She's screaming on the bed, crying so hard that tears are running in rivulets down her cheeks. The younger priest looks grim as he readjusts the straps that tie her to her headboard. Her parents aren't in the room. Padre Madrigal said that the ritual could last for hours on end and that to fully get the demonios out of her, then it could take weeks. He'd even heard of cases where it lasted months. She thrashes against the restraints, hoping they'll snap but all she does is scream when the rope rubs her wrists raw.

Padre Madrigal had started his litany in Latin, and she could never follow that. It wasn't her thing, and she'd never studied it at school, taking French instead. She could guess enough even in her blind panic from how Spanish and Latin overlapped that he'd gone through a few iterations of the rosary. Maria is Maria either way. As he preps holy water again and re-blesses his sash for the next hour, Ella turns to the younger trainee, to Padre Buendía, and begs again.

"You know this is insane. You know that demons don't do this. I know God's real, and I love the Big Guy. But I'm not possessed. I'm not wrong. Please, you've been doing this for hours. Let me out." Her voice wavers then, and it's taken time for her to gather enough energy to even get this much out. "Please."

Padre Buendía looks away from her and goes back to grabbing the thurible. The thick herbs burning in it have burned through the night, making her sneeze repeatedly and coating her throat, making it dry and incredibly raspy. He holds it over her and follows along as Padre Madrigal throws holy water on her, which does nothing but leave her sputtering when it gets up her nose.

"I'm not evil."

Padre Buendía shakes his head but at least breaks from speaking in Latin and addresses her as if they were just meeting after mass on Sunday. "Pobrecita, sé que la Ella en realidad está en problemas, esta herida debido a sus mentiras. La salvaremos. Tendremos éxito. Y usted? Usted, demonio, siempre mentira. Ahora, dime su nombre. Le mandó! Dime su nombre."

"Ella!" She screams, her throat hoarse.

Why is that so impossible? Why doesn't he believe her or think she's a lying demon? Her name is still Ella Lopez because there's no demon in here. All she's ever done is see one ghost. A nice ghost, a nerdy ghost, but just a ghost. She's not evil, and she just wants to rest.

"Mentirosa!" Padre Madrigal exclaims again. Then, he turns back to his work bench and grabs a huge crucifix. It's made of a glimmering silver-and she knows its real-has to be some diocese heirloom. "En el nombre de Dios, dime su nombre."

"Sabe, Padre. Mi nombre es todavía mía." She cries again and looks to Padre Buendía, who works hard not to look her in the eyes.

The old priest shakes his head again and reaches for his bible. He prays again, but this time in Spanish and not in Latin:

Omnipotente y Eterno Dios, Os adoramos y bendecimos. En Vuestra maravillosa bondad, y con el misericordioso deseo de salvar las almas del género humano, habéis escogido al Glorioso Arcángel, San Miguel, como Príncipe de Vuestra Iglesia. Humildemente Os suplicamos, Padre Celestial, que nos libréis de nuestros enemigos. En la hora de la muerte, no permitáis que ningún espíritu maligno se nos acerque, para perjudicar nuestras almas.

He continues to pray, over and over, his voice going more fevered and fervent and all begging St. Michael to intercede, to drive the demon out of her. The visions out of her, but she's not possessed. Rae Rae is real but safe…at least Ella has always thought that. She's never made Ella do a thing, and yet here Ella is. She continues to weep softly, and the older priest seems frustrated that asking for the demon's true name and then appealing to St. Michael as the Defender of the Faith and head of the archangels has netted him nothing.

Padre Madrigal practically growls his anger and presses the cold silver of the crucifix hard against her forehead again. She screams and howls, not because it hurts her, but because it tears into her heart that the priests she trusts and the family she loves think she's fucked up. Demonic. Ruined. No one will listen, and she can't get out.

Her arms are sore and her throat raw. She's exhausted, feeling like she's cried for days, and truly, Ella has.

She looks up at the father-the one who gave her communion, the one who helped write the recommendation that got Jay into college since he's the perfect altar boy, the one who has been almost like an extra abuelito to her. She looks to him and sees nothing but hate and grim determination in his face.

"Padre, por favor. ¡Ayudáme!"

