Part XXX: The Sanctity of Life


Angel awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She yawned, stretching lazily. She'd slept deeply the previous night, and hadn't woken up even once. She supposed that was why she felt so refreshed.

"Morning, baby," her mother, who had just entered her room, smiled. "It's a sunny day and I've made pancakes!"

Angel could smell them, and her stomach growled hungrily. Her mother heard it, and chuckled.

"I take it someone's hungry," she said, as she approached her daughter and pressed an affectionate kiss on her head.

"What time is it?" Angel asked.

"It's just gone past nine-thirty." Mrs. Caelum replied, pulling back the bedcovers for her daughter. "I've been up since seven. You slept so soundly last night. How are you feeling?"

"I did sleep well," Angel agreed. She slowly sat up, as her mother carefully removed the pillow from under the cast on her leg. Usually movement of any sort would cause discomfort. Angel blinked, pleasantly surprised to feel no pain. Even the lingering throbbing in her arm seemed to have improved. Her symptoms had generally gotten better, but it was the first time she had woken up with no discomfort at all.

"It'll soon be time for your meds again." Her mother said. "Let's get you into your wheelchair." She pushed the chair closer to the bedside and set the brakes on, then helped Angel shift onto the edge of the bed, and eased her into the wheelchair. As her mother bent down to pull out the foot-rests, she accidentally struck Angel's leg with her elbow, causing the limb to jar to the side.

"Oh, goodness!" Mrs. Caelum exclaimed in horror. "Honey, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

Angel, who had flinched reflexively in anticipation of pain, stared at her leg in confusion. "No…" she replied. She'd felt… absolutely nothing. "Wait. Mum." She gasped a moment later, when it suddenly hit her that she had moved her own leg onto the footrest. "Mum, look! I can move it!"

"What?" Mrs. Caelum's eyebrows drew together and she stared down at the cast. "What do you mean?"

Angel held her breath, and slowly lifted the leg. Her muscles trembled - the sign of general fatigue and disuse - but there was no searing pain. It was remarkable given that even with her medication, she usually still detected varying levels of discomfort.

"Oh my," Her mother gaped in astonishment. "Honey, put it down. Maybe it's just starting to mend now. Don't move it so much!"

"But I don't feel anything," Angel frowned. "It doesn't hurt. It's like… it almost feels like…" She glanced at her mother. "Mum, can you help me try to stand?"

"Angel, you shouldn't be standing just yet!" Her mother looked at her with uncertainty. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Even if it is feeling better, it's only been two months. The doctors said that from the extent of your injuries-"

"They said it could take anywhere between 8-16 weeks for my arm to mend and 24 and above for my leg," Angel recalled.

"Your arm." Mrs. Caelum touched her cast lightly. "How is that feeling? Can you lift it at all?"

Angel cautiously tried and gawked when she was able to do so without difficulty. "No way," she breathed. Both she and her mother exchanged stunned looks.

"That's astonishing." Mrs. Caelum released a gasp, and Angel could see the hope lighting in her tearful eyes. It was contagious. "Oh, honey, I don't understand how. It seems too good to be true."

"Mum, please, help me stand," Angel reached for her. Her mother moved to her right side and slid an arm around her back, supporting her. Angel's heart quickened. She took a deep breath and then slowly, gingerly, got up, placing her weight on her left foot.

"I don't know, honey," her mother frowned. "Maybe we should check with the doctor. Should you be putting weight on it so soon?"

"Let me just try," Angel insisted. Placing her right foot onto the ground, she slowly, carefully shifted her weight, wincing, anticipating another explosion of pain in her hip and leg - but she felt nothing except the shakiness from lack of muscle use.

"Well?" Mrs. Caelum stared at her anxiously. "What do you feel?"

"Nothing," Angel shook her head, dumbfounded and alarmed. "Mum, the pain's completely gone!" Leaning against her mother, she then cautiously dared to take a small step forward, pressing her weight onto her right foot more firmly. Then another. "Oh my God," she breathed, unable to believe what she was seeing as she took another hopeful step. Was it a dream? Had the medication caused her to hallucinate? If she pinched herself, would she wake up in bed again, crying in agony?

But it wasn't. She was definitely awake. Her heart pounded. How could it be? She had started feeling better gradually as time had gone by, but to suddenly wake up, seemingly with function restored to her limbs? What was going on?

"Oh my," her mother's amazed expression mirrored her own. Angel's face broke out into a smile when she lifted her arm again, unable to bend it because of the cast - but once more, there was no trace of pain.

"Mum," she gasped. "This is crazy! I feel like my arm is fully healed. And my leg. There's no pain there, either."

"How are you able to walk on that?" Her mother looked lost for words. "Surely you must be feeling some pain?"

"Nothing," Angel met her searching gaze.

"But it's only been two months," Juliette's eyebrows furrowed together, puzzled. "How could you have healed so soon? Your arm, perhaps that's possible, but your hip and leg honey, those were really severe breaks."

"I don't know," Angel shook her head, staring down at her leg, baffled. Maybe if she stared at it hard enough, it would somehow reveal its secret. She felt giddy with excitement at the prospect of being able to use her arm and leg sooner than anticipated but tried not to get too carried away.

"We need to get you to the hospital to check this. Your scan is in two more days, honey. Let's not overdo it. Sit back down, now."

Angel relented and returned to her wheelchair, hoping against hope that somehow, it wasn't just a stroke of luck and that the pain wouldn't come crashing down on her once her medication wore off.


Two days later, Angel sat restlessly in the consultant's room, waiting for the results of her scans. Her mother was in the seat beside her, equally as anxious.

"Do you think it's good news?" Angel turned to her mother, who was holding her left hand. Her pain had completely subsided, and it seemed too good to be true, but she knew that the only way to confirm the status of her injuries was to await the scans and to see the state of her limbs with her own eyes once her bandages were removed.

"I hope so," Juliette bit her lower lip, a habit Angel had picked up from her whenever she felt nervous. "You said the discomfort is gone, honey. Miracles do happen."

The door opened and Nurse Emily bustled in, smiling brightly at the two women. "Good morning, Angel, sweetie! Mrs. Caelum. How are you both today?"

"Good morning Emily," Mrs. Caelum smiled. "We're well. And yourself?"

"Just peachy. Ready to get this cast off now?"

"I can't wait. It's been so itchy and unbearable," Angel complained.

Emily chuckled and pulled up a chair, setting to work. Angel watched in fascination as her careful, gentle, skilled hands expertly removed the cast from first her arm, and then her leg.

