Author's Note: Oh my goodness. I still cannot get over the overwhelming response I received for the last chapter. It's official, you guys are the best readers/reviewers ever. Thank you so much little biscuit, ArmoredSoul, helendemaria, Yes-Man, QuietTimeChocolates, Detective Huckle, Boundless Hearts, Morning Star, itricky, and Farren Ouro. And thank you to everyone who took the time to add this story to their favorites/author alerts. I cannot possibly express how greatly I appreciate your thoughtful support and encouragement. I do hope you enjoy this chapter. ^_^

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Legion.

Chapter Ten The Unwelcome Reunion

Max had been tempted to protest when Michael suggested that Jack go out to the tack shed. Since the crisis in L.A., she hadn't let her nephew out of her sight…excepting the time he had decided to run off in the middle of the night to visit a dying angel in the desert.

Ugh, the thought itself verged on ridiculous. Something out of a fairy tale, really.

Max shook her head, rejecting what was incomprehensible. Maybe this was all a dream, though she had yet to decide if it was a pleasant delusion or a nightmare. Perhaps, she mused, it was somewhere in-between.

In any case, she wasn't eager to let Jack wander away again, although her worry was somewhat assuaged when she saw Gabriel follow him.

That was a good thing, right? The archangel had sworn to protect them all, hadn't he? And yet, Max was uneasy. On edge.

Talk was cheap. Trust, not so much.

But then she remembered all that Gabriel had done for her the night before. His kindness. And yes, the angel had been kind to her. Tolerant. Gentle, even. Perhaps she should trust him. Perhaps a leap of faith was now in order.

Huh, faith. That didn't come cheap either.

In the end, Max decided to keep her mouth shut. After Jack left with Gabriel, she distracted herself by organizing the last of the canned goods Michael had brought them. Stocking the empty shelves gave her a sense of satisfaction she had long forgotten, and she moved around the kitchen with purpose, pulling the foodstuffs out of the sack on the table only to line them up neatly in the cabinets.

In her hands she held a box of Cheerios, the yellow label smiling up at her, reminding her of Saturday mornings and fluffy bathrobes and corny cartoons. It was the same cereal she and Laurie used to eat for breakfast as kids. She remembered that her sister liked sliced bananas and strawberries with Cheerios, although Max herself had never been that healthy, sticking with sugar instead of fruit in her cereal.

Standing on the tips of her toes so that she could put the box on a high shelf, she experienced an unexpected, yet welcome surge of nostalgia.

This old house, she realized, was starting to feel like a home.

Michael stayed in the kitchen with her, keeping a respectful distance as she went about her work. Having the angel so close by made Max anxious, and although she had somewhat adjusted to Gabriel's presence over the past few days, she was still vaguely uncomfortable.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up whenever she was around one of them, her legs becoming unsteady, weak as water. It almost felt like having the flu, except instead of slipping into a sluggish delirium, Max's mind was awake, bringing the world into sharp focus. Overwhelming was the word for it. Awful. Not in a terrible way, though, but in the truest sense of the word.

When she was around one of the angels, she was full of awe.

Perhaps Michael realized this, for Max noticed how deliberate his movements were, how careful. He was slow and graceful, standing in one place so as not to startle her.

Max almost wanted to laugh at herself. She'd never been skittish before, but now her vulnerability was evident, something that could not be hidden, something that she would have to learn to live with.

Just as she had learned to accept the sudden intrusion of two archangels into her life.

A tentative smile showed on her face. Michael seemed to pick up on it, his own expression lightening.

"I left some more things for you in the garage," he said, watching as she reached into the sack and withdrew a couple of green pears. "There is can of gasoline for the car and several other items of a…less than benign nature."

Max understood. "Ammo?"

"Bullets for your handgun. I assume you know how to shoot?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I wasn't exactly the best shot on the force, but I can handle my firearm."

Michael's brow smoothed over. He appeared pleased. Relieved, maybe. "It is good that you are so well protected, though I must say, you have nothing to fear as long as my brother resides with you. He is a formidable warrior, to say the very least."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that."