He bites back at her, ranting about demons and how he will find a way to cast the monster out. Then he starts again, instead drawing on the rosary prayer for Santa María.

Ella stops begging him then.

Then, she screams for her mother.

She wakes up and somehow feels worse. Her heart is hammering so hard that it feels like it might tear through her sternum at any moment. Ella is nauseated too, the memory too much, the day too much. Fuck, even the shots upon shots of tequila (usually her favorite liquor) are way too fucking much. Ella has just enough presence of mind to move some from Michael's grip. Or just enough. She angles her head and vomits onto the shag carpet of the shitty motel. Her throat burns by the time she's done, and she's shaking so badly she can barely think.

Michael seems to flicker for a moment and there's a huge glass of water in his hand. He hands it to her, and she shakes harder at the reminder of how strong he is-that small, animal part of her brain working overtime to be terrified of everything after her dream.

He nods, slips to the far end of the motel room, and sits on the furthest chair he can find. "I know I'm not reassuring to say the least. I'm trying to tamp my own panic down, but I felt you, Ella. I felt the cold metal against my forehead and the being bound. I felt all the panic and the screams. It wasn't Pete, but fuck if it didn't feel even worse. I'm not leaving you, but I can't get close till you're more lucid either."

She nods and tries to re-orient herself again. It is not 1994. She is not fifteen years old and a child forced to do what her parents dictate or what the Church wants. She's not broken or wrong or demonic. Azrael is a fucking angel for Christ sakes. She's Ella Lopez, and she works with the LAPD to stop crime and save lives.

Well, no.

She doesn't do that now.

Now, she's the Ella with the brass knuckles. Now, she's the Ella who attracts serial killers and breaks their ribs and wishes she could kick them to death. She's everything awful she never wanted to be.

She doesn't cry anymore. The dream gave her enough of that, and she's just tired. Tired of feeling weak and broken and this was supposed to work. Punishing Pete was supposed to free her. But now deeper, older things are breaking free.

That biggest sin she tried to hide and failed miserably.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Or a soothsayer or someone who talks to the dead. Damn it! She hadn't known. For whatever reason, she seems to draw the, well, creepier angels to her like ducklings. First death and if only Rae Rae had ever truly told her the truth. Now, the angel of fear whose own powers are only making her teeth chatter harder and her knees knock.

Her family thought she was possessed and, eventually, settled for just crazy. She learned to never speak of Rae Rae to anyone, and as soon as college was over, booked it a forensics precinct on the far side of Detroit, tried to stay busy. As soon as Rae Rae (of all people) suggested she transfer to L.A., well, Ella was more than happy to flee to the City of Angels, to avoid the whispers and the disappointed looks. The chismes and the bromas.

She's their joke, but at least in Los Angeles for a while, she made others happy. Made them proud of her.

But then Pete said she was a monster too, and she still sees how death should happen. Frankly, how she might kill. And all of that could be said, but for now, her mind is broken with all she's done and all she can't escape, and so Ella curls into a ball and keens.

She keens so hard because words fail her.

Michael looks at her with this huge brown eyes of his, ones that don't so much as peer deep into her soul as reveal his own. He sighs and looks to her. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could…"

"Get…get here." She can't talk anymore in her fear; it's getting harder to even think. Instead, she pats the bed and nods hard until Michael relents.

"This will make it worse."

She shudders and slams a fist on the mattress regardless.

Michael complies, and maybe in another life or another point in her own, Ella would have found it both humbling and heady. The archangel listens to her, well, mostly. She'll probably never break him of all his supposedly wonderful cheap life hacks, but otherwise…she's just Ella, and angels shouldn't care.

And one, no matter how she mostly likes Rae Rae, should have ruined her life.

He settles against the headboard and opens his arms wide, and she curls instantly into them. His presence is a paradox. Being near his powers makes goosebumps erupt over her skin and her teeth chatter harder, but while her body is reacting to what he can do, she's reacting to who he is to her.

To her friend.

And, truly, Ella knows better by now. "Friend" is too small a word for what they are becoming to each other, for what she wanted tonight on the dance floor. She wants him-wants everything-and she knows it's selfish. He seemed interested, sure, but Michael's alone. More alone perhaps than almost any other being has ever been, exiled both from his home and his actual body, and she knows he just wants to stop being so lonely.