The door to the consultation room opened again. The senior consultant, Dr. Daniel Mason, breezed in, carrying copies of the scan results. He was dressed in a long white doctor's coat and was a tall, slim, smart-looking man, with neatly combed silver hair, blue eyes and stylish glasses. Cain was right behind him, and winked at Angel as he entered the room, also dressed in uniform.

"Good morning Miss Caelum. Mrs. Caelum," Dr. Mason greeted, and set the film against the illuminating backlight panel on the wall. "I have some wondrous news for you."

Angel held her breath, as Emily carefully began to unwrap the bandaging around her right arm.

Dr. Mason pointed to the bones in Angel's arm. "This is your arm. This was the location of the break." He indicated with the end of his pen. "As you can see, it's completely healed. Astonishing."

Mrs. Caelum pressed a hand to her mouth, and fought back emotional tears. "Oh, baby," she looked at her daughter, eyes shining with joy.

"And even more incredible are the results of your hip and leg MRI scans," Dr. Mason handed Cain the arm film and replaced it with the hip one. "Here was the break." He showed her the old, initial scan that clearly showed the damage to the bone. "And now, following the operation and two months of healing…" He swapped the film. "All healed. Your leg," Once again, he placed the first scan at the time of injury onto the wall panel, and Angel saw the multiple, complex fractures in her leg, the bone appearing almost completely shattered in places. "And now," Dr. Mason replaced it with the new scan.

Angel exhaled shakily, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

"There's absolutely no indication of any trauma left. The only thing I can see here are these slightly darker, shadowy areas," he pointed, "along the fracture lines that are the only things indicating that there were any breaks at all. Otherwise you're fully healed, and I've medically never seen anything like it."

"It's a miracle," Cain declared.

"Well now that's just wonderful news," Emily beamed.

Angel burst into tears, a strong wave of overwhelming relief flooding through her as all her worries about her recovery immediately melted away.

Thank you, God, she thought, weeping into her hands, overcome with emotion.

Her mother leaned over and hugged her tightly. "Oh, honey." She said in a choked voice.

"Remarkable," Dr. Mason said. "I don't know what you've been eating and drinking over the last few months, Miss Caelum, but I've never seen anyone recover from such a terrible accident in so short a space of time. Our prognosis was six months at the very least. It's a marvel, to be sure." He smiled kindly at her.

"You're sure?" Mrs. Caelum pressed. "She really is fully recovered?"

"Positive." Dr. Mason confirmed. "We'll schedule you in for some physiotherapy to help rebuild your muscles and strength again, and then you should be good to go. A full and truly astonishing recovery, one I'm sure my colleagues and I will be talking about for a long while. Dr. Lockwood will now talk you through the physio and aftercare programme."

"Thank you," Angel sobbed gratefully, crying into her mother's shoulder as Dr. Mason nodded and left the room. Mrs. Caelum also wept, jubilant that her daughter was fully healed with no lasting damage left behind.

As Angel pulled away from her mother, and watched Emily remove the last of the bandages, she marvelled at the restored ability to move her arm again, to bend her knee, laughing in delight as she tested the working limbs, finding them perfectly responsive and fully mended. She held up her hand to the smiling nurse, as if she were showing off something precious. Mrs. Caelum immediately called her husband to inform him of the good news, before texting her sons in the family messaging group, smiling through her relieved tears.

Angel met Cain's gaze, to find that he was smiling widely at her, and looked pleased by her full recovery.

"Well, Miss Caelum," he remarked smoothly, "you truly are something special."


Salt smiled as Levi placed the steaming cup of tea in front of her.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, gazing at him as he took a seat opposite her on the table. They'd closed for lunch-break, and ever since they had reconciled two months earlier, she found herself cherishing every single second in his company, not wanting to blink to miss even a moment of it.

She watched the way he lifted his tea cup to his lips, marvelling at the effortless grace of the simple action. Levi then paused, his stormy eyes meeting hers. He lifted an eyebrow. There she went, pulling that ridiculous face at him again.

"Oi." He quipped. "What's with that look?"

"Huh?" Salt blinked at him, flushing with embarrassment. She knew she'd been staring openly, but she couldn't help it. She'd believed them to be truly over and couldn't help but feel the need to keep pinching herself to check that she wasn't dreaming. Levi knew the truth about her. He accepted her for exactly who and what she was. It was too good to be true. She kept expecting to wake up, beneath the counter, still alone.

He sighed and shook his head. "You look constipated."

"I- what?" she gaped at him.

He released a quiet snort, and Salt's retort was lost as her phone screen suddenly illuminated, indicating a new message received.

Her heart leapt to her throat. Mrs. Caelum. Was there an update to Angel's condition?

Levi eyed her as she grabbed at the phone, sliding a thumb across the screen to unlock it as she hit the message notification to open it. Her eyes rushed over the text anxiously.

Hi Salt. It's Mrs. Caelum. I hope you're well. I've the most wonderful news. Salt sucked in a breath as she continued reading hurriedly. Angel has made a full recovery and they've taken all the casts and bandages off today. The doctors are saying it's a miracle that she's healed so quickly given the severity of her injuries and with a few rounds of physio she'll be as good as new. We're ecstatic. I thought you'd like to know.

Salt's eyes blurred with tears as joy sang through her heart.

Thank you so much again for all your support and concern for Angel during this time. I'm sure Angel would love to hear from you again once she's settled. Take care.

Levi watched her expression closely. It had to be Angel's mother, he deduced, judging from the myriad of emotions that danced across her face. She then released a gasp of delight and burst into overwhelmed tears.

"Hey…" Levi frowned. "What's with you?"

"Angel," Salt wept. "Oh, thank the gods, Angel's alright! She's recovered!"

Levi was glad to hear it. "Then why are you making that ugly face? Oi. Stop crying."

"I'm sorry," Salt half-laughed, half-cried. "I'm just- so happy and relieved and-"

"Tch," Levi grabbed the tissue box on the table and pushed it toward her.

As Salt dabbed at her eyes and gladness filled her heart. There could be no doubt that the speed of Angel's recovery was a true miracle, the result of divine intervention from Thanatos himself.

He had instructed Salt to wait. And true to his word, the waiting had paid off. In just two short months, Angel had been renewed. Once again, Death had assisted her, stepping in to intervene even when it wasn't his place to do so. That action spoke volumes to Salt. There was no doubt in her mind, anymore, as to how deeply Thanatos had to care for Angel.

'Thank you, Lord Thanatos,' she communicated sincerely, knowing that he could hear her. 'Thank you! Thank you for healing her. You have my undying, eternal gratitude forever and I will never ever forget this day!'

The usual sound of humming, maddening silence was the only response she received , but for once, she was far too elated to mind.


