Improper Guardian

Chapter Thirteen

By: Brenli

"Jinho… how was the trip?"

"Rather quick, your Highness… I ran into an unexpected person."

"Really? Who?"

"Your brother… Michael-sama."

"… You are lying."

"No, I am not. I received the most interesting news! Michael-sama has been assigned as Nemaelle's Guardian Angel!"

A figure, noble and dark, sat regally upon his equally dark throne. To his left sat a woman in white, her long, dark waves of hair shadowing her face. The man laughed. "My poor little brother! It's a small three worlds, isn't it?"

Jinho let a smile pass over his lips. "It is, indeed. Michael seems to be living with her in exchange of her parents…"

"According to various sources, Setsuna and Sara are on a sort of second honeymoon for their pretend anniversary. Michael must be babysitting, the poor soul!"

"With all due respect, your Highness, Nemaelle is no longer at such a sweet young age. Time on Assiah moves more quickly, if you remember. It is lucky that I can manipulate my age. She is now turning into quite a beautiful young lady, and if I dare make speculations, Michael-sama just might make her his own."

A smile curled itself onto the usually cool features of Lucifer's face. "Is that so? Your speculations are usually very accurate, as well." He turned to his shadowed Queen. "Did you hear that? You may have a sister-in-law after all!"

Through the shadows, a small smile very slowly appeared upon the face of Lucifer's dearest Queen.

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Well. There was no way any of that had been real. Honestly. Why would Michael ever do something like that? Okay, fine, he gave up. He developed actual feelings for a girl. If he could run into a version of himself from thirty, ten, or even one year ago, that other self would have cut his head off. And he knew that if he ever told anyone, he wouldn't hear the end of it.

But even so. There was no way that he'd really…

Though Michael was waking up, he smiled and laughed at himself silently, stretching out in the blankets. It was probably just a dream. Well, it was definitely just a dream. A way for him to be rid of building tension. After all, it wouldn't do if he really had…

Feh. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. It was just a dream, after all. The Archangel rolled onto his side, enjoying the abnormal softness of his pillow. Usually his pillow, being squished between the floor and Nema's bedside table, felt a bit lumpy. It probably didn't help that he never fluffed his pillow, either. It wasn't his thing. But now… it felt damn near perfect. Did Nema fluff his pillow? That wouldn't do. Even if he did… you know… care about her, he wouldn't have her running around acting like a housewife. That wasn't his thing, either.

But, hey, for now, why not enjoy the abnormally soft pillow? Michael's body relaxed, preparing to fall into slumber, when a loud ringing pounded into his ears. "… Damn you… fucking clock…" Michael mumbled into the pillow. On instinct his hand formed a tight fist and flung up and over to beat the life out of the clock.

His fist hit a wall.

Or a headboard.

Michael's blue-green eyes shot wide open to take in his surroundings. It hit him all at once. His abnormally soft pillow wasn't even his to begin with. The clock was not up above him, but by his side, and Nema formed a barrier between himself and the clock.

A very naked Nema.

He was very naked, too.

He watched, frozen, as Nema rolled over and blindly groped the white mini-crown sitting on top of her alarm clock. She tipped her mini-crown over, and Michael watched it topple onto the lumpy pillow he usually slept on. Finally she turned it off and she continued to lay there, her back now facing him. After a while, her breathing slowed, and she was asleep once more.

Michael took a breath. It was real… it had all been… Oh fuck. Literally. The Fire Angel slipped out of Nema's bed as silently as he could, making sure he didn't tug at the blankets. He looked at the mass of blankets that he should have slept in. The mess looked worse now that his black clothes and her white ones were mixed together in a pile with the sheets. He snuck a peek at her face. A few strands of her snowy hair fell over her face, but if anything, it added to her beauty as she slept on. Damn, she looked pretty.

The Archangel quickly shook his head and began putting his clothes back on. He just hoped Raphael wouldn't drop in for a visit until this was all figured out. Oh God, there was a lot to figure out.