It worries her endlessly, that thought she might be taking advantage.

That she's dragging him down with her.

Michael talks.

If she weren't so terrified from her dream and if her instincts weren't running wild from his power, Ella would laugh. Of course, that's probably Michael's actual ability. He can run his mouth when he wants to, and not for the first time, she's grateful for it. But he natters on and these are stories she did not expect him to offer. Anecdotes about the Silver City-about actual holy cow it's super real Heaven-and he's talking about pranks he played infinity almost years ago on the First Born angel and on Raphael and often about Azrael too.

When he speaks of her, his tone is soft and amused. She lets him talk, lets the New York accent and the harsh cadence of his speech wash over her, and yet even through the exasperated, irrational tone, there is a peace there.

A balm to her soul, hearing that somehow even in what must have been a miserable childhood (wait, no, never an actual kid he'd mentioned, just a very young fully grown super hot angel, right), Michael had islands of happiness.

"And so, that's how Rae Rae and I got Samael to accidentally get honey from the Garden all over his wings. These great white, aren't I so amazing shining feathers coated in honey." Michael chuckles so loud he's practically braying. "And then the fire ants came, and, honestly, it was one of the best days of my life, even now."

She looks up at him now that the shaking has stopped. Ella regards him with perfect trust and that's terrifying too, more overwhelming than anything they've done, even ruin Pete together. Because she has trusted before. Ella trusted that her parents would understand what she could see. She definitely trusted Pete and, boy, was that a world class mistake. She trusted Rae Rae and her stupid ghost rules.

Dios en el Cielo, she had trusted no one more than her friends in Los Angeles, but when she'd crashed hard, they'd been too busy. She got that something huge with his Dad had set Lucifer off, he'd been squirrelly to ultimate levels until the dude left. It had caused tension with Chloe, and she thought they might actually break up. But in all that pain and sturm und drang, she'd tried to be there for both of them. She was breaking apart and in therapy that wasn't working and never ever fucking sleeping, but she'd tried to be cupid for them for the umpteenth time. But they hadn't returned the favor.

Hadn't tried.

Granted, Chloe had left her so many voicemails, her box was full, but it wasn't…

She always trusted the wrong person. And now she trusted Michael, and despite his punishment-however he'd pissed off his dad, you know, God Almighty-she felt so very safe with him.

But everyone else she'd ever put her faith in but the Big Guy had hurt her.

Ella sighs and burrows her head into his shoulder. It's in no way a friendly gesture, and they have to talk about this too. This can't keep being a game of push-and-pull. They went too far at the Pink Elephant to pretend otherwise. Besides, she wants him so badly she could scream. Even through the exhaustion and the fear and the, well, vomit, she's clear headed enough to own her desires.

"You're not shaking anymore, Scrappy Doo," he offers and nods curtly in her direction. Michael makes an exaggerated sigh and looks toward the door. "If you want to talk about it, feel free. If you just need some space, I can go. I don't…you set the pace."

She considers that and regards him again, study eyes so wide and beautiful they almost hurt to look at. Ella used to wonderful if all angels are as beautiful as he is (and she knows as a guy he had to be equally lovely, even with the injuries to his shoulder), but she knows now. Rae Rae is cute but pretty normal. If humans could see her with her wings put away, then they wouldn't give her a second glance on the street. Everyone notices Michael and not in the way he thinks. Every woman and half the men at the Pink Elephant stared at Michael the whole night.

When you really look, he's everything she imagined an angel could be.

Almost.

He's pretty cranky, but he's also hers.

Or maybe at least he can be; she's not quiet sure.

"Lopez?" he asks, and his voice is always husky but now it's a low rasp that makes her warm and flushed, makes her want so many things. "You're okay?"

"I…how much did you see of my fears?"

"Not as much as you think but I heard snippets of the Hail Mary in Latin and a lot of asking for demon's names. I…you were afraid to be exorcised?"