Angel's family came over that Saturday to witness for themselves her miraculous recovery.

"No way!" Castiel stared at her arm in amazement, lifting it back and forth as he tested its movement. "How? What did the doctors say?"

"Your leg too?" Gabriel poked at her knee. "Hey. Move it, then. Show me."

Angel laughed and extended her leg in delight.

"And it doesn't hurt?" Gabriel's eyes lifted to meet hers. "Not even a little?"

"It's fully healed," Mrs. Caelum said. "We saw the scans. It's a miracle, there's no other explanation."

"Whoa," Castiel shook his head. "That's wild. So you can walk and use your arm like normal now?"

"I only need a few rounds of physio to check everything's working correctly, and then Emily said I can probably just do strengthening exercises from home."

"We're so happy for you, sweetheart." A beaming Isaac Caelum wrapped his daughter into a big bear hug.

"I'll race you, you can test to see everything works." Castiel teased. "Bet you're still slower than I am, Lissy."

"Oh yeah?" Angel stuck out her tongue playfully. "We'll see about that!" She reached out to ruffle his hair.

"You're getting old," he sniggered, evading her hand. "You'll be out of breath."

"Old!" His sister gasped indignantly. "I'm twenty-two, not two hundred, Cas!"

Mr. and Mrs. Caelum exchanged looks, affectionately rolling their eyes at their children's familiar banter.

"Shut up, midget," Gabriel twisted his little brother's ear. "Pick on someone your own size. I'd beat you hands down."

"Try it," Castiel, who was taller than Angel but shorter than his older brother, challenged. "Just wait until I stop growing. I'll be taller than you are!"

"Have you even started growing?" Gabriel shot back, prompting Angel to burst into laughter.

Beyond the open balcony doors, the sound of her mirth and her family's happiness carried to the night sky. A dark figure's crimson eyes met that of the crow stationed upon the balcony railings, satisfied that all was well - before vanishing abruptly from the roof-top.


Angel's mother stayed an extra four days for good measure, attending the first of her daughter's physiotherapy sessions where she received reassurance that no lasting nerve or muscle damage remained from Angel's healed injuries. It was a Thursday morning when she finally prepared to leave, pulling Angel into a tight hug at her apartment's front door. Gabriel hovered outside in the hallway, holding his mother's wheeled luggage suitcase. He'd driven down to collect her and take her back to their home-town.

"Thanks for everything, mum," Angel squeezed her arms around her mother's slim shoulders gratefully.

Her mother kissed her cheek. "No more skateboarding adventures for you anytime soon, honey. Be careful, alright?"

"And dump that dick before you're official," Gabriel quipped behind her.

"Gabe, honey," Mrs. Caelum lightly chided. "If Angel likes him-"

"Mum, she can do way better," her eldest son argued. "So what if he has some flashy car and a doctor title? Lissy needs someone who respects her and I stand by what I said. This guy's an asshole. I've seen him flirting with plenty of nurses in the hospital corridor." He glanced at his sister. "You're way too smart for that."

"Language," Juliette gave him a stern look. "Dr. Lockwood did help in your sister's recovery."

"Yeah, whatever, only so he could make eyes at her without the casts on," Gabriel snorted.

Angel rolled her eyes before stepping forward to embrace her brother in turn. "You're such a pain," she said affectionately. "So annoying."

"I mean it," he said to her seriously, hugging her close. "You can do better. Don't let him or anyone else pressure you into anything. I'll break both his legs if he tries."

"Gabe!" she exclaimed.

"Just take care, alright?" He added more gently.

"Okay, dad," Angel said sarcastically, but she smiled against his shoulder.

"Dad spoils you too much." Gabriel pulled back and flicked her on her nose, prompting her to wrinkle it. "Someone has to lay it straight."

"Alright, out with you," his mother shooed him away. "Baby," she turned back to look at Angel again. "If you need anything at all, call me right away."

"I will, mum," Angel promised. "Thanks again."

"Bye, Hobbit," her brother called as he wheeled away his mother's luggage bag.

"Oh my God, Gabe, don't call me that!" Angel protested after him. He'd teased her about her height and petite stature for as long as she could remember.

"Take care, Hobbit," he grinned, repeating the irritating name teasingly.

"Ugh! Hey! Say hi to Serena for me," she called, referring to his long-term girlfriend. "And put a ring on it soon, loser! Before she realises how weird you are and runs away!"

He laughed. "Shut up, Lissy."

"That's what I tell him," Mrs. Caelum sighed. "I don't know what else he's waiting for. At his age, your father already had two children."

"Yeah, whatever. Time's change." He raised a hand to indicate he'd heard them both, and then disappeared around the corner, heading in the direction of the elevator.

Angel turned smilingly back to her mother, who reached out and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

"Honey…" she began. "I know you and Salt have had a little disagreement, but…"

Angel's smile immediately waned at the mention of the raven-haired girl's name.

"I hope you don't mind, I've told her you've made a full recovery now, and she's so happy for you. I really do hope you girls can talk things over. You haven't had it easy, losing Evie, and I think…" Mrs. Caelum pushed a lock of Angel's hair tenderly behind her ear. "I think having an older friend in your life will do you good. She seems such a nice sort of girl, honey, and she cares so much about you. Whatever it is, I'm sure you can work it out. Life's too short to hold grudges, isn't it?"

Angel was silent. She swallowed, not wanting to say anything that would disappoint or upset her mother just as she was leaving. She heard the reason in her words, and still she felt a deep twisting pain within her chest at the mere thought of Salt.

"Right," she answered vaguely.

"If you need anything at all, I'm sure she'd come running if you just asked. You're a sensible girl. I know you'll make the right choices."

With that, she pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, leaned down to pet a meowing Vetty and then departed.

Angel closed the door with a sigh, and bent down, scooping Vetty up into her arms. Burying her face against her mewling cat's soft dark fur, Angel squeezed her eyes shut, and murmured, "I'm so grateful, Vetty. So grateful."


Angel found herself appreciating things from a new perspective following her accident. Doing chores, which she had always despised, felt like a blessing. Exercising was no longer a daily struggle, but something she relished doing every morning, whether it was cycling around the block, going to the gym or partaking in home workouts. She continued to apply for jobs, and slowly began to pick up her writing. She still struggled in places with it but found comfort from the fact that she was able to at least write some content, which was better than none.

She visited her friends and signed up to help at a local charity to fill up her free time, eager to take the second chance she had been given at life with all her limbs intact seriously, with renewed vigour and optimism. If she believed things would fall into place, then perhaps, steadily, slowly, they would? After all, hadn't she hit rock bottom already, losing her job, her best-friend, almost losing her life? Surely the only direction to move in now was upwards?