Where was his shirt? He found it balled up under her corset, but he didn't wear it, like he had initially been planning. Instead he lightly threw it over the exposed upper half of Nema's body. Then he kissed the crown of her head and left. Why the Hell not? He did a whole lot more than that the night before, apparently.

The further he was from Nema the more he allowed the blade of his Fire Sword to tap the ground as he dragged it behind him. The thud of metal against the floor provided a poor excuse for background noise, but it was better than the silence, which seemed to scream over and over the events of last night.

Autumn was finally beginning to make an appearance. Michael could feel it actually starting to bite at his face as he stepped out, hearing the thud of his sword turn into the ting of metal on concrete. There was that stump… sawed as smooth as he could get it with his sword. Even that was real.

What could he do, then? What was Nema going to do? Did she even want that to happen? The questions swirled themselves into a heavy blanket over the Archangel's head. He could come up with no answers no matter how hard he thought. Damn it all! Why did he push it so far? What made him do it? Was it Jinho? Was it himself? Her? Was it all three? He let the thoughts and feelings shower down on him, ringing true, unsullied with excuses and lies. He hated Jinho. He envied him, more than anything. He could see them, the perfect elegant couple, and damn Jinho back into Hell for being able to fit that role. But at least Michael could save Nema from far more than Jinho ever could. Right? Jinho couldn't keep Cheriour away, but Michael could, he could keep him up in Heaven and far away from her. Only he could do that, and for once he was proud that he could do something for someone else and not for himself. And that was different and hard for him, but there was something to be proud of, if he wasn't being selfish for once. No one could call him a Child General of Heaven if he had changed his motivations. He could be looked up to, now, right? If he was doing something for someone else, if he was doing something for her? Taking the hurt out of those ruby eyes as they looked up at him, pink blush spreading over her pale face. If there was nothing to be proud of in throwing himself on her, he could be happy she wasn't glaring at him, thinking he was cruel, evil, heartless. And it was so much better than seeing sad eyes, lonely eyes, revealing that she was thinking she was unworthy, ugly. How much better it was if those eyes expressed admiration, happiness, comfort under the broad white wings he could never show her?

And then it all came back down to that in spite of status and power, he was just one man, standing in a backyard tapping a sword on the concrete steps leading into the yard. That there was no mercy for him or her; they were both sinners now, though it can be reasonably argued that neither of them were saintly to begin with. Even if her desires and needs weren't unwarranted, she still did not deserve to receive shit, and even if his actions had an honorable logic behind it, he would not be excused. What kind of messed up fate was that? Fuck that. Fuck all that; Nema deserved to be safe and secure for once, and damn it, he would destroy ANYONE who would try to harm her, and he'd enjoy every fucking second! No one would make this future impossible, not Jinho, not Cheriour, not God.

But it still came back to this: What would he do when Nema woke up? Should he go back inside, sit down beside her? Should he wait outside, let Nema find him again? What would he say? How would she feel? There were no answers, just endless chains, all coming back to the same few questions!

Michael dimly heard the crack of wood, and he realized that in his mental anguish he'd marched forth and struck the stump before him with his magnificent sword. It served to knock away the chains wrapping around him, brought back his senses. His hearing grew stronger; finally, the blurred images before him became sharp again. He could hear muffled voices, cold, cruel. Immediately he pulled his sword from the wounded stump and held it before him, blue-green eyes peering, feet taking slow, careful steps back into the house.

But it was too late. The tortured brain couldn't send the proper signals quickly enough. He was overcome, blinded by black feathers, and restricted, knocked forward, almost biting the ground. And then the sharp, stinging pains on his back… they had his wings! They were pulling him back up by his wings!

"How do you like all the pretty black feathers, Michael-sama? We pluck them from the wings of our favorite kills. We thought you might like to see them." The black feathers finally fluttered away, and the owner of the icy voice stepped forth, blonde hair hiding his cold eyes.

Michael could think of nothing to say. He could barely think… the wings! The fucking wings! Pulling too hard, too far out, oh fuck, were they going to rip them off? Nema! Gotta call out! Make her run! Make her fly! All that came out was a broken yell, but he hoped Nema would hear. Damn it, she better hear!

