Disclaimer: Becca Fitzpatrick owns any Hush, Hush characters that may appear in this story. Most of this fiction is purely from my imagination. Please do not post it elsewhere without my express permission. No copyright infringement intended.

Songs that inspired me:

FRESH PAIR OF EYES by Brooke Waggoner
FLATTERY by Aly & AJ
GLITTER IN THE AIR by P!nk
MASSIVE ATTACK by Paradise Circus
EXIT WOUNDS by The Script
POISON & WINE by The Civil Wars

. . . THIRTY SECONDS TICKED BY BEFORE I HEARD VEE'S VOICE FLOAT THROUGH MARCIE'S BEDROOM WINDOW. (Fitzpatrick 228)

Oh Thank God! I thought, my heartbeat racing, even with this new found relief. I undoubtedly had faith in Vee's ability to lie effortlessly on the spot. It didn't take her much to come up with a distraction.

"What?" Marcie cried out, the shrill sound of it enough to erase any confidence I had in Vee just a moment ago. "I don't see any police cars."

I huffed exasperatedly and silently cursed Vee for drawing Marcie's attention out her window, where I was currently lurking. And the cops? It'd be a huge scene if the cops actually showed up. There'd be flashing blue and red lights and frantic teenagers loitering out on her yard trying to avoid ending up in the back of a cop car tonight. As far as I could tell there was no sign of distress downstairs.

If only Vee could work on her subtlety.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, half hoping if I couldn't see her then maybe—by some inane chance—she couldn't see me too. I just desperately hoped Marcie would not open her window and look out. Who knows what she would do if she found me here like some kind of obsessed psycho perv? She'd probably call everyone out to laugh and taunt me then leave me there stranded for days.

I mentally shuddered at the idea.

"So?" She snapped. I didn't hear what Vee said but somehow she still had Marcie's attention. "It's a party."

"Yeah and we're all underage." Vee countered. "What's mommy and daddy gonna think when they have to pick you up at a precinct because a couple of guys were knocking back booze and who knows what else?"

Finally I heard the glorious sound of Marcie's dagger-like high heels receding. My body almost sagged in relief.

I waited for the lights to blink off before I made any move. I leaned up hesitantly on Marcie's windowsill, cautiously aware of my foot placement and that I barely had anything to grab onto if I slipped. Using my left arm as support to hold myself up, I pushed up on the window pane with my right.

I frowned. The window didn't budge.

I pushed again, harder this time. I made sure to lean up on my forearm and press my right hand higher while my left hand worked lower, practically grunting with the effort but . . . nothing.

The bitch locked her window!

Panicking, I smacked my hand against the glass pane, not sure what good could from it. Maybe someone was still outside Marcie's bedroom and if they heard the noise I was making, they'd come in to investigate. Or maybe Vee was coming back; she was just waiting for a chance to sneak past Marcie. I didn't care weather it was the former or the latter.

Glancing down from my perch on the roof, I felt my breathing accelerate. I smacked against the window again, with no real hope.

Suddenly, a buzzing erupted in my pocket. Idiotically, that's when I remembered I had my cell phone! I wanted to thunk myself across the head. Eagerly, I dug into my pocket for my phone, hoping I was right and Vee would be coming to my rescue anytime soon.

My hopes faltered when I saw Patch's number lighting up my screen, and in a moment of stunned-surprise, I forgot where I was and lost my support on the windowsill. My body sagged, causing my foot to slip off the edge. I struggled to grab onto to anything, the hard edges of the shingles digging into my torso as I slid down the roof like melting ice.

I shrieked a hoarse sound that barely escaped my throat. My voice felt strangled; I was too scared to scream.

I felt the wind explode around me—sort of like when air escapes a balloon all at once—when arms snaked around my waist. My body recognized these arms, along with the rest of his muscles and hard lines like a reflex. I was no longer plummeting, but sort of . . . just . . . suspended. Time seemed to slow down dramatically and for a moment, Patch and I were in our own bubble . . . My heart was hammering and my adrenaline was spiked because of the rush of falling and my sudden nearness to Patch. He was all warm and solid and minty.

Finally we touched down on the ground, landing gently like a loose feather. We didn't move. I sort of couldn't. It hit me hard how much I missed this kind of contact with Patch, being this close. It made me confused and conflicted and flustered with this ongoing battle with myself to stay away from him.