Cain was quick to come around often again, eager to spend time in her company alone. Angel had deliberately not told him of her mother's departure right away, wanting some time to herself, to clear her head and consider whether she wished to continue with the grey area they'd found themselves in - or to friendzone him entirely.

"A drink," he declared one evening when she'd finally accepted his invitation to go out for a drink. "To toast your miraculous recovery."

Angel followed him into the Hidden Leaf bar. It was eight-thirty in the evening and relatively packed. Cain had just clocked off work, calling her up as soon as he'd finished. She'd finally accepted his offer to take her out to celebrate, mostly out of polite gratitude for his role in her road to recovering from her injury. As she settled onto the stool by the bartender's counter, she listened to him talk on, greatly distracted by her own thoughts. She stared down at her newly mended arm beneath the sleeve of her cream leather jacket, immensely grateful for what she had always taken for granted in the past. Her good health.

"What'll it be, darling?" Cain's voice hovered close to her right ear. "The usual? It's on me, so order anything you like."

She lifted her head, humming automatically as she watched the people in the bar talking, eating, laughing.

"Yeah, that's fine," she replied, not really focusing on his words. She only snapped back to attention when a vodka shot was suddenly placed in front of her. Angel blinked down at it, her eyes shifting to Cain, who had already downed his, and reached for the second. Her gaze returned to the glass in front of her. She frowned.

Her accident had been caused by a lapse in judgement on her part. She had chosen to enter a construction site. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have gotten hurt. She'd engaged in fighting with the teenagers, pointlessly, because alcohol had spurned her to take the bait instead of ignoring it as she usually would have. Those had been her mistakes. How many others had she made, while under the influence? She recalled the incident in the nightclub. The drugs. Almost drunkenly sleeping with Cain in her own apartment.

She had hardly ever drank in the past, and yet had consumed more alcohol over the previous months than she had in her entire lifetime prior to that. She remembered why she had always chosen to avoid it, how sensitive she had always been to it. How she hated its effects on her mind. How it made her feel foggy, out of control, when above all else, she always tried her best to be in control. She'd watched alcohol waste away good people. One of her own family members had died from their addiction to it. She had always disliked it. That was who she was.

This… drinking until she was hammered beyond comprehension - Angel knew that wasn't her. And spending time in her family's company during recovery had helped to remind her of her values. Of the fundamental things she believed in.

Gabriel had reminded her not to let anyone pressure her into anything. Since when had she ever let anyone do that?

Silently, she pushed the shot-glass aside.

Cain blinked at her. "What's wrong, darling?" he questioned. He lifted her glass, and offered it to her. "Come now, it's a time to be happy. Drink."

He captured her eyes, his blue irises twinkling with familiar mischief. She felt them drawing her in, a strange magnetic pull and Angel's right hand lifted automatically toward it - when she frowned and abruptly caught herself. Hadn't she just told herself she wouldn't have it? She gave herself a mental shake. What was the matter with her?

"No," she refused firmly. "I don't want to drink that."

"What?" Cain looked puzzled. "Why not?"

"I just don't want alcohol." Her tone left no room for arguing. She turned to the bartender. "Could I get an orange-juice, please?"

"Of course, Miss," the elderly bartender nodded, and turned away to get her order.

"That's a boring choice," Cain scoffed. "We're celebrating." Then he shrugged and downed her shot. "Your loss."

"I can celebrate without getting plastered," Angel retorted.

"Angel," he sighed. "Are you upset at me? Is this about the accident? Because I told you, darling, I felt terrible, and-"

"I'm not mad. I made that choice. And I'm healed now, so we don't need to talk about it." She shrugged. "You know I never was much of a drinker anyway."

"But this is a special occasion," he argued.

"I've seen what you do for 'fun'," she shot him a pointed look, referencing the drugs incident. "Everyone has different definitions of it, don't they? Why can't we have fun together without getting drunk?"

"You're really somber today," he smirked. "What's gotten into you? Where's the wild, fierce vixen I know?"

"Oh, she's still here," Angel replied, thanking the bartender as he set down her glass of orange-juice. She raised the glass to him. "You don't want to push her around."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he laughed, and downed another shot. "Actually, I'm thrilled that you've healed. We can go back to doing things. Fun things."

"Yeah, I have plenty of suggestions," Angel agreed thoughtfully. "How about some museums? A theatre. You know. Cultured places."

He gave her a look. "I suppose…"

"Or…" she took a sip of her drink. "Is that not really your scene?"

"My scene is anywhere you are," he replied suavely.

Angel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Smooth," she conceded. "I forgot. You own The Book of Cain-isms."

"I'll get a special edition just for you, for Christmas," he chuckled, snaking an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close to his side.

"You're the gift that keeps on giving, huh?" This time she did roll her eyes, prompting another loud laugh from him.

She was jolted when someone suddenly bumped roughly into Cain's back while trying to side-step another person behind them.

"Watch it," Cain turned his head, frowning. The tall, burly, bald-headed man with a black goatee who had accidentally nudged into Cain glanced back at him, offering no apology - when his eyes suddenly came to rest on Angel. He blinked and did a double-take, a strange expression passing across his face, as if he were struggling to place her features.

Angel stared back, confused as to why he was looking at her so oddly. She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to ask him what his issue was, when his gaze suddenly widened, and he reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of him.

The second man was shorter, with a ruddy face, wore a leather jacket and had unruly red hair.

"Hey, Gavin! Look! Isn't this that broad from that night? I'm sure!"

Cain downed another shot and squinted at him. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

The red-haired man, Gavin, had turned around. His eyes grew as large and round as saucers as he stared at Angel, anger morphing on his face. "So it is," he sneered. "I remember that face. Where's your psycho friend, bitch?"

Angel blinked at him, nonplussed. What was he talking about? "I'm sorry?" she tried to begin non-confrontationally. "Do I know you?"

"Don't play dumb with us, you little cunt," the taller man snarled. "You might've been drunk, but you can't fool us. Your crazy psycho bitch of a friend broke Gavin's hand!"

"Fucking lunatic! Still hurts!" Gavin agreed, glaring so hatefully at Angel, she was taken aback. "Where is the little bitch, huh?"

"What…?" Angel still struggled to comprehend what on earth he was even talking about.

"The dark-haired girl who showed up out of nowhere in the back-alley when you were last here!" Gavin gestured. "You fucking tell her to stay away from our bar! We don't want trouble makers like you here!"