"Oh dear, that's no good." Cheriour said placidly, and he wrapped black cloth around Michael's mouth several times. "I couldn't help but notice she seemed to enjoy a certain event yesterday… And for a creature born out of primal sins, I suppose that is normal. But my goodness… you? Allow me to say this… but I am very disappointed in you." He looked at the two Angels maintaining a hard grip on Michael's broad wings. "Pull harder."

Michael's yell was muffled by the thick black cloth, and he could feel the other limbs being bound, as well. They wrapped his sword carefully in the same dark cloth and attached chains; their pathetic attempt at being able to carry his sword without being scorched by the sheer heat of it. He knew they would still have problems carrying it back up. In spite of the pain and the sudden hopelessness of the situation, he laughed through the cloth at his mouth and endured the sharp slap.

"I find it amazing that you can laugh in the face of a situation in which the odds are very, very against you, Michael-sama." Cheriour said sourly. "I don't know how much you know about Wing Cutting… Surely, you recall how sloppy a job it used to be. But, being the Angel of Punishment, and thanks to the initiation of the Rabbit Hunting, I have had several subjects with which to test some theories. Cutting is a supreme torture, but messy, and as the overwhelming pain makes the body give out and die, it doesn't always help if you are trying to milk out information. For example, just last week I came across a Rabbit, apparently celebrating the recent birth of his first child. I had intended to find the mother and baby as well, but the Rabbit died from the pain before I could learn of their location."

Michael was breathing hard from the pain echoing down his back and through his chest, now, too. There was no stirring in the house. Nema hadn't heard!

Cheriour was still rambling on. "Pulling works for these purposes, usually, but we pulled them back… like so…" Michael let out a muffled scream as they stretched his wings back. Yet it was a relief compared to before. The pain was still in his back, but no longer in his chest. "But as you may feel right now, the pain is something that can be adapted to. But… if you pull the wings outwards… like so…" And then Michael felt the pain return to his chest. It was even working into his gut, as well. "The pain is magnified two to three times." A cold smile spread over his mouth. "But here is my favorite conclusion to my experiments. Pulling the wings in this manner apparently opens up several spots centered at the base of the wings, joining the back. It is amazing what these sensitive areas can do. Some appear to be ticklish, and others spread a strange fuzzy feeling through the body. A real comfort if one is being subjected to this kind of torture, yes? But I have a favorite spot. It is a great help if the hostage is too loud, or, in your case, a bit wild and hard to restrain."

Cheriour walked behind him and Michael felt a sharp flick on the base of his wings. It made his whole body stiffen, and then he felt everything going limp. No…! Not happening… not to him… he had to at least get to Nema! She had to run… She… He couldn't see! What the fuck? Oh God, are You really so cruel? Nema… she…

"Now, relax, Loverboy… Nemaelle is safe for now. It takes a few seconds for you to completely pass out, so allow me to fill those seconds with more words. I have decided to conduct an experiment. What happens when a Rabbit feels betrayed by her protector? What happens when he disappears, without a word, the very day after he indulged his lusty little urges with her body? What feelings run through the brain? What will she feel compelled to do? We will let the experiment run for seven days. Then I shall see what the results are."

Michael felt like his heart was shredding up in his attempt to say anything at all, but even his vocal chords were failing him, now. He choked out syllables muffled in black cloth before it all went dark, but in his head it echoed loud and clear.

"Fucking idiot! Her heart will break like anyone else's!"

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Nema heard not a sound, poor soul, and she slept deeply until the shrill ringing of a telephone made her stir. She smiled as she pulled fabric closer to her and realized it was not the thick material of her blankets but the thinner cloth of Michael's black, button-up shirt. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and picked up the phone on the last ring. "Moshi moshi?" She sighed into the phone.

"Did I wake you? It's dad." Setsuna's voice came through.

"Yeah, you woke me, but that's okay. Isn't it like ten at night over there? Shouldn't you old people be in bed by now?" Nema teased lightly. Nothing could bring her down. Not after a night like last night… not that she was going to tell her father about any of that.