She shakes her head. "I was exorcised. My parents were worried about me seeing a ghost. They thought it meant I was far worse off…being tempted. They called my priest in and he got an expert and it took weeks. Eventually, since there never was a demon there at all…I dunno…I guess I was tired and docile enough they let me go. I never talked about Rae Rae again to anyone, and they figured I was okay. Honestly, it was so bad, I tried to bury the memories and I think I mostly did. I knew it happened but I just felt like it was all very far away. But they restrained me and being powerless like that…Pete brought that all back."

Michael's eyes go gold, and she's sure that he doesn't realize it. "I'm sorry I couldn't kill him."

She swallows hard at that, at wanting that in some, dark part of her soul. "It's better that way."

"I still…it never should have happened to you: not Azrael breaking the rules to show a mortal, not that fucked up exorcism, and never some little puke like Pete hurting you. I wish I could fix it, but not even angels-the real ones-can't change time. Dad didn't let us have that one."

"Probably for the best, too many paradoxes."

He laughs at that, and her heart catches in her throat. She wants to kiss him so badly. "Yeah, and I know more than a few siblings petty enough to really mess it all up. Maybe if Uriel had had it…but it's a good gift not to hand out, I think." Michael sighs. "I definitely shouldn't have that, but I'd have loved to take these burdens from you."

"If you could have a power, what would you have?" she asks, and it's not at all what was on her mind. It even startles her that it pops out. "I mean you do. You have a lot, but what do you wish you had been able to get?"

He looks away and stares across the room. There's a mirror there because the vanity is in the corner. The bathroom, tiny as it is, only accommodates a toilet and shower. Michael studies his reflection, large eyes drawn wide open with clear sorrow.

"Desire," he barely whispers.

She frowns at him because that is niggling at her brain. It is that same puzzle set again; the pieces that don't fit correctly. He might say the head torturer of Hell had some demon name but at first he'd almost said May…like Maze. Maybe? He and Rae Rae shared a look the one time she popped in, like almost pleading. What did the two angels know that she didn't. And now he names the so-called schtick Lucifer has. But Lucifer's a terrible method actor, right? Someone who couldn't even land Diablo.

And the feathers at the loft shootout were so big and brilliant and shimmered even coated in blood. She'd seen a few but the FBI had handled the rest. Ella would have killed to see them under a microscope, and nothing Chloe or Lucifer had hedged about antiquities and things being a random collection for Pierce and his Sinnerman gang ever made any sense.

"Desire?"

Michael doesn't turn to her again but shuts his eyes. "When you control what people want, when you can give it to them, everyone likes you. When you hear their fears, even when you'd give your soul not to be able to do it, they run from you. Since I was Created, the only thing I wanted was to be at least ignored. But my siblings, the beings that are supposed to love me no matter what, hate my fucking guts for things I couldn't control before time had even gotten started. I…I want to know what it's like to make people happy and not fucking miserable."

She nods and considers him, setting her hand over one of his. It's soft against her skin, but she's seen him use his strength. Seen him tear through vending machines and other things. You'd never know it with how fragile he seems next to her, not in this moment.

"You don't make me miserable, Michael." Ella laughs a little and then sniffles. "Rae Rae really likes you, I can tell."

He nods but doesn't yet open his eyes. "For a while, I was scared shitless she just liked me cause she missed Sam, but she does, and it's something. It matters a lot, actually. My family-"

"Sucked."

"Yeah," he finally looks at her, laughing at her interjection. "They really did."

She swallows hard, trying to reconcile everything she knows, trying to make it make sense. "The Big Guy being awful is kind of terrifying."

"He likes humans a lot. I'm sure he wouldn't do to you what He's done to me, and I did some pretty shitty stuff. It's okay for you."

She moves her hand to his cheek, to the right one, scarred by the Devil's anger. "It's not okay it was shitty for you, Michael. It never should have been that way."

"It was what happened," he says, resigned. "He needed a Sword, so I gave Him that. Father wanted a Judge, so after I was broken and unsightly, I rendered that service up unto Caesar. Yadda yadda. Even when I tried to escape, to just wander about on earth-and man did no one freaking notice-but when I did that and came home, tail between my legs." He grimaces a bit at that and sighs again. "Of course, at least I still had a 'tail,' if you catch my drift."

She snorts a little at the joke. "Yeah, not the slyest entendre, Mike."