"The dark haired…" Angel's voice trailed off. Her mouth hung open, struck speechless by the man's words. She recalled the night she had chosen to go for a late drink at this same bar. How she'd drank too much. How she couldn't recall for the life of her just how she'd gotten home safely. The pieces clicked into place with resounding clarity in her mind and she felt physically sick, her heart immediately pounding within her chest as realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning.

The dark haired girl. Salt? Angel stared after them as they left in an angry huff, stunned by the revelation. Salt had retrieved her and taken her home? Saved her from a situation involving at least two men, a situation that had resulted in one of their hands being broken? Salt had done that, even when they hadn't been talking?

Angel swallowed thickly, scarcely believing it - and yet, nothing in the world made more sense to her in that moment. She knew it with certainty, felt it in her bones, that the men were not lying about her unexpected saviour. It was exactly the kind of crazy, devoted, over-protective thing that Salt would do, and she would only do it if they had intended Angel real harm.

How many times had Salt appeared out of nowhere when Angel had been in danger? It certainly fit the pattern. She suddenly wondered whether Salt had been there when the beam had dropped on her, too. Was that how she had known to come to the hospital? Another mystery, unanswered, and yet it didn't seem too far-fetched to Angel right then. Horror filled her.

She jerked back from Cain, throwing his arm off her as she turned accusing eyes up at him, hazel irises glittering with the fire of fury.

"Angel-" he began.

"You asshole!" she hissed. "You told me it was you who took me home that night! You told me you were here at the bar."

He held up his hands in an attempt to calm her down. "Now, darling, I didn't say it was me, you assumed-"

"You told me you were here! You liar!"

"I said you were so out of it, you didn't remember what happened, and-"

"Shut up!" Angel snarled, and slipped off the bar stool. "Don't play word games with me, you jerk! I can't believe you lied to me!" Suddenly she couldn't stand to be next to him, to keep company in his overbearing, self-assured, arrogant presence, too upset and distraught by the fact that Salt, Salt, had been the one to take her home, to tuck her into bed, without a word spoken to her. And all that time, Angel had believed it to be Cain who had come to her aid.

She felt cheated. Foolish. Furious. Without another word, she shoved roughly past him.

"Angel!" Cain called desperately after her, reaching out automatically for her arm - but she had already slipped away. "Hold on! Stop!"

"Go to hell!" she yelled at him, over the sound of talking and music, drawing curious gazes onto her. But she didn't care that people were staring. She suddenly felt suffocated in the stuffy, over-crowded bar. None of it - any of this, she realised starkly, was her.

"Angel! Wait. Angel!" Cursing, Cain turned to settle the bill for the drinks, trying to catch the bartender's attention.

Angel paid him no heed. Without looking back, she stormed out of The Hidden Leaf, wincing as a strange throbbing sensation briefly assaulted her skull. She gritted her teeth and ignored it, pushing onward, barreling down the pavement, incensed. Angry, hot tears welled in her eyes and her hands closed into tight fists, the realisation that Cain had played her like a fool scalding her inside.

Just who did he think he was, trying to masquerade as some knight in shining armour who had come to her rescue when all along it had been someone else entirely who had come to her assistance? Had he known that Salt had saved her? Was that why he'd chosen to take the credit? She knew the two had never liked each other and wouldn't put it past him.

Her chest ached. Her head hurt. She swallowed miserably, shaking her head in disbelief as her entire body seemed to pulse with negative energy, taut with tension. Salt had taken her home! Protected her from men whom Angel assumed had intended to take advantage of her while she'd been in a drunken state. Even after everything she had said to Salt in fury, the yawning chasm of distance she had placed between them and every effort Angel had made to cut her permanently out of her life, she had still shown up to help her? Why?

Why was she so- so impossible? So stupidly devoted to her? So ridiculously concerned for her well-being, even now?

And why did she, Angel, always fall prey to the webs of deceit others spun around her? She couldn't stand it. Just when she was trying so hard to pick up the pieces of her life again, the past returned to cruelly mock her.

She'd had enough of being naive, of never knowing just what the real truth was.

The tears flowed freely down her face as she crossed the road, adjusting the strap of her leather satchel-bag that was slung across her chest. She paid little attention to her surroundings, too lost in the storm of her emotions and the turbulence of her thoughts.

The pounding ache in her head only seemed to be intensifying with every step, but she couldn't afford to stop, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Cain as possible. Salt's hurt expression lingered before her mind's eye and it both infuriated her at the same time that it stabbed at her heart. While Angel had been seeing only Itachi's accomplice, the girl who refused to spare even a shred of truth for her, the one who claimed to be her best friend but left her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, Salt had been seeing another image entirely. One of herself, repeatedly facing danger, often brought on by her own recklessness. She shuddered to think of what the situation must have been like in that dark alleyway before Salt had come for her. She hated the thought that while she had been furiously voicing her frustration with Salt, Angel had actually been cluelessly in the other girl's debt, and entirely ignorant of it.

Salt had said nothing. Cain had deceived her. The very world around her seemed to be a web of lies closing in on her, smothering her. Was there no one who would be truthful with her? No one she could trust? And Salt - Angel squeezed her eyes shut as bitter regret swamped her being. What would have happened to her if Salt had not come? If she hadn't been there on that miserable, drunken night? Or that day on the beach, where she had pulled her from the water?

Don't mention it.

The words echoed in her ears, haunting her as she realized with painful clarity, how much sincerity was concealed behind them. Salt had no intention of mentioning anything she did for Angel's sake and Angel had no way of knowing how many more incidents like the one Cain had covered up lay hidden in her silence.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, it made her want to throw up. It made her want to shake some sense into Salt. A sob tore from her throat and she lifted her hand to stifle it, finally slowing her steps in defeat. The raging headache threatened to split her skull in two and confusion, guilt, and anger fused within her to an emotion so painful she wished the earth would swallow her whole.

She lifted a hand to the wall beside her, trembling as her sobs wracked her body, tears streaming forth ceaselessly even as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away. She stumbled along, only a single thought remaining in her consciousness through the searing headache and mind-numbing anguish.

Get away from Cain.

She felt her foot bump against something only a moment before the sound of glass clinking and then shattering met her ears. Tearful eyes flew open to find that she had come up against a collection of beer bottles that had been lined against the wall - some empty, some full, most broken. The frothy, golden-brown liquid spilled over the cobblestone, disappearing into the cracks and Angel stepped backwards in surprise, wiping away her tears and struggling to calm her tremors.

"You bitch…" a voice behind her slurred.

