I warned you it would be erratic. Work and school are devouring my energy, so I've gone from churning out two chapters in a day to about one a week. I have a backlog, so you can expect another update sometime next week.

I adore you for your patience. Thank you all.

The girl awoke the next morning, in a slow stirring of muscle and breath. Gabriel looked up from the book of Romans, and waited.

She blinked twice, then focused on him. Gabriel expected a scream, or a similar display of hysteria. Instead, a frown crossed her face and she sat up, bringing the coat close to her chest. There was silence, during which she frowned at him, and he watched her frown at him, and then she spoke.

"Why?" she asked. At the rise of Gabriel's eyebrow, she clarified: "Why did you save me?"

"Because you wished to be saved."

"Yeah, well, I wished to be saved when you came crashing through the cop car, but that didn't do any good."

"Circumstances have changed."

"Yeah?" Audrey glared at him. "How?'

"The child is alive. The apocalypse has passed."

"So you're suddenly all warm and fuzzy." The girl's voice went flat.

"No." Gabriel was not amused.

"What, then?"

"The child is alive, so my orders have expired."

"Right, your orders. And now you have new orders to heal me?"

"Not orders," Gabriel corrected.

"What?"

"An obligation."

"You're not making any sense." The girl was running out of patience. Gabriel suppressed the urge to sigh.

"You were dying. The harm to your body was partially due to my actions—"

"Partially?" The girl interrupted, her voice cracking. Gabriel held up a hand, forestalling her argument.

"I happened to be present in order to witness your desire to live. I took it upon myself to respond appropriately."

The girl was silent for a moment, frowning in concentration.

"You didn't have to kill me anymore, and it's your fault I was almost dead, so you decided to keep me alive so you didn't feel guilty." She laughed humorlessly. "Hell of a way to apologize."

Gabriel stood. "I do not feel guilt," he rumbled. "I did what I was ordered to do."

"Then why'd you save me?" the girl demanded.

"Because it was what I needed to do."

"Why?" she insisted. Gabriel's frown deepened.
"Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I think you're lying. I want to know the truth."

"Angels cannot lie. We are not capable of it. I may refuse to reveal information, but I cannot lie."

The girl scowled at him. "Fine," she said. "Then tell me the truth. Why did you save me?"

"I told you—"

"Tell me again. The whole truth." There was more than anger behind her demand. Something like need—desperation—colored her voice. Gabriel sighed, this time aloud.

"I saved you because I could not let you die. You deserved to live."

He had expected relief, or contentment, or agreement from the girl. Instead, fury flashed across her face.

"Deserved to-?" she started, her voice rising, and then stopped and gritted her teeth. She hissed in a breath, clearly forcing herself to calm down, and earning Gabriel's approval in the process.

"Leave," she hissed. "Please."

Gabriel granted her request.

Audrey flopped down on the mattress and turned her back to the door as the angel closed it behind him. It wasn't fair. He'd tried to kill them all, and now he'd decided she deserved to live? It didn't make any sense. She buried her face in the jacket—which smelled of wood and spearmint gum—and resisted the urge to scream.

And she'd woken up set on being civil, too. She hated him—oh, how she hated him—but she wasn't crazy. He'd healed her, and she could at least not scream at him for that, even if there was nothing in this hellhole to look forward to. The thought made Audrey's fury surge afresh, and she gave in to the urge to scream, muffling it in the down of the jacket.

So fucking unfair.

After she'd screamed out most of her rage, Audrey lay, breathing into the jacket, for a few minutes, then sat up. She hated everything right now, but she wasn't about to go jump off a bridge, so she'd better find something to make herself feel better.

Her first thought was a bath.

Audrey looked down at herself, at the casts and bandages, and decided, in a sudden rush of pigheaded stubbornness, to move the fuck on. She then got up, bracing herself against the wall, hopped carefully over to the door, and then down the hall, in search of the angel.

He was in the kitchen. Audrey paused, leaning against the corner, a little amused despite herself; there was something very absurd about the huge, black-winged angel in a little, white, linoleum ranch kitchen. He looked like a SEAL in a playroom.

She coughed uncertainly, and he turned.

"You should not be up," he said, with the immediacy of an automatic response. Audrey rolled her eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know," she retorted, and then, with as little venom as she could manage, said, "I want to take a bath. What do I do about my…?" she half-gestured with her splinted arm, indicating her injuries. Gabriel looked her over, head to toe, once, considering.

"The tape will soak off," he said, referring to her ribs. "If you wish to clean yourself completely, you may remove your splints if you do so underwater and if you do not move the injured appendages at all. I will need to retape and resplint your broken bones, and it will hurt considerably. Knowing that, it's your choice."