"Shouldn't you young whipper snappers be out and about?" Setsuna teased back. "We'll be home in a week. You haven't broken anything, have you?"

Nema sat up and stretched. "No. Everything breakable is down in the basement. We have to get new windows… oh, and my door is broken."

"The hinges?"

"No, I mean the actual door itself is broken." Nema spoke casually as she tried on Michael's shirt, slipping her arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.

"… Michael's fault?"

"No, you've got no one to blame but me, dad." Nema chirped as she hopped out of bed and observed herself in the vanity mirror. The shirt sleeves left only her fingertips exposed and did a good enough job of covering everything else. She laughed as she listened to her father sigh, and then her mother was on the phone, instead.

"Are you two behaving yourselves?"

What a question! "We're not causing anyone else any trouble." Nema said simply.

"Is everything okay over there?"

What was with apprehensive tone? Suddenly Nema's sunny disposition got a cloud in it. "… Everything is fine, mom. Why?"

"I started getting a weird feeling this morning… Is Michael there? I need to talk to him."

Okay. Now this was getting just plain scary. Was her mother some sort of psychic? "Ano… he's not in the room with me… just a second." Nema commenced a search for the missing Archangel. "Miiiiiiichael…" She called down the hall, into the living room. She stepped into the kitchen. "… Where the Hell are you?" She asked in a curious whisper. For some reason she looked up, again. Just in case he might have perfected a way to drop down from her kitchen ceiling. "... I can't find him, mom…" She said to Sara.

"… Really?"

"Yeah."

Nema sat down on one of the tall chairs around the island of her kitchen as she listened to Sara cover the phone with her sleeve. In spite of the muffling, Nema could hear her parents talking in rushed, worried voices. This was a bigger deal to them than she thought it would have been.

Did it bother her? Yes, a little bit. She ideally would have liked him to remain in bed with her. At the same time, she knew that if Michael wanted to get up, he'd get up. He'd probably do that even after a night like last night. Not out of any ill will towards her. Simply because lying in bed while you're wide awake can be a bit boring.

So where was he, then? Nema bit into an apple as her parents talked amongst themselves. She might as well not even be on the phone, anymore. Suddenly she realized that she hadn't checked outside. Nema's bare feet took small, quick steps to the back door, and she flung it open and stepped outside.

Nothing. No one. Nema's red eyes fixated on several scattered black feathers, feathers she knew were not her own because she had stopped that annoying shedding three or four days ago. Where had these come from? She stepped forth and observed the deep gash in the stump. She touched it. The wood felt strangely warm, and she thought that perhaps Michael had been the one to strike it.

She could hear her mother calling her name through the phone, and she rushed inside. She held the phone to her ear.

"Nema? Nema, sweetie? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing, sweetheart. Are you okay? Nema?"

Why wasn't Nema responding? She had questions of her own. Why were there black feathers outside? Why was her stump split open? Why did she get this foreboding feeling when she stood out there? It was more than the cold. It wasn't even that cold to begin with. But she got the distinct feeling that she was better off holed up inside.

She shouldn't HAVE to be better off holed up inside. Why? Because she had Michael there to keep the trouble away, and playfully pick on her the whole while. She could go wherever she wanted to, so long as Michael was there to kick some ass when it needed to be done. But now Michael was no where to be found. Suddenly the strange morning-after bliss she'd woken up with was far away from her. Where was he? He wouldn't leave her alone. It had to be a trick of timing. He was probably somewhere else in the house right now. Maybe he was back in her bedroom. Maybe.

She rushed into the kitchen. No. The living room. Again, no. She sprinted down the hall and into her bedroom. No one. The bathroom. No one.

Then she thought of the dumbest thing ever. Maybe he was in the basement. Like he had a REASON to be in the basement. Well, why not? Why not go in the basement if that's what he wanted to do? Still Sara was calling for Nema.