Angel whirled around to find an aging, homeless man hobbling towards her. His steps were unsteady, and his complexion blotchy with bloodshot eyes, but the stench of him - a ghastly combination of alcohol and the nauseating, sharp reek of urine - was even more unsettling. His clothing was little more than layers of tatters, dyed by years of filth to more or less the same shade of pungent brown. His leering, washed-out blue eyes, that fixed decisively on her even as the rest of his body swayed unsteadily, filled her with dread.

"You gonna pay for that?" the man stalked ever closer, and Angel hastily wiped at her eyes as she sought distance from him, stumbling over the remaining bottles. She was disoriented from her headache and felt lightheaded and dizzy.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident," she defended, her vision blurring from the intensity of the throbbing ache in her temples.

But the man was surprisingly fast on his feet for one so inebriated and he closed in on her, "Stupid bitch. Thinking you can…" he trailed off, tripping over his own feet before steadying himself, "... just do what you want…" Angel felt darkness closing in on the edges of her vision and pressed a hand to her temples, blinking, willing the damned headache away.

A blackened, grimy hand shot past her line of sight and grabbed at her hair, jerking her head backwards. "Think you can break my stuff?! Think Horace ain't got no rights? I'm human too!" His voice grew increasingly agitated and Angel was hit with the full stench of the alcohol on his breath. She realized, suddenly, that the man had picked up one of the broken, glass bottles and was gesturing wildly with it as he spoke.

"Let go…" she urged weakly, horror filling her as she realized she was helplessly at his mercy.

"Imma…" he hiccuped, "grown-ass man. No one touches my shit. Not even barbie bitches like you!" He brought the jagged edge of the broken bottle to her throat as he spoke and Angel swallowed in terror.

Was this it? Was this how her life was going to end? At the hands of a homeless drunkard who thought he had the right to write an end to her story? She was done with other people scribbling on her pages. Done with them tearing her pen away. She was fed up of all the white-outs and the highlights and the asterisks and footnotes of the influence of outsiders. It was her life. Her pages. Her story. She was going to take the pen back one way or another, and not Cain, nor this homeless man, nor anyone else would ever take it from her again.

She didn't know where the burst of strength came from - fuelled by her anger, by her hurt, by her agony. She brought her hands up against the man's chest, a thousand images filling her head as she shoved him off.

Itachi's cold eyes. An assumption on your part. The shadow marks curled on her back, ones she would take to the grave.

Salt and Levi's repeated appearances where she least expected them. Salt's judgmental, disappointed brown eyes under the flickering violet lights of the nightclub.

Cain's smooth talk. His lines that didn't add up. His shifting eyes and steady smirk.

The open grave. Cami's trembling. The voices beckoning to her.

The wooden beam falling, growing closer faster than she could think, before crushing her entirely. Weeks of hospitalization. Cain's unruffled appearance.

His lies. His wordplay.

Her own naivete. Her helplessness.

"I said get the hell off of me!" she cried, her voice tearing from her lungs with all the force in her body.

She felt something shift - an odd rippling in the very airwaves around her - before an intense, dizzying gravitational pull tugged at her very essence, coursing through her body until it exploded from her hands with a blinding flash, followed by a sickening crack and a dull thud.

Angel blinked, centering herself amidst her confusion. There was a ringing in her ears, a distant sound that slowly compressed to a sharp whine before fading completely. Angel instantly felt lighter, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Her headache had disappeared and her mind was suddenly clear and sharp. She hadn't realized how much of a fog she had been in these last months but suddenly her surroundings were sharply defined, clear as crystal. From the crickets chirping somewhere nearby to the humming of motors in the distance. She felt acutely aware of every single star twinkling in the sky. Attuned to every blade of grass peeking through the cobblestone pavement. When had she last felt this alive?

Her eyes focused on the wall in front of her and the large, red splotch splattered there, trailing down to the floor confused her, at first. Following the trail, she saw the homeless man that had assaulted her, lying on the stone floor in a heap - motionless.

Fear seized the breath in her lungs. Had she done that?

Had she shoved him away with so much force that he had broken something against the brick wall? Despite herself, she rushed forward. His filthy appearance, his nauseating stench - none of that mattered anymore. Angel desperately pulled the man over on his side, and pressed a shaking hand to his wrist, feeling for a pulse and - when she found none - cursed herself for being so unskilled. She reached for his neck, pressing two fingers to the vein there and waited. How hard could it be to find a pulse? Why was she so bad at this?

Understanding dawned and she turned to stone as she looked at the man crumpled on the floor. He wasn't injured.

He was dead.

She slapped a hand to her mouth, but it wasn't enough to stifle the sob that erupted from her lungs. Clamping both hands down on her mouth, her legs refused to carry her, as if they knew what she had done, and she fell painfully to her knees.

She saw now that his skull had cracked and was spilling forth blood faster than anything she had ever seen. There was nothing she could compare it with.

She screamed, struggling to stifle her own cries. She crawled backwards, horror consuming her. She gasped for air - choked and coughed as if she had forgotten how to breathe. Unable to tear her eyes away from the homeless man - no, the dead man. The man she had killed.

Her stomach turned and without warning emptied itself of its contents. Angel held herself up on hands and knees. Long after her stomach was empty, she continued dry heaving as if it were her very soul she wished to cast out.

She grasped at her hair, pulling senselessly at it, as if the pain would somehow ground her.

"Mister," she whimpered, "I'm sorry, mister, please…" Wasn't there something she could do? Something anyone could do?

"Please don't die, mister." Tears streamed down her face. It was hopeless, it was over. Life was meaningless and fragile. A butterfly's wing.

She reached out for the homeless man, shaking his shoulder, hoping she was wrong, praying for some sign of life. His body felt oddly resistant to her touch.

"Angel!"

The cry that sounded behind her gave her hope, even as it made her want to run away anew. Cain was a doctor. Surely, he could do something?

"Cain…" her lip trembled. Her hands were covered with blood. Vomit, spilled alcohol, and even more blood stained her clothes. Her hair was tangled and disheveled from the man's grip only moments before. Tears seemed to want to wash out her very eyes.

"Cain!" she cried again, reaching out for the hem of his long coat in thoughtless desperation as hysteria bubbled uncontrollably within her. "I-I don't know what happened!" she babbled tearfully. "I didn't mean to- I never- it was an accident!"

"Angel," he regarded her with concern. "Slow down. What's happened?"

"I don't… I don't know! Help him, please!" she begged. "Do something! H-he attacked me, and I only meant to shove him off, but… I think he's… I don't think he…" Her breaths came in short, irregular gasps and Cain nodded, crossing over to the unconscious man.

It was a moment that stretched out for eternity. Time itself seemed to stop as Cain glanced at the man, his verdict had fallen even before he felt for a pulse. The blond froze, a grimace on his face. The man was putrid, filthy, and reeked something terrible. Had this man accosted Angel? Cain turned back towards the brunette.

