There had been yelling coming from the motel room next to hers...and then silence. It was a horrible, deafening quiet: the kind that follows up the last notes of a piano or the firing of a gun...

Madison wondered, as she picked the lock on the door, why it was she always seemed destined to fix up injured men in motels. A part of her hoped that she would walk in only to find that nothing was wrong. He'd be perfectly well, if a bit angry at her intrusion, and Madison could just laugh and feel embarrassed for ever having questioned it. There was a reasonable explanation.

But if something was wrong, she couldn't just ignore that. And the adrenaline pupping through her veins combined with the quickening rate of her pulse and a strong sense of completely inexplicable urgency told Madison that something was very, very wrong indeed.

Thump, thump, thump...

The door swung open and it took only a moment for her eyes to find what was amiss. He was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the bed. That certainly wasn't a good sign. Possibilities ran through her mind as she moved slowly towards him. Was he sick? Was he drunk? Had he been poisoned? Had he done this to himself on purpose?

The scenarios became stranger and stranger as she lifted him onto the bed, just like she had with Ethan back when...No, this was not the time to think about that. It was a bit easier though since this man seemed to weigh almost nothing. Did he ever eat?

Now, at least, she could get a better look at him. The first thing Madison noticed was how pale he was, more so than anyone should be, that was for damn sure. She couldn't see his eyes but she did take note of the dark circles beneath them, indicating a severe lack of sleep that he appeared to be making up for now. Maybe something had been troubling him...Madison was an expert on insomnia by now, having lived with it for years, afraid of her dreams.

All of that combined was more than enough reason to pass out, but she suspected something more. Only he could give her the answer, so she would have to wait.

Madison looked closely at his face then. There was half-dried blood under his nose and an old scar on his cheek. In addition to that, however, were several newer bruises. Had he been in a fight? If that were the case, she would not be able to tell if he had any other more serious injuries without taking his clothes off first.

Yes, because that's what I planned to do today, undress a stranger who I just happened to find unconscious in his motel room. Fuck my guardian angel complex, he needs a doctor and I'm certainly not one.

But those thoughts were interrupted by her patient, whose hands started to shake rather violently. His brows furrowed as if he was thinking very hard about something, trying desperately to concentrate. Madison couldn't help feeling like there was something so familiar about him, like she had seen him before but couldn't remember...

"Hey," Madison decided to try and get through to him, even though she knew it was probably pointless. "Can you hear me?"

"Go away..." he responded after a moment, voice hoarse. "You're not real."

"How do you figure that?" she asked, wanting to keep her patient awake and lucid enough to talk for as long as possible. Maybe she could even find out how to help him.

"Angels aren't real." he stated, as if it were obvious.

The tremors in his hands had subsided and his eyes remained closed. Eventually, the man's breathing settled as well and he was out like a light yet again. Madison could do nothing but gently wipe the blood from his face with a warm washcloth and wait for her answers.

Over the next few hours, his body temperature fluctuated from freezing one moment to burning up just as fast. His skin was clammy with cold sweat and he shivered constantly; he even looked to be in pain. Madison knew she was quickly losing control of the situation. She would have to call an ambulance for him, or else he might...No, this was not the time to think about that.

But she didn't trust the motel manager enough, especially not with something like this, so that was out of the question. This left her with very few options. Madison's own cell phone was back in her room, and she wasn't about to leave a possibly dying man alone for a second. He must have a phone around here somewhere, she reasoned. That's when she spotted his jacket on the floor.

There wasn't much in his pockets, just a wallet and the cell phone.

"Don't worry," Madison said aloud, regardless of whether or not he could actually hear her. "I'm going to call an ambulance. They'll take you to the hospital where doctors can help you. Do you understand?"

"No hospitals. No doctors." The reply was firm. His eyes even opened halfway. "You're a good nurse. Stay, please. This…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of his forehead. "This will pass on its own."

"How can you be so sure?" she demanded. "What's happening to you? Look, I'm not a nurse. You need professional help."

He seemed amused by that. "Maybe. One thing at a time."

Madison glared. "That wasn't what I meant and you know it." After that, a contemplative silence lingered between them. Finally, she asked, "Aren't you at least going to tell me your name?"

"Norman Jayden, formerly of the FBI." he said. "And you are Madison Paige, a journalist. I know that because it used to be my job to know those things...before I quit."

Suddenly, she remembered. "You were with those bastards who tried to arrest Ethan." And they would have gladly arrested me too, if given the chance, for accompanying the suspect even though he was actually a victim.

Jayden looked away, but something in his expression told her that he wasn't particularly proud of that fact. "I hope that doesn't automatically make me one of them by default." We'll see about that, won't we?

"Why did you quit?" Madison asked quietly, both in an effort to change the subject as well as satisfy her own curiosity.

"Personal reasons," was all he said.

"Are you always so evasive when asked a question?" It was beginning to frustrate her.

"Depends on the question," Jayden answered. "You're the journalist, here. You should know the right questions."

A part of her wanted to be angry; he was being a complete jerk and it didn't even seem to occur to him that he would be dead if it weren't for her. Maybe that was what he wanted. She was no doctor, and she sure as hell wasn't a psychologist.

Jayden brought a hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. Talking seemed to be tiring him out. Madison didn't know what would happen if he lost consciousness again. She'd all but forgotten the phone in her hand, having been enthralled in their conversation and convinced that she really could handle this on her own.

It was because of such foolish ideas that they both found themselves here, brought together by fate's trembling hand, a fallen angel and a broken soul. Or, in Madison's reality, an insomniac journalist and her insufferable former FBI agent who was now dead to the world once more.

Madison sighed. There was nothing to do now but wait.