamina. They were just people that she helped because she could.

It gave her a warm glow, knowing that she'd helped someone that much. She knew the effect, being casually acquainted with one of her partners. Not that he knew that. He never noticed that his morning angel took the same bus as him. Which was good, else she'd have had to change routes, and that would be a pain.

Before her, he sat with his shoulders hunched, nervously keeping his gaze averted. Before her, he'd carried an almost palpable cloud of gloom over him. Now he was different. He was still shy, still unsure of himself, that was what life had made him. But now, he thought 'maybe I can. If I try, maybe I will be enough'. The difference was as obvious as the ring that had found its way onto the hand of the single mother who also took that route every morning. It was as bright as the teddy bear randomly presented to her daughter one morning.

So what if her life wasn't what she wanted? So what if she was forced to take multiple dead end jobs so she could run off and save lives without worrying if she got fired? She could get another day job easily.

When she heard her assumed name bounce off the walls, when she knew she'd rescued another soul from plummeting from grace, she knew it was worth it.

If all she ever does is be the angel of the morning, then that's enough. At least she had the memory of the man she'd titled Mychael to remind her that she wasn't truly alone.

Well, it feels right. This is what my muse gave me, and it's interesting. I'm not exactly sure how it ended up like this thought. It was based off of Juice Newton's Angel Of The Morning. It was supposed to be like that song. *shrug* I'm sure my muse knows what she's up to. Even so, let me know what you think. I think it's wonderful, but I'm not actually sure that I like it...