"Angel, there's nothing to worry about," he began, and hope bloomed in her chest - "He's dead."

Angel turned wide, hazel eyes towards the doctor in horrified disbelief. Judgment had fallen.

She was a killer.

She had robbed this man of his life. She was death itself. Death had not only taken from her so many that she loved, it had claimed her very being. Made her its own. She belonged to death. Was its agent. Was no better than it.

Her mouth fell open and a tormented, inhuman sound escaped as she clutched at her head. The sound morphed into a scream and Cain abandoned the old man, turning instead to the young woman succumbing to utter despair. He threw his arms around her and drew her close.

"There, there, darling," he cooed, "You've done nothing wrong. That man was going to hurt you. You acted in self-defense. Who knows how many other women he might have attacked."

He smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he held her close, muffling her sobs against his chest. "Believe me, you've done the world a favor. The less scum like that we have on the streets, the better."

Angel pulled away from his embrace as if he carried a deadly contagion. "What?" she breathed, tears still streaming down her face.

"Cain, I -" she swallowed, her voice dropping to a whisper at the gravity of the words she struggled to speak, "I killed him."

"Hush, Angel, nonsense." He rubbed her back with that same, disarming smile she had seen him wear on so many occasions. Unruffled, unaffected. Just like when Itachi had made her lose all sense of self. The same expression he wore when she had lost her very best friends. That expression that she recognized when his own friends were trying to pump her full of drugs. That smile he wore when he visited her in the hospital, her body broken in more places than she could count. When had that smile ever meant anything good for her?

"You know me... and my father. I'll take care of this, don't you worry." He reached out to smooth her hair down again, but she slapped his hand away.

"This is a human life! This isn't some… some misdemeanor you can smooth over!" His callousness in the face of death made her skin crawl.

"Angel," he patted her hand, "You've had a shock. I understand. Just take it easy, I'll take care of the rest."

Angel had no more words for him.

He stood up and turned away from her, lifting his cell phone to his ear as he called up his colleagues from the hospital. Angel scarcely heard a word he spoke, turning her eyes away from him, welcoming the sting of the cold night air on her. It was preferable to the deceptive warmth of his touch. Her eyes settled on the man lying on the floor.

He had a family surely? People who would miss him? People who would stand by his grave trembling as Cami had done? People who wouldn't be able to think of him without being choked by tears? People who would ask themselves what had happened? Who would look for someone to blame for his death? And who was to blame?

You are, of course. Murderer.

Angel closed her eyes against the sight and held her ears shut, but it was hopeless. How could she block out a sound that was coming from inside her head?

Killer. You're no different from any of them. Life is sacred? Don't make me laugh.

Nothing is sacred.

Angel felt a helpless whimper cross her lips as new tears formed in her eyes. She wished she could open her eyes to discover it had all been a dream. Would life show her that mercy? She rocked back and forth, willing the voice away. Willing the reality of the situation away. When she opened her eyes, it seemed everything had faded away except for herself and the homeless man's lifeless body. Nothing but the two of them and stretching, gaping blackness.

She opened her mouth to call for help, for someone to get her out of there, but could not produce a sound. She watched his lifeless form, and mouthed unspoken apologies.

The sound of approaching sirens startled her out of her reverie. The ambulance slowed to a stop at the side of the road and paramedics spilled into the alleyway.

"Are you alright, miss?" a young man with wide eyes and thick glasses asked her.

She pointed helplessly towards the fallen man. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they asking about her? Couldn't they see what was right in front of them? She was a murderer. They should be taking her away.

Cain stepped in smoothly, as the paramedics closed in on the man, taking his vitals and then stopping abruptly, as they realized there was nothing more to be done.

"My girlfriend and I were on our way home, when we saw him," Cain explained easily, "She's in quite a state of shock. It was very unsettling for her. You don't think something happened to him?"

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Lockwood," a female paramedic reassured him, "He's a regular in our hospital. A severe alcoholic who was always getting himself hurt. It was only a matter of time before he had an accident like this."

Cain was doing as he had promised. Smoothing things over. Making it okay. Telling his lies. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who believed them. Angel struggled to find her voice. She couldn't feign innocence. Not with a life on her hands. Whatever the consequences were, she had to face them. She deserved them.

She stared down at her bloodied hands, "No…"

The group fell silent and turned towards her. She caught sight of Cain casting her a warning glance.

"It was me," she announced, her voice breaking, her shoulders trembling, "I killed him. He was coming after me, and I pushed him … I…" She couldn't bring herself to continue.

"Sweetie," the female paramedic lay a gentle hand on Angel's shoulder. "This kind of blunt force trauma? You would have had to hit him with a car to cause that kind of damage. I know it's shocking, but you'll be okay, don't worry. We'll take care of him."

Angel turned despairingly from one set of sympathetic eyes to another. They didn't believe her. She opened her mouth but no words came out. It had been hard enough to confess once, but saying it again? Convincing them of it? How was she supposed to do that? She didn't even want to believe it herself. But she had to, an innocent man had died!

"Listen to me!" She insisted, "Please, it was me! This wasn't an accident, it was- it was-" Cain took hold of her and pulled her away from the medic.

"There, there, darling," he held her close to his chest, muffling her protests, "It's a lot, I know, but let them do their work."

He nodded at the responders, and they lifted the man onto a stretcher before carrying him into the ambulance. Cain held firmly onto her, waiting until the ambulance doors had been slammed shut and he heard the engine start. Angel stomped her foot onto his instep, causing him to release her with a hiss.

"What are you doing, Angel?" he seethed, "I'm trying to help you, and you're trying to - what, go to jail?"

"If that's where I belong, yes!" Angel threw back, tears streaming from her eyes. "I don't need your lies to protect me, Cain. If I don't like hearing lies, I hate telling them even more."

"Alright, darling. As you wish," he relented, with a soothing smile that was not reflected in his eyes, "Let me get you home."

"No," Angel lifted a hand, a desperate shield between him and herself, "I'll go on my own. Just, please, I need to be alone."

Leave me alone. Please.

"Angel, I don't think that's a good idea," Cain stepped closer, taking hold of the hand she held between them. "Let me help you, darling."

"You've helped enough," Angel tugged her hand out of his grip and stepped backwards, "I need space. I need to breathe." Her eyes darted wildly around the alleyway for an escape. "Please. Just leave me alone."

No one can help me now.

Something dark flashed in Cain's eyes, and he lifted his chin, disappointed but acceptant. "Alright, Angel. Whatever you want."