"I'll try for better later, chica. But yeah, I did what He wanted. For fourteen billion years, I did everything he asked and never flinched, never once. And what actually happens? He ignores my twin fucking around on earth and yeah super literally and messing with mortals and makes him a stupid girlfriend as a what? A reward? Who else gets that? And I mean, I lost brothers and sisters in the Rebellion. Ella, some died on both sides. Samael never slew any directly nor did I, but it was a war and angel turned on angel and we killed each other. You cannot imagine the horror of that. But it was better than knowing some of my siblings who Fell with Sam ended up worse than he did."

"Worse?"

"You know the drill right? The red skin, the bat wings, all burned. Yeah, Samael has that in spades. We were identical but he's no longer like me underneath it all in a very spectacularly ugly way. But he can hide it, and some of them can't and are even worse, made to be demons. Most don't even know where they are. And he gets to leave, to sneak out, and Dad rewards it? How is that fair?"

His eyes are gold again and he's panting hard by the time he's done.

"I did everything ever asked of me to the letter and Sam did none of it. He spat in Dad's face, and Dad loves him even now. He gave him a reward and leniency, and I can't even walk straight. And the brothers and sisters I lost…where are their miracles? Where is their peace?"

She quirks her head at him and tears are pricking her eyes. "And your brothers and sisters in Heaven, most still wish he was there and not you."

"Samael is fun. He's always been fun. He gets to revel in it, and people are drawn to him with all his powers. Fear is a strength, and I understand why you'd give it to your general, but it doesn't make friends. It just drives everyone away. And sometimes, Lopez…no all the fucking time, I'm tired of being alone."

Michael settles down next to her and sets his chin on the top of her head. His arms wrap around her shoulders, and her pulls Ella close to his body. It is soft and warm and safe, and she's grateful he has an eye on her.

"You're not. I'm right here."

"True. Great friend. Solid gambling partner. D+ fighter."

She elbows him in the ribs, and he pretends to groan. "You dick! I'm good at fighting."

"You do great with mortals, but call me when you fight an eldritch terror."

"I'd try."

He holds her tighter. "I know, Scrappy Doo. You're as brave as any angel I've ever met, but that's what terrifies me. What if one day you run head long into something, and I'm not there to catch you?"

"You can't go home, right?"

"At this point if my wings sprouted tomorrow, I wouldn't go anyway. I just…I'm yours as long as you'll have me."

"To be friends?" she asks, and as comfortable as it is to be wrapped in his arms, she needs to see his face. She needs to read everything between them. "Because I'm sober now, and I'm not terrified about Pete or anything else. And I meant every word and every thing at the Pink Elephant. Michael, I really like you."

He stills, and she can't breathe yet, can't relax. Maybe she's really misread this. Maybe he just wants his body back and isn't into women or humans or even relationships. Maybe he thinks this is pity and she's an idiot and-

"Lopez…Ella, your friends said you need to come back home. I would understand if you want to go back to Los Angeles. I'd fucking hate it, but if it's better for you." He sighs but doesn't look away. "I don't know a ton about humans, but I'm pretty sure a vigilante kick isn't what they need. It's not what will really make you better."

"Seeing Eve and Maze actually made me realize how much I didn't want to be back there. They were nice, but what Maze said…Dan and Lucifer might feel bad about not having me around, but not even an email. So maybe they feel guilty or something, but they don't really miss me. They definitely don't make me feel better or safe or happy."

And it pains her then to see him quirk his head at her, to see those wide eyes that probably aren't quite his real ones but are still so big and expressive, study her. He's trying to solve a puzzle, but his answer should be obvious.

"What does make you happy?"

"You do, Michael," she says, putting every ounce of energy into her words. He has to believe her. Ella strokes the right side of his cheek with her hand, tracing the scar the Devil left him. "I haven't been this happy in years. I mean all this stuff is loco and weird and new, and yeah, I shouldn't have with Pete, but we did, and I feel better. I do."

"A better angel would have—"

She kisses him. At first Michael freezes up against her, but Ella persists. She doesn't press hard, no tongue diving deep to devour him or some romance book mierda. She just presses her lips to his, and lets him feel how much she cares about him. How much he's made her actually feel when after Pete she thought she'd be cold and numb and afraid forever.

