There was nothing like having a steaming bowl of stew on a cold winters night, and he stared down at it with longing as he made his way from the bubbling cauldron hanging over the fire to the wooden table just across the way, far enough to keep them safe from the roaring flames but close enough that the heat kept them warm, and he set it down on the table as he climbed into his spot on the bench seat. Zed and Puriel parted for him, moving to the side to allow him the spot.

Touching a hand to the side of his bowl, he cooled it softly with his grace, ensuring that he would not burn his tongue at the first bite.

"Oren, when are you going to allow us to speak to him again?"

He looked up from his tasty stew. "My reprimand is for two weeks. So, four more days."

Ephraim lowered his hand, letting the spoonful of stew settle back into his own bowl, frowning slightly at the notion that this would continue on longer than it already had. Their younger brother had pestered their Captain all day on the first day of his imposed punishment, chattering and asking questions one right after the other, deflating with every question that went without response. Oren had heard his questions, heard him talking to him, and had willingly ignored him at every passing, acting as though he was not there.

"Are you sure it is safe to take it out that long?"

After the first three days of following their Captain around and gaining no acknowledgement, he had turned to them, trying as hard as he might to gain any semblance of acknowledgement from any one of them, and they being under strict orders to make no notion that they knew him to be there, turned away from him every time despite what they may desire.

"He could have gotten himself killed, or harmed another innocent life, he disobeyed me when he took my sword." He looked back down to his bowl. "He's only lucky I found it." Then he looked back up, between each of them individually, and stared at them long enough that he knew his intent was clear. "Not a word for four more days."

They nodded, unwillingly, to his command and returned to their warm bowls of stew.

The others exchanged looks over their Captain's head, Zaves hadn't come to the Infirmary today, and they worried as to what he may be doing.

They ate in silence for some time, the only sound echoing around them being the crackling of the wood in the fire and metal spoons rubbing against wooden bowls, and then they were joined by a little guest.

She appeared at the top of the stairs that led up from the Infirmary below, to the Loft above, walking silently over the stone floors and soft carpets. They turned to greet her and fell silent at the expression that adorned her face. Zed turned in his seat, lifting her under the arms when she came to stand behind him and Oren, setting her up on the bench between them. The fledgling thanked him softly and turned to glare at his Captain with the ferocity of a fledgling scorned, Oren smiled softly in greeting.

"Hello, little Akeelah."

The fledgling glared at him silently, leaned forward between them, and swiped his bowl of stew off the table down into his lap.

Oren jumped from his seat, hands raised slightly, as he was covered in warm thick stew.

"Akeelah!"

"You better say you're sorry!" She pointed a finger up at him. "You better say sorry!"

Zed tapped her shoulder and she turned to look at him. "Sorry for what, little friend?"

"Zaves was cryin'!"

The apothecary frowned in concern. "He was crying?"

"Yea! 'Cause this meanie wasn't talkin' to 'im!" She pointed at the Virtues Captain angrily. "You're bein' mean! You made him cry!"

Oren turned to look at her with heat in his eyes, and carefully pulled his soiled tunic up over his head, it ridded him of most of the mess, but he couldn't very take off his trousers in front of a small impressionable fledgling. "He had to know there would be consequences for taking my things without my permission."

"You're so stupid!" She jumped down from the bench, ignoring the others as they watched her, and shoved their Captain as hard as she could in the waist, causing him to stumble back a step. "I don' get why he likes you so much!" She pointed at him again. "You better say somethin' to him or Imma tell him never ta talk to you again!"

With her message being shared, the fledgling turned and waved at the others, as she turned on her heel and calmly led herself out.

Akriel watched her disappear around the corner as she hopped down the steps back to the Infirmary a floor below and smiled slightly at her attitude and spunk. "She's a good friend."

"Akriel!"

"What?" The specialist raised his hand and shrugged his shoulders. "She is." He gathered up his utensils and stood from his place on the opposing bench. "I told you this was a bad idea and you didn't listen. Now you've made him cry. I understand where you were coming from, but this was too far, for how long it's been."

He crossed around him, to wash his bowl and spoon in the sudsy basin of water sitting on the counter just across the room. Akriel washed his things and set them on the towel to dry, turning back around as he dried his hands with a thick cloth, eyes searching for those of his Captain.

"Zaves worst fear is being abandoned again. Not acknowledging his presence so blatantly is abandoning him in the most indirect direct ways. And trust me when I say, as a specialist for mental trauma, you are doing far more harm then you are good." He tossed the cloth onto the counter next to him and pushed himself forward. "You may continue to ignore him for four more days, but I will not, if he ventures back into the Infirmary for some ungodly reason and chooses to try and talk to me, I will respond in kind."

Oren narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you saying you'll disobey my order?"

"Not in the slightest." Akriel shook his head, crossing his arms loosely, look down to his brothers stew soiled clothing. "I am saying that I will do my job as the mental trauma specialist and prevent him from falling into himself as you all pretend he does not exist."

…

"Ak?" The voice behind him is so small, so soft, so broken. It's so prepared for the let down of being ignored again. "Please talk to me! Please! I'm sorry I touched Oren's sword! I promise! Please talk to me again!"

The trauma specialist sets his things down, smiling as he turns, just as he said he would, and places both hands over the younger angels shoulders. "Yes, baby brother?" Those silver-green eyes widen at the acknowledgement of his presence. "What can I do for you?"

Zaveriel sniffles softly, jumping forward into his older brothers chest, wrapping his arms around his middle as tightly as he could. The older angel smiles slightly, curling his arms around his quivering form, rubbing at his back softly. "It's okay, baby brother, there, there."

The little messenger uncurls from him, tugging him forward as he crosses quickly to the apothecary's station, leaning over the work bench.

"Zed?"

His older brother glances up from the pot he'd been churning. "Yes, little whirlwind?"

At his response, Zaveriel turned for their Captain, letting go of Akriel's tunic and leaving Zed's response behind, running across the Infirmary to where Oren stood folding the tunics that had just been dried for the incoming patients.

He grabbed at the back of his older brothers tunic, hope filling him. "Ori?" his older brother looked over at the call of his name, over his shoulder at him, and he dropped the tunic in favor of turning in his spot. Zaves whined softly when his arms curled around him, pulling him in close, Oren pressed his lips against the top of his head. "Never touch my sword again, Zavie, promise me." He nodded against his brothers shoulder. "Do you know how much it hurts me to do that to you? To cause you so much pain?"

"I'm sorry for taking your sword, Ori."

"It's okay. I'm sorry for ignoring you."