I didn't get why the arch-angels wanted to hurt Patch but I understood that if I wanted Patch around, we couldn't be together in the way that I'd hoped we'd always be. But that didn't mean I didn't need space. It was too soon to be around Patch so much because I still missed him, I still wanted him. We had broken up days ago so I didn't expect the feelings we had for each other—whether it was love or not—to just vanish . . . even if Patch made it look that easy. And since he was my guardian angel, that meant Patch would be around me in some, way, shape or form, protecting me . . . like now.

You're trembling . . .

I was no doubt a little shaken up, but being around Patch made me feel unsettled. I felt too aware of him—his hard lines and warm touch, the way he always smelled like earth and soap . . . the way his fingers were grazing a piece of skin peeking out from under my tank top. It was all too intimate and my face warmed when I thought of all times we did get too intimate. It was all unnerving.

Avoiding his dark eyes, I sat up and moved off him. But I felt emotionally too exhausted to get up. I sat there with my arms wrapped around myself, trying to chase away the last of his lingering warmth. I wanted nothing more than to get away from Patch but my feet wouldn't move. Leisurely, Patch sat up himself, ducking to get a good look at me because I was hanging my head and my hair did a great job at hiding my face. This gave Patch the initiative to reach out and try to push my hair back.

I flinched away instinctively and met his gaze. A small line formed between his brow, his otherwise controlled expression a look of concern or confusion. He stayed silent as he dropped his hand back to his side.

"I think you should stay away from me." I started quietly. I tried to gauge his reaction but he was the epitome of the expression 'calm and collected'. "I'm trying really hard to forget about you but you keep showing up everywhere and when you do I can't, can't think straight." I continued and managed to look him in the eyes while I quietly admitted, "I don't want to want you."

Looking away, almost uncomfortably, he rubbed his jaw in that thoughtful gesture I'd come too gotten used to and sighed. He stood, clasping his hands behind his head and turned away from me. All I could do was watch him. After a moment to himself, he dropped his hands and turned back to me.

"I was ready to head home. Did you plan on staying a little later?" he asked me quietly.

I wasn't sure if this was an invitation or not.

"It is." He answered directly. My eyes shifted toward Marcie's house where the party was still in full swing. Vee still hadn't shown up looking for me and I was a little miffed by it. I could've gotten seriously hurt just now, all because Vee had forgotten about me. No matter, Vee would bitch me out tomorrow if I ditched her at Marcie's party.

Patch gave a short laugh. "Vee can handle herself just fine without you."

I frowned. He was really getting to me now. He didn't have any right to invade my thoughts and I'm sure I never gave him any permission either. I didn't like being on full display.

"Sorry."

"And you're doing it again!" I exploded.

Patch laughed again. "I'm sorry. Really," He smirked. "I'm just trying to catch where you train of thought is. You're not as predictable as I make you out to be." He admitted. He crouched down so that we were somewhat leveled and trained his expression into one of sincerity. "Can I drop you home? I'll even buy takeout. Mexican, Italian, Chinese . . . whichever." He offered.

I looked up at him. "Did you hear anything I just said? Patch, I need space."

"I get that," He murmured his hand ghosting over my hair. "just not tonight. You almost got hurt."

I sighed. "Takeout sounds good."

†•†•†

It was about 10:00 when Patch rolled up in front of the farmhouse. With all the lights off, the rickety old place looked haunted and hollowed out. My mom was out again for the night and I wouldn't expect her until late afternoon tomorrow. Since dating Patch, we were always together so I wasn't alone as often as I used to be. I had forgotten how lonely it could get.

"What are you thinking?" Patch whispered. We had driven the whole way relatively silent and I guess he didn't want to shatter the silence we had grown comfortable with.

"I'm thinking," I murmured quietly. "I want to eat outside. Under the stars." I didn't know what it was about the outskirts of town, but the stars seemed to burn brighter out here. I guessed that since there weren't as many lights or pollution to cloud up the night like in town, more stars glittered up the night like diamonds on a sheet of black. It sounded childish aloud, but for once the fog that normally surrounded the farmhouse was almost non-existent. It was typically like that during the summer.

I watched Patch step out of the Jeep Commander and walk around to my side. Like a gentlemen, he helped me out and hoisted me up on the hood of his car, his gaze boring into mine.

I shuddered a little.

He hopped up beside me on the hood, placing our bag of Chinese takeout in my lap. I stayed silent as he leaned back and closed his eyes, his hands resting on his abs . . . he looked content . . . With my small box of lo mien in my hands, I leaned back against the windshield as well and gazed up at the stars.

We stayed like that for a minute.

