A/N: I had published some of this story before, but deleted it promptly because it was the school year and I didn't need to stress of this project. Now it is summer again and I can write to my delight. The beginning will be short, but I'm planning to have longer chapters.

Little note that I'm not planning to have a lot of fluff. Friendly to both E/C and R/C shippers mostly because this isn't romance centered. A crime centered story with a little mystery:

Angels

Story time mostly consisted of angels, for me. Father had a much too Christian childhood (hence, Christine) and had wished to raise me ambiguous from religion. Tales of creation and angels still accompanied my bedside, though. It always fascinated me how these heavenly beings watched over us and were greater than we could imagine. The Angel of Music, for example. Overseeing over musicians and blessing them. My father claims he was undeserving of any angel blessings. I didn't understand that at the time. I understood so little of him. He was rightful, in the end, to have kept secrets.

...

"Chrissy?" my father broke the silence, lounging on our worn down couch. It was the humid summer of many months ago. A lifetime away...I was stupidly innocent.

"Yeah?" I responded with only half attention. I was flipping through a new songbook; the pages were still crisp and pure white. I was desperately trying not to smile.

"Do you really have no friends you want to stay with when once I leave?" he asked with concern. This wasn't this first time he had done so; ever since he told me about this business trip, he's been very opposed to leaving me alone. He said he'd be gone for an uncertain amount of time…. but I did not want to impede upon him! I'm already at an age where I should be self dependent (even though I could barely make packaged macaroni). I insisted that I would be fine.

"I told you, Meg has an upcoming dance competition! No matter what she says, it's too important for her and I'd hate to distract her. I'll just be here, safe at home." I heard him chuckle as he lit a cigarette. The scent has long been imbedded in all our furniture even though he tried using scented candles or such to get rid of the smoke.

"You are a compassionate girl, Chrissy. I'm proud of you" His voice was raspy as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. I smiled back to him.

"I'll be fine on my own, so go do what you're going to do and return home quickly." I was staring at a piece of cheerful music. With youthful determination, I decided to learn the piece once he left the house. I could surprise him with the song when he would get back! I could see him coming home, luggage and a sleepy smile accompanying him. I would hug him tight as I could. He would want to go to bed, but still willing to sit and listen just for me. I got giddy at the thought of his tired eyes lighting up at my clearly unexperienced singing, but being so happy anyways. I final broke out in a beaming grin.

I realized he had tried peaking!

"Agh!" I panicked and held the pages against my chest.

"I swear." I giggled out and he ruffled my hair. He walked off towards his office room and I sat there, almost too content with life as it is. Too content? Well I had a loving father, best friend, and an education I sometimes took for granted. Was this all fate had in store for me? The thought of a singular job straight out of college until retirement freaked me out, yet employment should be something cherished in such times. Again, I took no religious affiliations, but fate I always fancied. Some sort of paradoxical thing where changing your fate could still have been fated to happen. Everything was simply meant to happen.

There was a phone call, I don't know, days later. Said my father's body had been found full of bullets. Time of death not known yet. Foul play suspected. The murderer is still unknown, but an investigation had been started. Sorrow came in heavy waves, and flooded everything that made sense out. Only grief and the choking feeling in my throat and this clawing pain at my chest. It made me question why? Why would anyone do this? Why did someone so horrible exist? Why was my father taken away from me?

The Girys came to visit. Brought some food, flowers, and comfort. I asked about Meg's competition.

"That's hardly more important than you, Chrissy!"

They said they could help with the funeral, talk with our lawyer. I breathed a sigh of relief when they left, but felt guilty because they were helping so much. I was being so useless. I was missing my courses, expensive seminars that my father paid for and I let the food that was brought up spoiled. I don't remember the last time I showered, even, but I just couldn't feel any motivation. Any time I tried doing something, it was with half my heart and I usually gave up before I finished. I was just…emotionally incapable. Everything was exhausting except for my mourning.

The funeral had lots of people. The large throng full of faces I didn't know that made me shrink. Some people spouted nonsense in front of us all. I was almost angry at everybody. Nobody knew him as I had. Nobody had loved and been as affected by him as I had. Here they all pretended like by tomorrow they wouldn't simply resume to their everyday lives. Now his body was in the ground. Only a tombstone left as a marker. I was able to find myself standing there once everyone stopped pestering me. Alone.

"Are you Christine?" I heard a gravelly voice behind me. I was slightly irritated by the intrusion. As he walked over, his tall form limped a bit. I just wanted to be alone.

"Yes." I hoarsely answered. I coughed to clear up my throat. Can you leave now?

"I knew your father." He started with. Well, many people had. I then noticed scars on his hands and I didn't doubt that there were more hidden under his sleeves. Probably combat injuries. Self defense? Crime? Who knows.

"I, uh, have a letter." He awkwardly handed me an envelope and walked away, still limping. I was skeptical for a second, but turned it over. I saw his hand writing. Father's…

"To my Chrissy."