Ella pulls back and smiles softly at his kiss swollen lips. Michael's pupils are blown wide, and he's beyond dazed. "You're the better angel for me."

"Ella-"

"Do you want to try, Michael? If you don't or it's because of your punishment or, Hell, I'm just a chimpanzee to you-"

He laughs, and it sounds free. It's such a beautiful sound. So much of him can be beautiful, he just needs to see it. Believe it. "No. Scraps. Maybe a little, yappy Chihuahua type."

She slaps his shoulder a bit, not hard, but that's him again. Annoying and abrasive and sarcastic. And she hopes hers. "I'm serious. I'm here, and I like you a lot, and I want to do this. I want to go to Atlantic City. I want to be vigilante card sharks. Whatever, as long as it's with you."

"But no one ever-"

She nods and kisses him again. "I have. I'm sorry it took fourteen billion years, but you know, better late than never like my abuelito always said."

Michael regards her but still he hesitates. "I'm broken and I'm dangerous, Scraps. You've felt it more than anyone. I don't want to hurt you, and Father wasn't wrong to punish me. I sinned."

And it horrifies her that Michael, for all his anger and bitterness and sardonicism, for all of it, he also believes it.

Ella sits up and hugs him close, letting him set his head on her shoulder. The angle's a bit uneven, but they make it work and a cascade of dark curls is over her shoulder and running down her back. "Michael, corazón, you never deserved that. You had a tantrum. Did anyone die?"

"No."

"Did you try to kill anyone?"

"No, I did some shit things, but I knew no one, even my…even the Devil wouldn't get hurt."

"Then, what He did is way out of proportion. Your dad took you and twisted you to how He wanted, he took everything you were before-your sense of self and your body and your wings-and you never deserved that. No one deserves any of this."

"I do. You should go home."

She hugs him tighter and threads her fingers through his hair. It's tangled as it almost always is, but it's so soft. "I am home, Michael. We both know what each other is scared of, and you know what I want. I know what you wish you could have been, but the one thing I don't know is what do you really want from me. Because as much as I care about you, the last thing I want you to do is feel like I'm forcing you into something, okay? We can still be friends, but no matter what we are gonna be partners and we're gonna make Atlantic City our own, you know? I'm done with L.A., and I know you're done with Heaven." She pulls back to look him in the eyes. "So, if we are, then can't we just build something better."

"I tried and I tried, and what if it's not better?"

She laughs and this time it's so bitter it almost makes her throat throb. "I dunno? We have to beat and asshole Father mutilating you, parentally endorsed exorcism, brothers who start wars, and serial killers. Corazón, it has to get better." She sniffles at him a bit. "It has been getting there since you saved me. So, Michael, what do you want?"

He doesn't say something for a long time. Instead, he studies her face and traces the delicate and surprisingly dexterous fingers of his right hand over her cheek. Ella's not used to this, and it confuses her at first, but then again everything with Pete and his uncle's guards. Michael's full of others' fears and stronger than normal. She wishes for his sake that he could always be like this, since his weak side upsets him so much.

She sniffles again. "Dude, to borrow from Diablo…what do you truly yearn for?"

Michael half growls under his breath, and then he seems to shake himself out of it. "That show is awful. I mean, too much like Samael for comfort, but sure yearning. Whatever."

"Mike, I'm serious."

"Then why quote a show that was gonna send Satan into space? Or so the rumor mill said."

She quirks her head at him. That episode never shot, but it was talked about on all the fan forums. Somehow, she can't quite imagine Mike looking in on Twitter for the latest spoilers, but then again, the angel has surprisingly hidden depths.

"Right, well, fine. Then I like you, and your ball and your court."

"Like tennis?"

"Basketball and just…do you want to date me or not!"

She's shouting it now, but she's also enojada and beyond frustrated. Michael is a bit..okay a lot weaselly and getting a straight answer out of him is like pinning Jell-O to a wall.

His lips are on hers again, and this time he's giving her more, his tongue plumbing her mouth and his hands roaming over her back and down to her hips. They stay like that for a long time. It feels like hours, tasting him, being near him. She's trembling all over again, but not out of fear.