"Wait." Nema breathed into the phone, and she rushed into the hall, threw open a creaky door, rushed down the stairs of the basement. The lights weren't even on, but she tried it, anyway. And sure enough, he wasn't there, like she'd already known. Just another trick of timing, right? … Right?

Michael wouldn't leave her alone… after all of THIS… He was mean and careless, but not so much that he would…

Nema dropped to her knees in the dark basement, and brought the phone back up to her ear. "… Michael isn't home, anymore…"

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"The Rabbit isn't in any of our cameras, anymore… Where did she go?"

"I believe she put herself in the basement. We didn't set anything up down there."

"… May I ask you something? Something we shall keep secret?"

"You may."

"… Why is Cheriour-sama running this experiment?"

"You doubt him?"

"Well, it's nothing like treason! I just think… Well, we've got the one thing keeping her safe. She was ASLEEP. We could have very easily been rid of her… Don't you think?"

"… We could have, yes."

"… And isn't that simply the more…"

"Logical move? … Maybe. Maybe."

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One hour passed. Two hours. It had become blatantly obvious that Michael wasn't anywhere near Nema… and the possibility that he wasn't coming back was getting closer and closer to reality.

Nema had told Sara that she had to let her go. She hung up. She turned the phone back on and let it sit like that, the monotonous dial tone barely heard as she continued to sit in the basement.

But it didn't make sense! Everything had felt too perfect for this! There was something she must've not known… There were a LOT of things she didn't know!

There was no way this could be real. The blue eyes that told her he loved her… THOSE eyes were real, but there was no way that this morning had been real. Was this a cruel dream? She honestly decided to pinch herself. That didn't work. She scratched at herself. No good. She felt her skin going raw, and she stopped.

But Michael wouldn't do this to her! Maybe he was a spiteful little jerk, but wasn't she slowly becoming an exception to that treatment? He hadn't promised to become a better person for nothing! And he hadn't run in to save the day for nothing!

… Or maybe he had done all those things… for something… and already got it.

Nema quickly shook the dreaded thought from her mind and sprinted up the stairs and through the house one last time. He wasn't here, he wasn't here!

"You aren't this evil…" She whispered out loud. How could she reach him? She needed to find him!

Then she remembered that they had swapped phone numbers. She flung herself into her bedroom and hunted down her cell phone, and quickly called his.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

Nema fought back frightened, betrayed, angry tears.

Four rings. Five.

"You're not worth my time. You know what to do." Beeeeep.

On any other day Nema would have laughed at that. But not today. "THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY, MICHAEL! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME ALONE? THOSE WEIRD WINGED PEOPLE ARE GOING TO KILL ME! DON'T YOU CARE ANYMORE?" She couldn't hold it back anymore. She sniffled and cried. "I gave my body to you for more reasons than to have a good time… Did you ever think that maybe I love you, too? Did you ever think that maybe I loved you before you ever loved me? But I guess you don't love me, anyway… Guess that was just a way to fill in the silence after fucking me!" Nema couldn't breathe anymore. "THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME THAT I'M NOT WORTH YOUR TIME!"

And then the phone began its drawling dial tone, letting Nema know that she wasn't worth any more time than the amount given to her.

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"… I believe he is regaining consciousness…"

Michael took a shaky breath. He was no longer in pain, but he could tell that he was restrained… it felt like the links of chains were holding him up. The room was cold, very cold.

"Michael-sama." Cheriour's voice came through some sort of intercom. The Fire Angel's blue-green eyes snapped open, and he finally lifted his head.

He was in prison, chained up in a room coated in Angel Crystal. Michael's eyes narrowed. He had not committed a crime worth putting him in a room like this one.

"How do you like your room?" Cheriour asked calmly.

Michael sneered. "You really so fucking scared of me, Cheriour? Think I'm gonna burn your head off the second I wake up?" Cheriour offered no answer, and Michael scoffed. "Fucking coward."

Cheriour stood stationary for a long while, maintaining the icy countenance that would eventually send chills through anyone. And then a slow, menacing smile spread itself across his features. "… I have the results for day one of Experiment Number 36040, Mudou Nemaelle. I would like to share them with you, Michael-sama."