Max didn't think it was wise to say anything else. She had noticed, of course, that Michael carried a sword with him, although the slender weapon strapped to the angel's hip seemed like a toothpick compared to the mace she had found in Gabriel's possession. When she had first brought the wounded archangel to her home, Max had removed his armor and weapons and stowed them safely away in the crawl space underneath the house. She didn't even want to think of the damage Gabriel could inflict with that…thing. It was ugly. An instrument of cruelty that she had never expected an angel to wield. Though then again, wasn't there a passage in the Bible that mentioned an angel with a flaming sword at the Gates of Eden?

Michael stirred and the tiny movement, the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other, brought Max out of her musings.

Her visitor was looking at her with discerning eyes and not for the first time, Max wondered just how much he knew of her and just how deeply he could peer into her soul….

Another shiver traced her spine.

"I must say, I have noticed Gabriel is without his arms and armor," Michael said and his tone was so nonchalant that Max almost didn't notice the subtle question in his voice.

So much for avoiding the subject, she thought. Well, if he's going to be direct, then so will I.

"Is that a hint?" Max asked, pausing for a moment to lean against the kitchen sink. Her arms were folded across her middle and she gave Michael the same skeptical look she had worn the night of his unexpected visit.

And even though she was thankful for his help and nearly ready to trust him, Max wanted him to know that he still couldn't pull a fast one on her. Angel or not.

"I see I cannot mumble through the matter," the archangel said, "or beat around the bush, as you humans would say." His wings rippled as he spoke, though the motion, when coupled with his smile, made Max realize that he was amused, not annoyed.

She let her guard drop…slightly.

"I'd rather not waste my time, or yours, really," she replied. "I'm sure you're a busy guy. I know that God is supposed to be everywhere all at once, but I never heard the same about angels."

Michael grinned and his angular face came alive with something very like boyish mirth. "Your sense of humor has improved since we last met. That pleases me."

Max shrugged. "Whatever gets me through the day. But seriously, let's just cut to the chase here. Tell me what you want."

"If you are going to be that frank," Michael said, inclining his head, "I would like you to return Gabriel's arms and armor to him. He is indeed a warrior and to deprive him of his weapons for such a long period of time is not wise. I know that at first you feared that he might try to harm you, but you see now that his intentions are not the least bit malicious. And you must realize, the world is not yet settled. There is danger still and you are vulnerable, whether you will admit to it or not. My brother will protect you. Please accept his help. It is no insult to your own strength, only a gesture of compassion. Will you do this for me?"

Max squirmed, feeling insecurity settle in her gut along with the last of the bland oatmeal. Was this angel trying to lay a guilt trip on her? If so, he was succeeding. Of course she would do what Michael asked of her. How could she possibly refuse him? After all, he had done so much to help her….

And yet, was it Michael who had really helped her? Was it Michael who had listened to her the night before as she opened her soul and spilled all that was putrid and wicked from it in an effort to cleanse her spiritual sickness? Was it Michael who had taken her for what she was and looked beyond her sins into the small goodness that was left within her heart? Was it Michael who had held her in his arms, embraced her, a filthy, disgusting leper, consoled her and comforted her…

…in his arms, in his arms.

Max felt her eyes burn. She blinked and stared at the nearly empty sack on the table. "Yeah, I'll do it for you," she told Michael, "and for Gabriel."

"Thank you," the angel said and now his bearing seemed to relax a little, a burden falling from his narrow shoulders. "And I know Gabriel will be pleased. He very much wishes to help you. After all, you have been kind…"

Max whirled away from him, drumming her fingertips on the chilled porcelain of the sink. "Not that I'm complaining or anything," she said, "but how long do you think Gabriel will be staying with us?"

"You object to his company?" A note of tension jumped into Michael's voice.

Still not looking at him, Max shook her head. "No, not at all. That's not what I meant. I only thought it would be helpful to get a timeframe. I like to have an idea of what's going on. Maybe it's the cop in me."

Behind her, she heard Michael exhale. Had she finally annoyed him? Had she angered him by being too inquisitive and questioning his plans? Gabriel had been upset with her yesterday morning when she had refused to hand over his weapons. And although Max liked to talk tough, liked to pretend that she had a sizable chip on her shoulder, she was terribly afraid of invoking the archangel's wrath. Who knew what a creature like that could do to her.

But then Michael made a soft noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a chuckle and Max relaxed once more.

How very different the two brothers were, she thought. And how very different she had been from Laurie…

"I am sorry," Michael said at length, "but I cannot give you a definite answer." A pause, and then, "Does that trouble you?"