"What's it like in heaven?" I wondered aloud. It was such an abrupt question; it must've caught him off guard. It was weird, when I thought about it, that my former boyfriend was my guardian angel and I had never asked him anything about heaven or his line of work. What is God like? What was it like to be an arch-angel? What kind of powers did an angel have other than mind-manipulation? I glanced over at him wondering what he might say.

He had on a small smile. "You'll find out when you get there."

"How do you know I'll get into heaven?" I countered, cocking a brow at him. He opened his eyes and gave me a curious look. "Maybe I'll end doing something worth a trip to hell."

"Not a likely scenario. And not something I want to imagine."

I thought about it for a second, "I sin all the time and I've probably broken at least four commandments in my life—not to mention, I almost never go to church."

"Everybody sins—even angels—and tons of people don't go to church. All that really matters is a person's faith . . . and love in their God." He murmured. I mulled that over and wondered if Patch had great faith.

"Why does God need angels anyway, if he's all knowing and powerful?" I forked a wad of twirled noodles in my mouth.

"God's only one guy and there's about 6 or 7 billion people in the world. The decisions he make benefit the masses. Angels help look out for people a little more individually. Guardian angels can have up to 5 or 6 humans to watch over at a time. There's not many of us." He explained with his gaze fixated up at the stars glimmering down at us.

If guardian angels are low in supply, why are the arch-angels trying to get rid of him? I wondered in the privacy of my thoughts.

"They're against me because I was given a second chance and they find me undeserving." He replied. "Not that I blame them."

I studied him for a moment. "I think everyone has redeeming qualities." I muttered around a mouth full of lo mien. "But I'd be a little more gracious if I were given a second chance." He gave me a sidelong glance but said nothing. Instead he directed his attention toward the only thing he ordered: fries. "How many people do you watch over?"

"Just two," He gave me another sidelong glance. "You. And Marcie."

I froze, my chewing slowing to a stop. I wasn't mentally prepared for him to tell me this even though some part of me suspected that's why he was always around Marcie now. It was most likely the reason why he showed up at Marcie's place the night I made my stupid confession. I originally knew I was being irrational when we broke up and I was looking for excuses to end things with him because I was scared. It was stupid and selfish of me when I thought about it. But this newly required knowledge made that day feel like a huge mistake on my part and I couldn't afford to think that way.

Stabbing at my noodles, I stuffed a wad of lo mien in my mouth. I didn't trust myself not to say something I might have regretted later. I felt like a monster for the way I attacked him that day, because now I couldn't blame him. I couldn't make it all his fault or make him the bad guy.

I calmed myself enough not to blow up about it like I knew I might, and tried asking a safe question. "Why don't you have as many people to watch over as other guardians?"

His eyes narrowed a little. Was he disappointed? Did he expect me to ask something else? "Since I've just become an angel, I'm starting from the beginning again. The arch-angels want to wait until I'm fully accustomed to a guardian's role and rituals."

"So they pick who you watch over?" It didn't sound like a question but he nodded anyways. "Why did they—" I started but thought better of it and just continued to stuff my face. But the lo mien wasn't as appetizing anymore. Huffing, I closed the small Chinese container and threw it in the bag. If I didn't send Patch off at any minute, I'd say or do something really stupid and I couldn't be bothered with any more regrets for the night.

Patch sat up on attention. "What are you doing?"

"Thanks for the takeout." I spoke curtly and slid off the hood of the jeep. "I'm home and safe. So you can just go."

He hopped down just as hurriedly and grabbed my arm before I could make it far. "How can you still be angry at me?" He was incredulous and for the second time in the time I had known Patch, he looked anything but 'calm and collected'. He was just as flustered as I was and just as exasperated. For once we were on the same page.

"Just leave it alone, Patch." I said quietly, but I was all charged up and venomous.

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. You didn't let me explain last time."

I whipped my hand out of his grasp and crossed my arms tightly over my chest.

"I have never done anything wrong to you and I thought you'd know by now that I'd never try anything intentionally to hurt you." He told me and I could tell how desperately he wanted his words to reach me but he only made me feel irrational. I still wanted to play the victim and he was making it really hard to pin him as the bad guy.

"So I'm safely assuming its part of a guardian's job too get real cozy with the people he's looking after." I snapped. "I mean it's the only thing that explains how you could even kiss her!"

"She kissed me, remember?"

"I saw it all for myself, Patch." I retorted. "You treat her better than you treated me." Pulling his stupid baseball cap from my back pocket, I chucked it at him. The flimsy thing hit in the chest.

"You're mad because I gave her my hat?"

"It's not just that!"