Audrey considered it. Her stomach dropped at the thought of more pain than she was already in, but she desperately needed to be clean, all the way clean.

"Okay," she decided. Gabriel nodded once, and put down the can he held.

He opened the bathroom door for her and placed a towel and a torn scrap of washcloth beside the tub. "There is soap," he told her, indicating the white bar on the side of the tub. Audrey nodded mutely, and he left the bathroom.

She turned on the tab, sat gingerly on the cold edge of the tub, and eased herself out of her clothes.

She hadn't noticed the stitches, not really, the last time she dressed. Audrey filled the sink with cold water and left her underthings to soak, then stood in front of the mirror as the tub filled and stared at her body. She traced her fingers over the bristly black lines of stitches, wincing when her torn fingernails caught at the silk thread and tugged at her skin. "Scars," she whispered, her forehead wrinkling. She'd have so many scars.

Audrey shook her head and turned to the tub, easing herself into the hot water as carefully as she could. It stung, but it was a good sting, and distracted her from the pain of seeing the bruises and black lines that covered her body. The tub filled until the water reached her breasts, and then she turned off the tap with a poke of her good foot.

Audrey slid down until the water covered her ears, closed her eyes, and listened to the sound of her heart, thudding clear and strong through the water.

The blood and dirt from her hair dyed the water rust-red. Audrey rinsed out her hair as best she could, then rubbed the bar of soap in it until her hair couldn't hold any more suds, and scrubbed at her head with her good hand. She pulled the plug and turned on the tap at the same time, cycling clean, hot water through the tub as she rinsed her hair, then washed herself slowly, clumsily, one-handed from head to toe, only removing the casts after every other inch of her was red and raw from scrubbing. Then she sat and soaked, as hot clean water washed away everything but her skin itself. She sat as the water cooled, then pulled the plug and sat as the water drained, staring numbly at the black and green bruise surrounding the break in her leg.

She knew she ought to stay in the tub, ought to dress and dry somehow without moving her leg and arm, and she knew it would hurt like a bitch to get out, but Audrey was nothing if not idiotically headstrong. She didn't want to dress while sitting in the damp tub, and she sure as hell didn't want the angel to see her naked. There was only one course of action.

Gingerly, as carefully as she could, Audrey pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the tub, lifted her legs over one by one, and slid down to sit on the floor. She hissed out on the gasp of pain as her bad leg slid across the tile. She was stupid, she really was. Audrey dried herself off, wrapped her mostly-clean underthings in the towel, and slid into the boxers and shirt, all while sitting on the floor, then called out, "Gabriel?"

After a moment, she could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. He stopped outside the door and knocked once, just to make sure, then entered.

"I told you not to move," he chastised. Audrey rolled her eyes.

"I don't listen to you."

"This is true," Gabriel sighed, and knelt beside her. He pulled the first aid kit from beneath the sink, removing the rolls of gauze, and placed the splints Audrey had dropped on either side of her leg.

"This will hurt," he warned, and began to wrap the gauze.

It did hurt. It didn't hurt as much as Audrey feared it would, but the slightest jostle of her leg made her hiss in pain. Gabriel was careful, though—she could see that much—and her knowledge of the caution in his hands helped as much as the actual care. He bound her leg, then moved to her arm, placing her bad hand in the center of his palm as he wrapped her wrist. Audrey stared at their hands, her tiny white fingers dwarfed by his huge, sun-browned ones. She could feel the rough calluses under her palm, scratching lightly against her skin as he held her hand still.

"Alright," he said, when her wrist was immobilized. "Please lift your shirt."

Audrey's face flamed. She hadn't thought about that, hadn't thought about him seeing her shirtless, or mostly shirtless. Yeah, he'd already seen her that way if he'd taped her ribs once, but something about the idea was suddenly, viciously embarrassing, and she pulled away.

Gabriel caught her good hand before she could go too far, reclaiming her attention. "You will not heal if you do not let me help you," he said, his voice low and even, and Audrey knew, somehow, that he knew what she was thinking. "Your broken ribs are below your bust; you can maintain your modesty."

Audrey flushed again. It was weird, hearing him talking about tits like that. Bust. Who used that word, anyway? But he had a point.

Gabriel stood and offered her his hand. "This will be easier if you sit on the counter."

Audrey allowed him to help her up, and inched her way up onto the counter with a careful shimmy of her butt. Gabriel pulled the medical tape from the kit as Audrey rolled up her shirt to just below her breast, holding it up with her good hand and looking away. Gabriel tore long strips of the tape, sticking their edges to the counter so they were close at hand, and then began to lay them, one by one, along her fractured ribs.