Max turned away from the sink and looked at him. "No, not really," she said, although she couldn't rid herself of the nagging worry that had lodged itself in the back of her mind.

Could an angel tell when she was lying? Probably.

Max bit back a sigh of her own. The truth was, it bothered her not knowing when Gabriel would leave them, and since the night before, she had found herself wondering just when he would depart. Would it happen when she least expected it? Would she come into the living room one day and find him gone, the echo of his presence remaining in her memory alone? Or would he perhaps say goodbye to them before he left?

Even now, Max imagined the scene, standing with the huge angel outside the house, shaking his hand, whispering an awkward farewell, watching him spread his dark wings and catch the current of the wind and disappear, just disappear from her life forever.

She didn't know why, but for some reason, the thought made her sad.

"Well," she said, drawing some air into her lungs as she returned her attention back to the foodstuffs. "He's welcome to stay. Jack seems to like him and…"

"And what about you?" Michael pressed. He took a step forward and braced his arms on a kitchen chair. Light came in from the window and reflected off his black metal breastplate and the strange, sinister iron collar around his neck. "I hope he has not been harsh with you."

Max paused in the act of fumbling through the sack, two cans of peas tucked under her right arm. "Uh, no. Gabriel, he's…he's fine," she replied.

"I will admit, he has not been entirely accepting of your kind, unlike myself," Michael continued. Deep lines crossed his brow as he frowned. "I was the first in all of Heaven to bow down before Man. Gabriel, however, has struggled with humanity's failings."

Max put the peas on the counter behind her and forced herself to look Michael in the eyes. "I know," she said. "I know all about that. Gabriel told me how he was ordered to kill a mother and her child because you would not. He said he would have gone through with it too."

"And it does not bother you to hear such a thing?"

Max felt her spine go rigid. She did not think she could possibly tell Michael all that had passed between her and Gabriel the night before, could not bear to relate her story again and confess all the terrible things she had done.

Perhaps, she mused, Michael already knew of her secrets. But either way, she felt that her time with Gabriel was sacred, a moment shared between them and them alone. It was something she wanted to keep inside her. A memory. A tiny treasure hoarded in a questionable, dark world.

And so Max shrugged and dropped her eyes and pretended to look through the sack once more. "I don't know. I guess not."

Michael said nothing for a long time, but kept his hands braced on the back of his chair, the tattoos on his knuckles showing up black as coal against his pale skin.

And Max had a million things she wanted to ask him. Why he and his brother had fought to the point of death. Why they were both here now and what their intentions were. Why she felt some strange sense of communion with Gabriel, as though they were more alike than they were different….

But for some reason, Max knew she wouldn't like the answers she'd receive. Best to keep quiet and keep her head down. Best to ignore what she felt and what she thought and focus only on Jack and keeping him safe.

Best not to feel or think or wonder at all.

As she stood there, Max became aware of the old St. Michael medal hanging around her neck. Her hand went to it and she grasped the chain, pulling it until it dug into her skin. With a sharp tug, she broke the clasp.

Michael stared at her, his eyes narrowed. "Max?"

"I think I should take this off," she said, her voice thin. "It's kind of weird to be wearing this old thing, especially with you standing right in front of me." She held out the medal. "Here."

Michael looked at the old medal and then looked at her and a small smile folded his lips.

"Keep it," he said, "to protect you when I myself cannot."

Max didn't understand him. Holding the medal in her hand, feeling it grow hot in her palm, she realized that she never wanted to.

The warmth soon spread from her hand and up to her arm until all the blood rushed to her face, leaving her flushed. Max put the medal down on the table, but then thought better of it and slipped the broken chain into her back pocket.

"I should probably go into the garage and gas up the squad car," she mumbled. "I didn't want to tell Jack, but we were riding on vapors there for a while."

She stepped around the table and was about to move past Michael when she heard the low whine of an old engine coming up the drive.

Her heart dropped straight down to her toes.

"Is that…do you hear that?" Max asked the angel.

Michael didn't say a word, but quickly stepped towards the window over the sink. He lifted back the dingy blue curtains with one hand and peered outside. For a moment, the sun was on his face and the brilliance of the light when it reached his eyes was so intense Max had to look away.