But need.

Finally, she breaks away because he might be mostly an angel, but she's human, and air's a necessity.

"So, that's a 'yes?'" she asks, winking slyly at him.

"It's everything," he replies, leaning in to kiss her again, but her stomach rumbling kills the mood.

"Um, that's so embarrassing," she admits, feeling her cheeks flush.

Michael laughs, and she loves that sound when it's not laced with bitterness and self-loathing. "All right, short stuff, get showered and dressed. There's another shit diner not far from here. I'll get you fed."

"I'm also not a pet." Ella almost has dignity with that sentence, and then her stomach rumbles again, and it's a lost cause.

Michael stands, and she pouts a little at the loss of contact with him. Then, the angel dares to snake his arm out and poke her tummy. "Huh, that's disappointing."

"What is?"

"The Pillsbury Doughboy makes that 'oo-hoo' noise. Do most humans not do that?"

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"I'm saying the Pillsbury mascot makes a cute noise, but I guess not so much."

"You said you left earth in the sixties!"

"Here from fifty to sixty-eight." He says, grinning. "He was invented in 1965. So, no oo-hoo noise?"

"Fuck off, Michael."

"Well, honestly, you made it seem like that was definitely the idea eventually-"

She tosses a pillow at him and curses him a bit in Klingon. "Maybe I made a mistake."

"No, uh-huh, no buyer's remorse now, Scraps. You wanted me; you have me."

His words are a bit vicious, but his tone is mischievous. Michael leans down and kisses her, letting one hand stray just as a tease over her right breast. "Seriously, Ella, I'm taking care of you, okay? You have to eat cause you drank a fuck ton and, you know, Ralphed all over everything. But after…" His eyes flash gold as he runs his gaze over here. "…well it's a long way to Atlanta, and I have ideas to keep us busy."

She frowns at him. "Atlantic City eventually. We agreed and-"

"Yeah, well that's the ultimate destiny. Trust me, Lopez, I've got Georgia on my mind. I…a lot is happening to me, and there's a warlock I know there."

"Shit really?"

"Yeah and a mummy."

"Really really?" She's out of bed now and practically hopping up and down at that last part.

"No, I told you. First rule: dead stays dead here. No zombies, vampires, or mummies. Warlocks sure, and this one might be able to translate something big for me." Michael sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, and it's definitely gonna need her help before they can go out in society, even a shitty diner in Nowhere, Arizona.

"Cool, so is he like Merlin?"

Michael snorts and points to the shower. "Get cleaned up, even I'm starving now. And, no, he's not like Merlin more like a drunk, chain-smoking pain in every Celestial's ass."

She smirks up at him but hurries to the shower. Her milkshake from yesterday is currently, uh, on the carpet, and she's ravenous. "Sure, sounds great. Qué encantada."

"Yeah, so now I'm gonna have to pick up Spanish, huh?" He's grousing but his wide smile betrays his actual mood.

"Oh, and French and Klingon, and of course I know some Elvish."

"Shower now, and I'm not learning some Harry Potter crap."

"Lord of the Rings and-"

"March, Lopez, and you're wrong. I think I'm the one who bit off more than he can chew."

She grabs a towel and heads into her miniscule bathroom. Before she crosses the threshold, she looks over her shoulder and laughs hard. "So, lemme get this straight-"

"We'll we're not that, and I never actually was," he quips. "But my time in New York's another story and has more orgies in it than you'd think."

Her eyes widen at that and her cheeks flush. "Huh."

"Anyway, shoo Scrappy. I'm hungry too."

"Yeah, but…just so I'm sure, the Head of His Legion."

"Former," Mike supplies.

"Yeah, but you're intimidated by little, old me?"

Michael throws his head back and laughs, and Ella's stomach does flip flops. "Lopez, anyone who isn't is a fool. No, seriously, what's a guy gotta do to get some grub going?"

She giggles passing into the bathroom and starting to warm up the shower water. Over its din, she calls back, "Un ratito, no más, corazón."

"Yeah, and definitely stealing a few dictionaries or something soon."

"There are apps for that, abuelo."

"Yeah but then I can't get a five-fingered discount, and where's the fun in that?"