She needed no further compliance and pushed past him, tearing down the street towards her apartment. She felt the eyes of the world on her back, millions of judgmental gazes, piercing through her. The word "murderer" echoed endlessly between her eardrums, a verdict nothing living would ever be able to overturn. One that was engraved on her very soul. A man had lost his life.

And she had been the cause.

Angel didn't know how she made it back to her apartment. The short trip was little more than a blur in her memory. She staggered through the front door, dropping her things in the hallway, before pushing the door shut. Stumbling towards the bathroom, she tore off her clothes as if they were burning her.

She needed to be rid of it. To be rid of everything that had been touched by death. She turned on the shower and stepped inside, shivering. Although she turned the knob as far as it would go, setting the water as hot as was possible, she could not banish her trembling.

She watched the blood swirling down the drain through the steam, waiting for the moment the water would run clear, but it never came. Red stained her vision, the blood dying the water, the walls, the shower basin crimson. The red death seemed to flow backwards, against the water pressure, creeping ever closer to herself.

With a strangled sob, she sank to the floor of the shower, hugging her knees against herself. The burning hot water barely registered in her mind, as faint as a drizzle. Although she could subjectively see the way her skin turned red under the scalding spray, her mind was far removed. She rested her forehead against her knees, creating a small space where she could breathe, and closed her eyes, wishing the water would just wash her away as well.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, under the punishing spray. It could have been minutes, hours, days. At last, she reached up and shut off the water, forcing herself to her feet. She felt dizzy from the collective steam in the bathroom and wrapped a large towel around herself before somehow making her way to her bed.

Somewhere in the distance, Vetty meowed in concern, but Angel scarcely heard her. She stared with eyes unseeing at the ceiling, feeling like little more than a corpse. Death had tainted every inch of her. No, she was worse than dead. She was a killer. She remembered the pale, blue eyes of the homeless man - recalled what they had looked like when the life had gone out of them.

I'm human, too!

His voice rang in her ears and fresh tears resurfaced. Wretched sobs shook her body and she had no strength to hold them back. Shaking from head to toe, she wept bitterly. Wishing, praying, that somehow she wouldn't have to see the morn. Wouldn't have to look into the mirror and see a murderer looking back. She should have been the one to die, not that man.

He was a human, too. She had broken his possessions. Stumbled through his home. She was to blame. She was the trespasser. He had only been defending his territory, and she had killed him. She was the monster.

Think Horace ain't got no rights?!

"I'm sorry," she whimpered into the night, before curling on her side, burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" The words were an endless refrain that sounded meaningless, even to her own ears. Empty apologies. She had no right. How dare she apologize, as if there were any hope of forgiveness?

She hugged herself, trembling and sobbing. Wondering where it had all gone wrong. Wondering why no one had thought to investigate his death. How they could have treated it like a good thing. Wondering if she shouldn't have done more to bring the perpetrator to justice. She wondered how she dared to live, when another had died at her hands.

Please, let me die. I'd rather be killed than be… this. I don't want to face this in the morning. I don't want this to be real. Take me, please.

The words rang clearly in his mind. A prayer to the god of death, from one who had never addressed him before.

He recognized the voice, usually sweet, almost regal in its intonation, nothing like any other voice he had ever heard before. Now, she addressed him - directly for the first time since they had parted - broken and sobbing, like so many others before her.

He had seen the moment she had clung to the fallen man, searching for signs of life. Had stopped the crow that had gone to summon the nymph with a mere flicker of his gaze. He had witnessed her anguish and her torment and neither spoke nor moved to comfort her. Observing solemnly, instead, how one who so cherished life, found herself taking it.

He recalled her as he had first known her - wide, hazel eyes full of questions, full of fire. Her bold, determined regard for the sanctity of life, one that was always laced with the fear of those who had known death intimately. The sunshine setting her eyes alight, the river glittering behind her. The way she refused to succumb to the fear that her very soul should have instilled in her at the sight of him. Brave, innocent, pure.

The agonized screams that tore from her throat, the way she pulled at her own hair, her eyes fixed helplessly on the dead man - all evidence of the fact that she was forever changed. An innocence lost. She would never be able to return to the days where she had considered herself a champion of life. Protecting all those around her with reckless abandon, with nary a thought to her own safety. He saw it in her eyes, that she was irreparably broken, lost to a calamity she could not overcome.

The loathsome mortal had arrived to offer her comfort. He had taken Angelissa in his arms, soothing her, but the anguished state of her very soul made it painfully clear that she found no solace in his embrace.

She had confessed to the mortal medics, in a fashion so like herself, he could not but frown to witness it, that she had been responsible for the man's death. Had been wholly willing to accept the consequences, had perhaps craved them, even, to put her tormented conscience at some semblance of ease, but the medics paid her no heed, and the man who had lost his life, scarcely registered as a loss in their eyes.

All of this only heightened her distress, as she was deprived of any sort of justice that would have been a balm on her soul, that things had somehow been put to rights. There would be no such retribution. Not for one who did not even register as marginally of value to their society. One who they had written off long before his death. That was the way with mortals. Only the lives that produced anything they considered of value were actual lives in their eyes. The rest - the so-called scum of society - were merely dead weight.

It was Angelissa, he knew, who bore no such prejudices. Every life, truly, was sacred, worthy of protection in her eyes and to have taken one such life, albeit unintentionally, will have changed her forever in ways she would never heal from.

He recalled his own anguish, in a not too distant past, when the hands of the dying clung to the hem of his tunic, and the souls of the dead, in turn, to his cloak, screaming at him - shrieking, begging, pleading. He had been unable to distinguish their voices from one another. Had been helpless to acquiesce even a single request.

He remembered that first evening back in the Underworld. Staring at his own hands with eyes unseeing, questioning his very identity. He had remained at the banks of the Styx, torn between the surface world he had just left, and the palace he could not quite bring himself to return to. He recalled the way Cronus had chanced upon him, sneering, before turning away in disgust.

It was a similar horror reflected in Angelissa's eyes. What remained of the one who had taken a life? Nothing whole. Nothing intact. Merely a break - a crack - so deep, that only an ache remained. Nothing living. Nothing human.

He could only share in her confusion, in her contemplation. Could only listen to her soul ask him the questions he had asked himself many a time. Am I a murderer? What had that man done to deserve this? Why did he have to die? And why am I still alive?

He maintained his silent sentry on the rooftop. Listening wordlessly to her agonized sobs, her helpless whispers, her heart wrenching apologies. Knowing that she was well aware of their futility, and unlike her broken bones and injured flesh, for once, he was utterly powerless to heal her, or to help her.


AN: Reviews are highly appreciated! :)