Aside from the wings, it was the eyes that really set the angels apart. She didn't quite remember what color Gabriel's eyes were. Something light. Light and cold.

But they were terrible, his eyes. Terrible and beautiful in a way that was hard to understand, even when he looked right at her.

Michael let the curtains fall back into place as he stepped away from the window. The sound of the engine was closer now, almost up to the front of the house.

"Is someone coming?" Max asked him.

Michael half-turned, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Yes," he said, and for the first time, Max thought she heard something of weariness in his voice.

But then she remembered that Jack was outside in the tack shed with Gabriel….

"Where'd you put the bullets?" Max asked even as she shouldered her way through the door and into the garage.

The angel was on her heels. "Max, wait. There is no reason to-"

But she didn't hear him. The roar of the engine had diminished, only to be replaced by a chorus of shouts.

And just outside the garage, just outside the house, she heard Gabriel's voice, raised and commanding. "Put your weapon away," he ordered. "Put it away now!"

And Max didn't think, only reached for her gun.

Standing in the open doorway of the shed, Gabriel felt the muscles in his neck tighten, his jaw clenching as he watched the young man help the woman and her child down from the cab.

The sight was enough to put venom in his veins. Enough to harden his living, beating heart into unbending iron.

He had hoped (in vain, perhaps) that he would never again cross paths with these two humans. They were both a potent reminder of his failure, and for no other reason, for no higher purpose, he hated them.

Hate was a strong emotion. Definite. Firm. Solid as stone. It closed around Gabriel's mind, severing what impartial ties he had until he knew only black anger and regret and shame.

And the shame, he decided, was the worst of it.

As if responding to his renewed rage, the wind stirred, coming down off the mountains in sharp gusts that whispered through the low, dry shrubs. Rattled them like hollow bones.

He could have killed these humans. Killed them without a shred of regret. What had stopped him? Certainly not pity.

A small part of him, a remnant of his stoic logic, told him that it was irrational to pin his own faults on those who were blameless. But were these people really blameless?

In a way, yes.

They had not driven Michael to disobedience. They had not rained war and chaos down upon the helpless. They had not caused Gabriel to fail in his duty for the first time in his existence.

The error lay with him, and yet, he could not accept it.

This man and woman, he reasoned, these people, were human. They had participated in the active pollution of their race, perverting and destroying the Father's gift of life until the most sacred creation was a ruin. They were foul and wicked and dangerous.

They were human.

Human. His mind played with the word. Human.

Max and Jack were human. Max and Jack who had saved his life, who had sheltered him in their own home. Nursed him. Cared for him….

And it was Jack who stood beside him now, his eyes still stained with tears, his entire being, his soul, relying on trust alone…trust in Gabriel.

The nature of humanity was indeed an awful paradox, the angel decided. Not something of good and evil. Only truth, in all its callous reality.

Neither Max, nor Jack, nor the man, nor the woman were evil.

Only human.

And even though he was once again tempted to feel revulsion, a fleeting memory passed through Gabriel's mind. He thought of Max and how it had felt to hold her in his arms.

A strange, strange thing….

With no little difficulty, Gabriel cleared his mind, rolling his shoulders until the skin around his wound was shot through with fire.

The man and woman were walking towards the house, quite oblivious to his presence so nearby. Gabriel realized that he could easily avoid them, although evasion had never been quite to his taste. It felt vaguely like cowardice to duck his head under his wing and hide like a docile dove.

No, that would certainly not suit him. Best to head into battle with unwavering determination. Best to lead the charge and start things on his own terms.

Moving out of the shed, he did not realize at first that Jack was still lingering in his shadow.

"Hey, Gabriel," the boy said, struggling to keep up with the angel's long strides. "Who are they? Do you know them?"

Gabriel paused, and despite the building tension, he managed to find a small smile for Jack. "Yes, I do know them," he replied. "But I think it would be best if you stayed in the shed until I have had a chance to speak with them. Will you do that for me?"

Jack nodded and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah I will."

"Good." Gabriel turned from the child. The new arrivals had paused just outside the garage. Their body language was awkward, their shoulders hunched and stiff, legs locked. Every movement spoke of trepidation and uncertainty.

Ironically, the angel himself felt a measure of diluted apprehension wash over him, and without meaning to, he slowed his step. The man had his back to him, and for a moment, Gabriel struggled to remember his name.