The moment was so overwhelming that I couldn't help falling apart right there in front of grave. I tried wiping at the tears with my sleeves and opened it up.

Your mother and I named you a name which means 'follower.' You have your whole life in front of you, so please, now, follow these instructions I will give you. I'm writing this in fear something will happen to me soon. You are no doubt confused and upset, but I'm warning you: don't search for answers, Chrissy. I have left everything to our trusted lawyer and my friends' hands, so you don't have anything to worry about. It's better if you don't find out what I did in my life. I love you more than anything in this world and this is the only way to protect you. I know I can't stop you, but before you'll realize it, you'll be in too deep. You won't be able to turn back. I care about you too much to have you go through that."

Love,

Papa."-

What?

I felt all these emotions in my chest at once. Hurt, pain, anger, loneliness. It hurt so bad and I was sobbing. I was sobbing so hard and I couldn't see, I couldn't think, there's snot, and my head hurt. I shoved the letter in my pocket and walked back to my house alone and disheveled. He was gone and far away and never coming back. He's silent. Under ground. Gone. The person who killed him was alive. Alive and happy. I felt so much rage and hate I didn't know I was capable of. My father saw this coming; he knew something would happen to him. What did he do? Why would someone ever want to kill him? Why couldn't he have prevented this somehow? I couldn't fathom it. Now i'm left with these piles of questions I can't answer.

This letter could have said anything, but his last wish was for me not to meddle. This is last thing he wished to give me and he was so desperately trying to hide something from me. I arrived home and the front door closed me in to the lonely space. His office was filled with memories and traces of my him, this man i used to know. My father. It was dark. Felt so empty in the cramped room. The distinct scent of him in the room was still too strong to not hurt.

The investigation had gone cold officially. There was nothing left behind to go off of. No weapon or DNA found. It's infuriating to see the police be so incompetent. Isn't this their job? It was unnerving how there was so little evidence, though. I decided to obey the letter, in the end. I would wait for whatever my father left behind to be sorted out and all wash away in time. It was his last wish, as I had finally come to terms with, and I loved him dearly. I started going back to my classes and talked with my teachers and some other students to get caught up. I met up with our lawyer and was told my father left enough money behind for me to get by for a while without him. With so many things to be dealt with, his office was left untouched. News of Meg drifted to me about her doing excellently in competition and even receiving some scholarships and well deserved recognition.

I stared at the closed doors and reminded myself of the letter. I was afraid to look at it again; it was a symbol of danger and warning that was nothing like my father that i knew. I flipped through the pages of the music book on the couch. Some pages showed signs of wear and had notes scribbled all over them. I landed on the one I told myself I was going to learn for father. No! I stood up an took out the letter. I finally read it over again. "I know I can't stop you, but before you'll realize it, you'll be in too deep. You won't be able to turn back." I won't be able to turn back? It's all too ominous it made me nauseous. I sighed and stared at the rushed hand writing, taking in everything slower this time. Maybe something would start making sense…-

"Love,

Papa."

I never called him papa. Never ever. I found myself shaking, confused, and feeling all these raw emotions again. Why? Why had all this happened?! I got up, trembling, and walked to the doors to his office. I weakly had fallen to the nagging voice and built up a shaky resolve. This couldn't hurt, could it? Meddling would be like going out and asking questions to people and going into places I don't know. Here is just...his office. I opened the doors and the cramped room seemed like a different world. I had no idea where to begin. I sighed and opened up the lowest drawer on his desk and began my search.

Looking through this place brought back memories. I knew that at some point in my life, I had a crushing realization I was terribly sheltered. I had spent the day with one of my friends and we drove around. Seeing the graffiti in the places we went already scared me and each time we passed a homeless person I was shocked and sad. When I had gone back home, I told my father about it like it was some shocking new news story.

"The world is not a very nice place." He replied. If I wanted candy, clothes, or anything trivial, it'd be mine. With no siblings, I never even knew that families larger than mine just passed clothing down instead of buying something new. I feel so stupid now, looking back and thinking the whole world seemed like a shining metropolis back then. I remembered Raoul. He was another part of that world. Rich family and a prestigious name that looked down on everybody. For a family full of bland saltine crackers, Raoul was sweet. He added to my disillusion that the world was perfect, like a piece of cloth without wrinkles, stains, or hairs. Perfect. Nothing felt right. I felt that I was groping in the dark, trying to find something real in this world my father raised me in. Didn't he know me better than this? I was always so curious and the moment I was handed that letter that I wouldn't sit there idly? I struggled to shut the drawer all the way closed and decided to just leave it. I slumped onto the ground and rubbed at my eyes, smearing my mascara but not caring. It was really late or really early. I had this gaping emptiness in my chest and this pain I couldn't shake off. Wouldn't he walk in the door any moment now? Would he really never laugh again and hold my hand? I felt helpless, exhausted, grieving over my father. I sat there for a while with nothing but defeat and grief staring at me.

In my delirious mix of emotions, I had fallen asleep. I dreamt of soaring angels of my childhood and wondered how things ended up like this.