"I loved you with a fire red,

now it's turning blue
And you say sorry like the Angel

Heaven let me think was you."

-Apologize, One Republic

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Borrowed Time

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Come back to us, Angel.

No, Nora thought. Why should she? The only thing waiting for her was heartache. She felt like a glass doll that had been spun from the bitterest hatred. Now she was broken, and it felt like nothing could ever mend her.

I'll wake up, she thought, and you'll go back to her and forget about me. If I let go, then I can forget about you. I can forget about how much I love you.

No, Angel. No.

He was right. She would never be able to forget about how much she loved him.

The darkness was too warm, too safe, like a bullet-proof vest that helped her escape most of the pain. Why would she leave this place, this heavy river of time and memories and voices?

Please, Nora.

No, she resolved stubbornly, if only to hear him beg again.

I know I'm selfish, I know. But please, I love you too much to let you go. I'm sorry I let this happen to you.

She hummed with satisfaction. In five minutes.

The voices receded. Had he told her that he loved her? She couldn't quite remember. She wouldn't believe it if she could.

Hours later, she awoke.

Vee squealed the exact second that Nora's eyes popped open. "Oh. My. God. I thought you were, like, dead." Tears trailed down her face, leaving it goopy with mascara.

Nora didn't respond. She was regaining her bearings in the real world. She was in a dark room. Black curtains, maroon walls. She was on a surprisingly comfy couch.

"What happened?" she groaned.

"You were outside and someone shanked you. Patch said he found you. Rixon apparently took some badass nursing classes because he stitched you up. The hospital would have called your mom," she explained. "I didn't know how well she would react if she heard that her only daughter got stabbed. You would never be allowed to go out, like, ever again."

Nora remembered being mad, really mad, the hand on her shoulder, Patch's horrified face going out of focus, and the feel of metal scraping the bottom of her ribs from the inside. She pulled the green flannel covers away from herself. Her dressy clothes had been replaced by a way too big T-shirt. She wondered whose it was, and hoped that the blood would come out of her dress.

Right above her bellybutton and to the left was a long red mark, thick inky stitches weaving in and out around it. She wanted to touch it, but thought better.

"Ugh," Nora croaked. "What did you tell my mom? Is she freaking out?"

"I told her that you were staying with me tonight because you have explosive diarrhea. She said okay."

Nora's stomach muscles tensed as she laughed, then she gasped. "OW!"

One of two doors in the room creaked open. Two figures, decidedly masculine, walked in. It was Patch and Rixon, she knew that from the way the air in the room changed. She heard one of them pull up a chair and sit.

"You okay, Angel?" Patch.

Nora was too busy focusing on pushing the pain in her belly away. "That really does hurt," she said breathily, spots blooming in front of her closed eyes. She pulled the blanket back over her head and practiced breathing exercises.

"Oi, Vee!" Rixon called from where he had been leaning against the wall, grabbing Vee and sweeping her up. "Come check this out, I just—"

And they were gone, leaving only Patch and herself in the room. Great, just great.

It was dead silent for a minute, like neither of them wanted to speak first. "So what really happened?" she asked him finally. She didn't know whether she was referring to the attack or what happened between him and Marcie.

He was thoughtful. "I don't know yet," he told her a second later.

She snorted. "What do you mean, you don't know yet?" she asked angrily. "Who put a knife in my gut, Patch?"

"It—" he hesitated, confused. "It wasn't Scott."

Nora was a little surprised also. "Who was it then?" she asked, her tone softening.

"When I figure out what's going on, you'll be the first one to know. Trust me, Angel."

She should have focused on the fact that he had side-stepped her question, or that he obviously didn't know what had truly happened, but instead she felt her anger flare to life over the last words he had said.

"Ha!" she scoffed, making her insides ache. "Trust you? I won't make that mistake again."

Patch made a pained face. "Angel—"

"Don't 'Angel' me." She turned to him, a slow, arduous task. "Marcie had her hands down your freaking pants. Don't ask me to trust you when you come to my house one night and get me naked, then let Marcie give you a hand job the next night."

She had flipped herself over so that she was sitting up, her feet flat against the floor and her finger in his face. Her anger made the pain disappear, and she liked it.