Michael had said it, hadn't he?

Although he tried to ignore what memories he had of the desperate fight with his brother at the diner, he now forced himself to recall what details he could, even the seemingly trivial.

Gabriel's remembrances of that night were scattered. Pictures of violence and blood and much sorrow. He recalled the man screaming after he had gutted his father with the razor tips of his wings.

Dad!

And then Michael stepping forward, restraining the hysterical human.

Jeep, no!

Ah yes. Jeep. That was it. And the woman's name? Charlie, perhaps. He wasn't certain.

Gabriel quickened his pace as he moved up the dirt path leading from the shed to the garage, his resolve fortified by purpose.

Jeep still did not hear him coming, still did not turn around to look at him. He was too concerned with Charlie and her child. The infant was wailing in his mother's arms, roused by the brisk, cold air that came sweeping down from the mountains. God's icy breath.

The humans fussed over the babe, their movements fluttery. They did not notice when the shadow of the archangel fell over them.

Near as he was to them now, he noted how very bedraggled they were in appearance. Jeep still had on the same old t-shirt he had worn at the diner, although the fabric was stained with blood and sweat and faint traces of motor oil. Charlie, on the other hand, was bundled up in a heavy coat, her halo of golden hair spilling over the hood in a tangled mess.

Neither of them looked as though they had slept in days. Parenthood, obviously, did not suit them.

Gabriel made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, hoping to gently stir them from their distraction and catch their attention. He expected them to be startled, frightened even. Perhaps they would cower once they saw him. Perhaps they would try to run away.

The notion amused Gabriel. They would certainly never guess that the angel who had once been sent to kill them had no intention of hurting a single hair on either of their heads.

"Jeep," he said, addressing the man in a voice that he hoped was indifferent.

The man whirled around, his hand flying to his belt as he reached for the firearm strapped to his side.

Charlie screamed and the baby joined his mother, supplementing her shrieks with a shrill, hiccupping cry of his own.

Jeep had his gun out and although his aim was shaky, he managed to point it somewhere just below Gabriel's head.

So much for Max being a poor shot, the angel thought wryly. She is certainly not alone.

And although it went against his every inclination, against what he felt and what he thought and what he wanted for himself, Gabriel decided he ought to try and diffuse their anxiety. Agitating the humans further would be of little use, and in truth, he was nothing if not a practical being.

"Peace," Gabriel said. Mimicking the pacifying gestures Michael had previously used to get Max to lower her own weapon, he raised his hands slowly for Jeep to see. "I have no intention of harming you or your woman." He paused, considered his words, and then added, "Or the child."

Jeep's eyes locked with his. The arm holding the gun strengthened and he extended his elbow, pointing the barrel directly at Gabriel's forehead. "Charlie," he said slowly, still not turning his gaze from the angel, "run. Now."

But the woman was frozen with fear. She took a weak step backwards and stumbled on the uneven terrain, her scuffed sneakers slipping on the gravel. In her arms, the infant continued to wail.

The noise was strangely grating to Gabriel. It echoed in his ears and filled his gut with shards of ice. How truly awful it was to hear a child cry from fear.

And how terrible it made him feel when he realized that the babe was frightened of him.

He remembered reaching for the child not so long ago, his motives framed not with ill intent, but only his desire to please the Father. It would not have been the first time he had killed an innocent. The children of Egypt had borne witness to that when the last of the plagues was visited upon them.

But then Gabriel felt his control snap back into place and he steeled himself against sentiment. Logic returned and he told himself, reassured himself, that the child could not possibly be afraid of him because the babe was only a week old. No memories could yet exist within his mind, no fear, no judgment. No understanding of what had happened or what was to come.

The child was simply cold.

Gabriel lifted his chin and looked beyond Jeep at Charlie. "The air is brisk," he said to her. "You should find proper swaddling for him."

As it was, the babe was wrapped in what looked like an old dish towel, something evidently scavenged from a backroom at the diner.

Charlie stared at him blankly and took another step towards the truck.

"That is not necessary," Gabriel said. He turned his gaze to Jeep. "You are safe here. You will not be harmed. Please, put your weapon away."

In response, the man's finger tightened on the trigger. "Fuck you."

Gabriel raised a brow. "Do not be foolish," he said, his voice sharpening. "Put your weapon away. Put it away now!"