Michael scowled and pretended that a corner of the room was more interesting. In spite of this, Cheriour continued.

"7:13 A.M., precisely seven minutes after the removal of Michael-sama, subject Nemaelle awakens to a phone call from her parents. The subject has the appearance of happiness and speaks with a light, singsong voice. She teases her parents and by all means appears to be quite blissful.

"7:19 A.M., mother Mudou Sara asks for Michael-sama. The subject commences a search for said person, and does not find him in the house. The subject seems confused, possibly annoyed, but her voice still reveals a sense of happiness.

"7:23 A.M., subject Mudou Nemaelle goes outside. She notices several Rabbit feathers and a gouge in the formerly perfect tree stump. All appearance of happiness seems to leave her at this point. She looks afraid, and rushes back inside.

"7:25 A.M., subject is running through the house, searching for Michael-sama. Her efforts reap no reward. She is noticeably distraught.

"7:29 A.M., the subject disappears into the basement. At the point, she is unable to be viewed, but it is easily speculated that the subject feels shocked, scared, hurt, or all three."

Michael had no choice but to hang there and listen to Cheriour describe what Michael had missed, feeling strange stabbing pains in his chest. Who knew what Nema was thinking… Michael had the distinct feeling that Cheriour was only offering watered-down versions of the truth, because there was no way Cheriour could honestly tell what Nema was thinking. Michael could. Michael could come up with what he assumed was so close to Nema's exact thoughts, it was creepy. And Michael knew that Nema was falling for this sick trick… Nema thought she had been jilted.

"9:31 A.M., at last the subject is visible. She looks extremely distressed, near to tears. There is a noticeably pink patch of skin on her left forearm. It appears to be the cause of scratching or some other type of rough friction. She runs up to her room and looks for her cell phone. The subject dials a number, presumably the number to Michael-sama's phone. It is indeed his number. The phone records a voicemail." Cheriour stopped and played the missed message.

"THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY, MICHAEL! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Michael flinched. Nema screamed and screamed. But the truly heartbreaking part was when she finally broke down into tears. Michael hung there, suspended, and listened to Nema fall for Cheriour's trick, hook, line, and sinker. Did she really think he was so heartless? Why was it so easy to come to that conclusion? Did she have no faith in him?

But the truth of it all was, no one else had ever had as much faith in him as Nema. And Cheriour took it all away.

The restricted Archangel listened and stared at the floor with unblinking, bright green eyes, breaths coming from him ragged and erratic.

"Oh, goodness, look here, Michael-sama! An update! 8:57 P.M. – time certainly flies fast on Assiah! – Subject Nemaelle sits on the floor of the living room, under a hole that was formerly a window. I believe you where the one to remove the window glass, were you not? I digress… Subject sits on the floor… yada yada yada… Oh, subject has fallen ill with a cold! Well, she brings it on herself. Bear in mind, Michael-sama, that she wore the shirt you left behind, and she still wears it and it alone. She is asking for illness! Why would she ever consider doing that? She must be… what do they call it, it's a bit like a betrayal and yet it is much more emotionally scarring… ah yes. They call it heartbreak, right? Oh yes. She stopped crying a few hours ago but has started again. That is another symptom, is it not? Record all of this…"

Cheriour was now speaking more to his servants than to Michael. Symptoms of heartbreak? Since when had heartbreak become a medical condition? The Fire Angel's torn breathing didn't do the trick anymore. He let out a yell, loud and fierce as only Michael could make it, and the room was soon smothered in raging flames. The fire licked Michael's chains and the crystalline walls, but to no avail.

"My, what a grand show!" Cheriour said with that cold smile on his face, but that last thing Michael felt was grand, and the last thing he meant to do was make a show.

But that seemed to be Michael's way, didn't it? The last thing he'd wanted to do this morning was cause Nema pain, but there it was. Could Michael do anything right?

The Archangel's ragged breaths echoed off the walls and said it for him. "You can't… not even for her."