Last chapter! Thanks for reading! Martin's adventures are not over yet, though, and part three of the Angel Circuit will be up once I've got my final TMNT fic back on track.

Don't own. Don't ask.

Epilogue

A late-afternoon storm blustered outside, sending stray cats running for cover, but the inhabitants of the Knapp-Shappey residence simply curled up on the sofas, stoked the fire, and let the wind howl. The second Hobbit movie was in the DVD player, but no one was really watching, listening instead to Martin, who'd managed to manipulate Douglas to let him move from the bed to the comfortable armchair.

'I'd let myself get too close to people, too embedded in my normal life. I don't know why we're not allowed, but I know it's partly because of the danger. So I died. No one's really sure how it works. It just happens.'

Arthur chewed his lip reflectively. 'But Skip – if you died, why did you come back?'

Martin looked sideways at Douglas, and the older man remembered an event from three months ago…

Douglas stared down the bottle of whiskey on the sideboard.

I can't do it I can't do it I can't do it…

I shouldn't do it…

His hand swept the bottle up and filled the small glass on the table in front of him. Damn it. Damn life and the universe and just everything. He'd been sober for years; one drink wasn't going to change it. Ignoring the voice at the back of his head – the one that always sounded annoyingly like Martin – he lifted the glass to take a swig.

There was a crash from the hall, and he swore under his breath before replacing the glass and jumping to his feet.

Somehow a photo frame had fallen from the wall, and though luckily it hadn't broken, it had torn the hook out of the wood. He picked it up, dusting it off, and turned it over.

A lump caught in his throat as he saw the subject of the photo. It was one Arthur had taken during an unusual trip to Tunisia, while they were waiting for Carolyn to return with a team of Scottish cricketers. The picture showed GERTI's flight deck with the Saharan sun and sand visible through the windows. Douglas had his sleeves rolled up against the heat that even the air-conditioning couldn't fight, congenially chatting with Martin, who was leaning back in his chair with his hat perched jauntily on his ginger curls. He was laughing at something Douglas had said, and looked relaxed for the first time in ages. The seeds of friendship were being sown early on, to eventually grow strong.

Except now Martin was dead, leaving Douglas without that teasing camaraderie he'd come to rely on.

Returning to the sofa, he picked up the glass and poured the whisky down the sink.

Martin would be horrified at a relapse, anyway.

Carolyn and Arthur were silent as Douglas finished his story. "So it was you, Martin. You went all Poltergeist and knocked down that frame to distract me.'

'Yes.'

'… Thank you.'

Arthur, of course, still didn't understand. "I still don't understand.'

'Coming back is a punishment, Arthur. An exile. I was supposed to distance myself in life and not interfere in death. Three interference attempts and you're returned to earth as a Fallen.'

'Three? But… Carolyn, you haven't had any accidents lately… have you?'

'No,' she replied, 'but I had a near miss.'

It was late, she was tired, and there was a long flight to Cannes tomorrow with a CFO. She couldn't stand CFOs. Always so terribly self-important, it seemed.

Suddenly, the left wheel hit a patch of black ice, and before she could think, the car skidded out of control. She tried to wrestle it back to the centre of the road, but nothing seemed to be working and she was heading for a guard rail.

Something yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, and the car slewed sideways, friction bringing it to a sudden stop, ending up a spray of snow at the edge of the road.

Carolyn sat back in her seat, heart thumping wildly. So close.

So close.

'Wouldn't have survived if you hadn't taken the wheel, Martin.'

'I debated saying "I have control" – decided against it,' replied the ginger-haired pilot, and Carolyn smiled despite herself.

'And then you saved me in the plane crash, Skip?'

'Yes, Arthur. I did.'

'I thought the voice from nowhere sounded familiar. And it was, 'cause it was you!'

'You risked exile, from wherever it is angels go in their spare time, for us?' Douglas cut in.

''Course I did. You're the closest to family I've got.'

There was a contented silence.

'Well, Martin… Martin?'

Martin didn't reply, having curled up in the armchair and subsequently fallen asleep. Douglas chuckled. 'Doesn't sound like a bad idea, actually,' he yawned, before putting his feet up on the coffee table and closing his eyes. Arthur nestled his head on his mother's shoulder, and soon they were all dozing, while the movie continued to play to the end and the storm raged outside.

"I am fire! I am death!'

"…What have we done?"