And he knew that despite his attempts at pacification, that Jeep probably would have shot him, or at least would have tried to had Max not come rushing out of the house.

She threw the garage door open and the grinding sound it made as it rolled back on the tracks was enough to startle them all.

"Shit!" Jeep cried and he fell back, lowering his gun.

Charlie shrieked again, but the child, surprisingly, fell silent.

"Drop your weapon!" Max had her own firearm clutched in her hands, and unlike Jeep, her arm didn't tremble as she took aim. "Drop the gun now and put your hands in the air. Lemme see your hands. I wanna see your hands!"

The veteran police officer was back, Gabriel noted, as he watched Max bear down on Jeep. Whatever softness she might have shown him the night before, whatever pitiful weakness she had possessed was now gone and what remained was hard. Unforgiving. Her shoulders were set in a straight line and the veins by her temples bulged as blood and adrenalin rushed through his body.

Max was alive with burning energy. She kept her gun trained on Jeep, her finger hovering near the trigger.

"I wanna see your hands," she ordered.

Jeep faltered as he looked at her, his grip on his gun loosening. "No way, lady," he said, a tremor infected his voice. "Just cause you got that fancy badge pinned to your chest doesn't mean I have to listen to you."

Max growled. "You're on my property, kid. The law says I could blow you away." And as if to prove her point, she clicked the safety off.

"We gotta get out of here," Charlie mumbled. "This is the wrong place, Jeep. Michael must've told us the wrong place."

Gabriel hearkened to her words, his attention suddenly snagged and focused on Charlie.

Michael…Michael…what could he possibly have to do with this?

The arrival of his brother, however, interrupted his ruminations. With preternatural speed, the archangel darted out of the garage and placed himself directly between Max and Jeep. Before either of the humans could move, he had spread his wings to their full span, creating a rather effective bullet-proof shield. With one hand, Michael grabbed Max's wrist and squeezed.

"Put your gun away now, Max," he said and although his entrance had been dramatic, his voice was soft. Casually, he glanced over his shoulder at Jeep. "You as well. There is no need for violence."

"Wait!" Jeep took a staggering step forward. "What about him?" He jerked his head in Gabriel's direction.

Michael shifted, turning so that he could look at Jeep fully. "Gabriel will not harm you. I swear it. You have my word."

And as his brother spoke, Gabriel alone heard the warning in his voice. A warning meant for him.

"That is true," he said, more to reassure Michael than Jeep.

His brother nodded his thanks. " I daresay we all have had enough of bloodshed," he said. "Come. Disarm yourselves. There should be peace between us all."

Gabriel barely refrained from scoffing at his brother's suggestion. As weak as Michael's argument might seem to him, it did affect Jeep. The man stuck his gun back into the old holster strapped to his belt and showed the angel his hands.

"All right, Michael," he said.

Max, however, had to be forcefully separated from her firearm. Gabriel saw his brother place a fair amount of pressure on her wrist, and at last, the woman dropped her weapon, groaning as she did so.

Michael released her arm, bending forward to snatch up her gun before she could reach for it.

And although tension still gripped her limbs, Max now had the look of a punished child. She stared up at Michael, and even from a distance, Gabriel could feel the raw anger in her gaze.

Perhaps she realizes now why I was so displeased to be deprived of my own weapons, he thought, even though he felt something of very real pity stirring within him.

Poor Max. She was undeniably beaten.

Michael seemed to understand this and he rested his hand on her shoulder, a passing smile creasing his lips.

"Do not be afraid," he said, "these people are friends."

"With weapons," Max spat back at him. "On my property."

"I'm sorry." Now it was Jeep's turn to look bashful. He stood next to Charlie, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. "We didn't mean to scare you or nothing."

Max ignored him and looked instead to Gabriel. "Where's Jack?" she asked. There was a hint of worry in her tone, her maternal instinct present even though she herself was not a mother.

Gabriel understood. "Safe," he replied.

Max nodded, satisfied, her chest heaving as she sighed in relief. It was Michael she addressed when she next spoke and Gabriel was surprised when he saw her step back from his brother, pulling away from the hand that rested on her shoulder.

"Who are they?" she questioned icily.