"Then what? What is it Nora? Are you jealous because I gave her my jacket? Because I've seen her naked on more than one occasion? Or is it because I hang out with her more than I hang out with you now? Cause that's your fault, you know!" It was the first time he had ever raised his voice around me. Everything he was saying just hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt speechless. "Why does it matter if I kissed her back? It's like you said—I can't feel any of it! I can't feel anything!" He barked.

I screamed just because I couldn't find any valid argument. Because screaming was all I could do to release this pent up anger that was tearing through me like a hot knife. "Shut up!" I screamed, shoving and hitting him everywhere I could. I pounded him with fist and kicked him like a child on a tantrum. But it did no justice because he couldn't feel any of it. Just to taunt me, he started smacking himself around too. It was like laughing in my face. "Just shut up! I wish I had never met you, you asshole!" I shrieked. I gave one last push, shoving him against his jeep, and in a moment of defeat, body sagged against him. His hands wrapped around mine, holding me to him and I could feel myself crying into his chest.

Patch's body sagged too as he leaned back against the jeep, wrapping his arm around me and cradling my head. He was just as emotionally strung out as I was. If he could, I think he'd cry too.

Clutching onto him, I cried out everything I had in me until finally my tears and sobs were reduced to sniffles. Patch held me through it all. "I never would've hurt you like that." He whispered, gripping me so tightly I was sure he was afraid I'd disappear like a mirage.

"You don't think I know that?" My voice was hoarse and I was sure I was a red puffy mess. I swiped my face with my sleeve and took a deep, shuttering breath. "It's easier to believe the bad stuff when everything feels like it's slipping away from you. It's easier to be the victim." I admitted. Pushing back from him, I managed to regain a bit of my bearings. I fisted his shirt in my hands again, running my thumbs over the tear stains I made there. How embarrassing—to blubber like a baby in front of a guy who's never felt a tear run down his cheek.

I gave a short laugh when I realized I wasn't all that mortified and glanced up at Patch. "I messed up your shirt." I sniffed. "I can like, wash it for you if you want." His hands came up and cupped my face, his thumbs running over my cheeks. He was too quiet and I felt too vulnerable with him just staring at me. "What are you thinking?" I whispered. Unlike him, I couldn't just dip into his thoughts whenever it felt convenient.

"I want to kiss you." He whispered back.

I frowned but as he leaned in, I said nothing. I felt him brush his mouth against mine, testing out my responses. It wasn't exactly a kiss, but more of an illusion of one. It was chaste and unusual from our heated kisses. I found it was warmer and much more intimate, this gentle caress of our lips. Reflexively, I kissed him back, indulging in the warm feel of his lips gently, slowly rubbing against mine.

He pulled away slightly, his thumb stroking my cheeks while his face hovered just inches from mine. I peeked up at him and pulled in a shaky breath. How could one person hold so much of me in just his hands? How could he make me feel so sheltered but so alone? Was it really wrong to want this—this warmth nestled in my heart? If it was, why did I love him . . . and why couldn't he love me too?

I could feel the waterworks start up again; I stepped out of his grasp and tried to recollect myself. "I'm sorry." He apologized and I wasn't sure what for. Was it for getting involved with Marcie, for kissing me, or for not loving me back? Regardless, I couldn't take anymore of his apologies.

"I'm tired." I sniffed resignedly. "I'm just gonna go inside and get some rest."

"Okay." I started to head inside when he spoke again. "I can give you space like you asked . . . I'll do that if that's what you still want."

I looked over at him. My resolve hadn't changed. Even if we understood each other now, that didn't cancel out the arch-angels involvement in this. I still thought I was doing the right thing.

"I do."

"Okay," He nodded jadedly.

"Thank you," I murmured. I turned to go inside.

"Good night angel." He murmured. Once safely inside, I stood with my back up against the door, listening to the sound of his jeep pull out of the driveway and the sound of his engine fade away. And like that, he was gone and I was alone again. I slid down to floor and just took three deep breaths.

In . . . out

In . . . out

In . . . out

Glancing down, I recognized my father's gold band wrapped around my finger. I hadn't even realized when he managed to slip the thing on but I could definitely feel the last of his warmth absorbed in the solid metal.

Slipping it off, I held it up; I remembered the day my dad gave it to me. I remembered the heart inscribed on the underside. But on closer inspection, I noticed the two names also inscribed in it in a fancy scrawl. The names Nora and Jev had been etched in on either side of the heart.

And if you turned the ring around, you'd also catch the words: Forever and Always.

A/N: Liked it? Loved it? Hated it? Leave me a review. This was fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Maybe if I get over 30 reviews I'll on to it. Thanks for reading!