Gabriel's hands were sure and steady as he placed the tape, his fingers brushing her side with only the most clinical of touches. He was utterly calm. Some part of Audrey had expected something else—some too-long touch, some nudge against her shirt, things others boys had done when they'd seen this much skin, and they always wanted to see more—but everything Gabriel did was innocent. Slowly, her embarrassment faded. Her gaze wandered downward, from the curve of his folded wings to the line of his shoulders to the touch of his fingers, gentle on her skin. The flesh under his hands was green, yellow, and black. Audrey looked from the bruised skin to the black lines across her stomach and thigh, and then back. Her skin didn't look like it belonged to her. It didn't even look human.

Audrey's left hand twitched, brushing across the stitches on her thigh. It'll scar, Audrey realized, again, and closed her eyes against the sudden rush of tears.

Gabriel pressed another strip of tape along her ribs.

Audrey could feel the shift of her broken bones with every breath she took. Her wrist throbbed with her heart. Her leg pulsed in time, heavy and sick with gravity-weighted blood. Every breath she took shifted her ribs, and even though Gabriel's tape helped, hugely, Audrey felt as if she was going to break into pieces. She was black and blue and broken.

Audrey's breath hitched, and the stab of pain shattered her tenuous hold on her tears.

She could feel when Gabriel stopped, his hands stilling on her ribs. A moment passed, and then a cloth was pressed into Audrey's hand.

"Why are you crying?" he asked—not accusatory, not incredulous, just gentle and questioning.

"It's not fair." Audrey's breath hitched, and she choked on the pain.

"No," Gabriel agreed, "It is not fair. But that's not why you're crying."

He was right. Of course he was right. Audrey fought down another hitch, trying desperately to control her breathing.

"I hurt so much."

Gabriel was quiet, and Audrey ducked her head against the disdain she was sure he felt, sniffling as the tears ran down her face.

Gabriel moved, his wings rustling, and took back the cloth he had given her. He pressed it to her chin, catching the tears, and lifting her head. "You are afraid," he noted, as he touched the cloth to her cheeks.

Audrey opened her eyes, slowly. She was afraid of seeing mockery, or disappointment, or disgust, but all she saw was his face, soft and unrevealing. He was waiting for something, and Audrey wondered what it was—and then all her thoughts came out in a rush, before she even knew what she was saying.

"I don't want to scar," she whispered, the words blurring into each other. "It's stupid and vain, I know, but this…" she gestured helplessly across her body. "It'll scar, and it'll never, ever go away."

Gabriel lowered his hand. Audrey looked up at him, afraid again of what she'd see, but he was just looking at her, his eyes moving across her face as if searching for something.

"It will never go away," he agreed finally, and Audrey closed her eyes in pain. "But," Gabriel continued, "Scars are not a thing to be feared. They are proof of a life worthy of remembrance. If you have scars, you have fought battles, and survived."

"What if I lost?" Audrey whispered. Gabriel looked down as he put the cloth aside.

"You did not lose," he said quietly. "This was not a matter of winning or losing."

"What was it, then?"

Gabriel said nothing for so long Audrey feared he wouldn't answer. Then, eventually, and very quietly, he said, "I don't know."

"Oh," Audrey whispered.

There wasn't anything else to say. Audrey's tears had stopped. She rolled up the hem of her shirt, and Gabriel finished taping her ribs. He surveyed his handiwork for a moment after he was done, and then nodded. "You will heal."

"Oh, good," Audrey muttered, her sarcasm back in full force, and slipped off the counter. Belatedly, she added, "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Gabriel opened the door for her. Audrey didn't move, and after a moment he looked back at her, a question on his face.

"What should I call you?" Audrey asked. She knew what Michael had called him, but she didn't know if that was too informal, or if it was a title, or what.

Gabriel paused, seeming to think about it for a moment, and then said, "Gabriel."

"Okay," Audrey said, with a crooked smile. Duh.

"And you?" Gabriel asked. Audrey blinked at him.

"You don't know my name?"

"I never had an opportunity to learn it," Gabriel pointed out, and at the expression on Audrey's face, elaborated. "Names are not worth as much as you humans seem to believe. What matters is the substance of a soul, not the label."

"… Oh." Audrey blinked. She'd never thought about it that way. "Audrey. My name is Audrey."

Gabriel nodded. "It is nice to meet you, Audrey," he said, a curve to his voice revealing how sad the formality was. Audrey laughed humorlessly and shook her head.

"Yeah," she sighed. "It's nice to meet you, too."