Michael, as always, was patient. "Friends," he repeated. "Jeep, Charlie." He beckoned them forward. "This is Maxine Quinn. She is a police officer from Los Angeles."

Jeep and Charlie both looked like they were about to offer Max a sheepish greeting when she wheeled around, placing her back to them.

"I don't care about names," she grunted, throwing her hand up in annoyance. "I just want to know what they're doing here."

There was silence for a beat and Max paced, the early afternoon sun casting watery light over the valley, reflecting as it hit the badge on her chest at just the right angle.

Gabriel sympathized with Max's frustration. He himself had a few questions he wanted to put to his brother and as the minutes dragged by, suspicion mounted within him.

Michael had told Jeep and Charlie where Max lived. Why?

The answer, he realized, would probably not be a favorable one.

The fitful quiet was broken when Jeep cleared his throat with a hacking cough. "Hey, it seems like we got off on the wrong foot here," he said, his drawling voice thin and cracking. "Like I said, I'm sorry for scaring you, Miss Quinn-"

Max wheeled on him, staring at the young man over the crook of Michael's expansive right wing. "Officer Quinn, kid. Although I suppose that doesn't stand for much anymore."

"Yeah." Jeep dug the toe of his shoe into the gritty earth. "Yeah. I understand where you're coming from."

"Do you?" Max prompted. Her eyebrows darted upward, nearly disguised by the fringe of her messy bangs.

When Jeep didn't answer, she turned to Michael. "You said you knew them."

Michael nodded and slowly, he let his wings drop, leaving only the cold, clear air between the humans.

"I do," he said.

Gabriel watched his brother with undisguised curiosity. There was something of painful restraint about him and his words were guarded. Careful. Precise.

Michael wasn't telling Max the whole truth, that much was obvious. Annoyance stirred within Gabriel, a tiny pinprick of impatience puncturing his control. Max's irritation was overwhelming, infectious, and it rubbed against his own sense of self-possession like hot sand. Harsh to the touch. Unsettling. It was a sharp rock lodged in the smooth silt of a riverbed. A disturbance. And he was bothered by it. Troubled.

To relieve some of his internal discomfort, he stepped closer to her.

"You know these people," Gabriel told Max, supplying information when Michael clearly would not. "I told you of them last night."

Something in his voice must have set Jeep and Charlie on high alert once more. They were both huddled together near their truck, the child pressed between them.

Max looked at them and shook her head, her lips folding back in an incredulous grimace. "You've gotta be kidding me. These are the people you told me about, Gabriel? The ones from the diner? The mother and kid you were sent to kill?"

Charlie inhaled sharply and Jeep stared at his feet.

Michael, on the other hand, seemed increasingly uncomfortable. "Brother," he said. There was a subtle hint of remonstrance in his tone.

Gabriel was adamant. "She deserves to know," he replied. "This is not a game, Michael. Would you have Max remain in the shadows while we linger in the light of the truth?"

Michael said nothing, but Gabriel noticed his limbs go rigid, his wings tensing.

"Yeah, well, that's what I want to hear," Max said. "The truth. Can someone please tell what the hell these people are doing here? Because I know I didn't invite them…I've never even seen them before-"

"We need your help," Jeep blurted out. His sad, puppy-dog eyes were wide, as if even he was surprised by his outburst.

Michael glanced at him and Gabriel could have sworn he saw a flicker of reassurance and encouragement in his brother's gaze as he stared at the human.

Comprehension dawned on him then, and he recognized the understanding between the two, an understanding fostered by some secret knowledge or motivation.

Michael knew something and Jeep knew something and Charlie knew something.

Max, however, did not.

"My help?" she sputtered. "What could you possibly want from me, kid?"

Jeep didn't respond, but his eyes, along with Charlie's, trailed to the house, the house that was even now casting a long, dark shadow over them all.

And as if by instinct, the baby in Charlie's arms began to wail.

"Can we talk?" Jeep asked.

Max seemed on the verge of refusing him when Michael overrode her, his face and voice and bearing laboring under some delusion of hospitality.

"Yes," he said. "I think that would be best."

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I'd absolutely love to hear from you.

In the next chapter, Jeep and Charlie explain themselves to Max and beg for her help. Gabriel remains rightfully suspicious of their sudden reappearance and begins to wonder if his brother Michael might have ulterior motives.

Chapter Eleven is in the works and should be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!