"It wasn't—"

"It wasn't like that?" She couldn't stop herself, she reached out and shoved his chest as hard as she could. He had to balance himself to stop the chair from tipping out from under him. "How many excuses can you come up with for a hand down the pants? Did she trip and catch herself on your crotch?"

Nora recognized the furious spark that lit in his eyes. She wanted him to bring it on, to hash it out with her right here and now before the sickness that was their relationship destroyed her from the inside out.

"First of all, sit back down. You're going to hurt yourself." She hadn't even realized that she had stood up. "Secondly, Marcie didn't make the decision to put her hand down my pants. It was suggested to her."

Nora felt the shock and confusion on her face. Suggested? As in like how Patch could suggest things to humans?

"It didn't matter to me what she was doing. I couldn't feel it anyways," he continued. "I was trying to figure out where the other fallen was, and then you fell on us like a hurricane."

The look on Patch's face was a mixture of pride and annoyance.

Nora tried to piece all this together.

"Someone's been watching us, Nora."

A chill shivered down her spine. It was a trap. Someone urged Marcie to put her hand down Patch's pants, knowing that Nora would see and react exactly as she did. The other fallen angel knew that she would blow up and then storm out, leaving her completely vulnerable. Nora guessed that they just hadn't counted on Patch following her.

"And you played right into their hand," he said.

She couldn't say anything. She wanted to smack herself. It was all so clear now. She threw her head back against the lumpy pillow, groaning.

"I'm glad you woke up," Patch whispered after a second.

Nora looked at him, really looked. He had bags under his eyes, and she wondered how long he had been waiting for her to wake up. His hair was unkempt, like he had kept running his hands through it in worry. She offered him a tiny smile.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, so much, but that hadn't worked out so well the last time.

Instead, he filled the silence with, "You need a shower. I'll help you."

She couldn't help the naughty grin that metastasized across her face. "I'm not dirty."

"You're covered in river water, Angel."

Nora started. "What?"

"The person, they were cloaked. They threw you in the water so that I couldn't chase them."

"You dove in after me?" she asked.

"Of course," he mumbled. Like it was nothing.

"O-oh."

Patch helped her up and they scuttled across the room and into the bathroom. It really hurt her to extend her left leg too far; it felt as if the skin of her abdomen and upper thigh was stretched too far. The stitches pulled uncomfortably.

He leaned her against the counter and turned the shower on, then pulled his shirt over his head.

"What—what are you doing?" she stuttered.

He gave her a crooked smile. "Helping you?"

The top of his pants fell over his hips, colliding with the floor.

"O-oh." She soaked the sight of his bare flesh up like a depraved little sponge. "This isn't helping."

The boxers slipped lower.

Lower.

Off.

Nora slapped her hand over her eyes just as they fell away. Her face was burning with blood, making her woozy. She could touch it all day long, but when it came to looking at the thing eye to eye, it made her very nervous.

Patch laughed an evil laugh. She heard the smacking of his feet on the tile as he stepped closer, felt his fingers on the hem of the T-shirt. He gently pried her fingers back, but she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Open your eyes," he laughed.

"I don't know," she whispered. She popped her eyes open to look at his amused face, something darker than laughter behind his kohl eyes. Ever so slowly, her gaze drifted downwards.

Her head popped back up. She pursed her lips together and felt her face fill with even more blood, if that was possible. "Oh. Wow."

He smiled at her and pulled the shirt up and over her head. He didn't hesitate to fill his hands with her ample breasts. He moved in closer to her, his mouth pressing against hers.

"Wow," he whispered against her lips. Her heart palpitated; she was filled to the brim with desire for him.

She laid her head against his chest, the too-long absence of his skin against her own bothering her. She pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his mid-section and sighing. He rested his head on the top of hers, his long arms encircling her stooping body.

"I miss you," she told him.

She felt him nod against her head. "I miss you, too, Angel," he admitted somberly.

After a minute, he pulled her towards the shower. "Maybe now we can finish what we started the other night?"

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DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY HOURS I'VE WORKED THIS WEEK? 50. That's how many. And I wrote a chapter for you guys. Where's my love? Thanks to those who pointed out the anonymous reviews thing, I didn't realize.

Heads up: Next chapter, we're moving this to the M-section, BABY!

And P.S. how many of you have read Julie Kagawa's Iron King series? If you haven't, I implore that you do. Its section needs more fanfiction. Review!