A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone, really appreciate them. Here's another installment to this crazy angel story, hope you enjoy and reviews are love so show me some. :)

"Is Paul in love with me?"

I glance over at Chris as he feigns lying on my bed. I'm lying next to him and looking at him, wondering how he's feeling. He's back in that mood of his that I hate. It's like I can barely even talk to him when he's like this. I have no idea what he's even thinking and I want to know and I should know since he's my guardian angel. That should mean there's no secrets between us except for the stuff he absolutely cannot tell me, like anything dealing with the future.

"What?"

"Is Paul in love with me?" I ask again. "I mean, you must see part of the future so I know you can't tell me what's exactly going to happen, but you were there this afternoon, is he in love with me?"

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," Chris says in that stupid distracted voice of his. He appears to be staring up at the ceiling, but I have no clue what he could be staring at that looks so interesting. Maybe he can just see through walls and stuff and right into heaven. I close my eyes and picture Chris and me in heaven. It's a really nice picture, getting to feel him and touch him and…maybe more with him.

"You were paying attention to me, yes?" I ask hopefully, like maybe he was so focused on me he forgot that Paul even existed.

"I always pay attention to you."

"Then do you think that Paul is in love with me, come on, don't keep it from me."

"Do you want to suffer the consequences of me telling you the future because then you will instantly die," Chris says, turning to me. My eyes widen at him and then he laughs, "I'm kidding, you wouldn't die, but why ruin the surprise?"

"You're a jerk," I say, playfully swatting at him even though I know that I can't touch him. My hand goes right through his shoulder and is just a reminder that he'll never be what I want him to be, not truly. He can only stay at a certain distance.

"I can't tell you," he tells me seriously, turning on his side. "Steph, you know I can't tell you."

"I'm not asking you to tell me," I emulate his position and stare at him. "I'm just wondering if he does love me. If you think he does actually. You were standing right there, you remember what he said even if you say you forgot or didn't hear because you know everything in my life, tell me some random memory."

"Eighth grade, you were in class, it was the beginning of the day and you were saying the Pledge of Allegiance. In the back of the classroom, those two classmates of yours, George and Bryan, were roughhousing and Bryan pushed George into the closet and he fell. You all turned around to look and your teacher-"

"Mr. Abbott got so pissed at them," I finish his story, laughing as I recalled the memory. "Oh my God, I remember that. Mr. Abbott could have such a temper, he was so chill most of the time, but then when you made him mad, he would just blow up at you, like that time he threw the chair, God, why did he do that again?"

"Because Patrick had flicked Janina in the forehead and he saw it and made you all stay after class and he got so angry at you guys, calling you all immature and saying that you were in the 8th grade now, almost high school and then he threw the chair."

"Yeah, otherwise he was so cool," I sigh. "Can you ever find out what happens to people? Like can you send in a call to God and find out?"

He closes his eyes for a minute and then opens them, "He's doing really well. He's got three kids now and he's teaching in Arizona. He's really happy there."

"I'm glad," I smile, thinking back to my teacher. "So you do remember all the little details, so tell me, what do you think, do you think that Paul is in love with me?"

"Do you want him to be in love with you?" he asks me and I don't know how to figure out the answer to that question. It would be so easy to let myself fall in love with Paul. It would probably be the best thing to let myself fall for him. He's here and he's flesh and blood. He loves the business and that would certainly endear him to my father. My mother is content to let me love whomever I want and once Shane grilled the hell out of him, he'd come around. Everyone would be okay with it…but would I be okay with it?

Therein lies the problem. I know I would be settling if I let myself fall for Paul. I'd be settling and I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't settle. My parents didn't raise me to settle for second best, but to always go for the gold so to speak. But in this situation, how can I possibly get what's best? I don't have a machine that will suddenly turn Chris into a man, a real man. He's not a figment of my imagination, but his form might not even be what he projects it to be.

"I don't know, maybe, maybe not," I finally say uncertainly. "I'm not sure what I want in regards to that right now."

"That's reasonable and at least you aren't going headlong into this relationship."

"Should I not?" I ask. "I'm not asking for you to look into your crystal ball, I'm just asking your opinion as a friend, someone who has been in this relationship with me from the start."

"I don't like his friends," Chris tells me and it's like he's sagging with relief.

"His friends, you mean the guys in DX?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think they're really his friends," I tell him. "I mean, I guess they hang out, but I just don't see them as friends in the real sense, but then, what do I know, right? I don't think the business is very friendly…that came out wrong. I just think we're too insular, that when we're not working, it's hard to remain friends."

"You have friends, Steph."

"I know, I'm just saying, I can't imagine hanging out with like Trish or Amy outside of the business," I shrug. "I don't think we'd have much in common, but it works for us when we're working."

"Yeah, well, I still don't like them," he tells me. "I don't like the way they treat you."

"You mean Sean," I tell him. He nods. "Is that what's been bugging you?"

"Bugging me? Nothing bugs me, I don't have the ability to be bugged," he tells me and he's so full of it right now, but I guess I play along because he adds quickly, "I'm incapable of feeling bugged. I don't think I have that makeup."

"So what's this then?" I ask, running my fingers over where his forehead should be, where I can see his forehead. "God just gave you worry lines to break up the perfection?"

"I do not have worry lines," he says reaching up and rubbing at his forehead. "You're so lying to me. I don't have worry lines."

"Except you do and you've had them for days and days, what's up, Chris? Really, come on, what's up? You can tell me anything, you already know everything there is to know about me, can't you extend the same courtesy to me?"

I'm going out on a limb here, asking to know more about him, more about things there's no possible way I can understand, but I want to know, I want to be in his world the same way he's in mine. I'll at least feel closer to him that way. "Not really."

"Of course you can. I'm not asking you to tell me what heaven is like and I'm not asking you how you change your clothes," I blink my eyes and he's in another outfit and he smirks at me and I roll my eyes. "Show-off. I'm just asking what's on your mind? Why did you want to speak to me again? Why did you even try?"

"It was time," he says quietly. "I don't need to talk to you, you know that, I've been here everyday for your entire life and there's been years I haven't talked to you. There's been so many years that I just watch you being you. You need me of course, but you don't either, being as strong as you are. But it was time because you were ready to accept something a little out of the ordinary."

"You," I smile.

"Yeah, me," he nods. "And I'm glad you did."

"No, I'm very glad I did," I respond to him. "You have no idea. Does it make it more personal to you then? Now that we're talking and we're engaged in constant conversation and interaction? Are your feelings stronger?"

"No, never, I don't know," he tells me, "I'm not enlightened. I'm not God. I don't know everything. I don't know a lot of what you know in regards to feelings or being or having a real body and interacting with other people. I don't have that. Just like you don't have my understanding. So maybe I'm feeling more than usual. Maybe now that you're here and talking to me and confiding in me I have more…maybe I just feel more."

"That's okay, that's good," I tell him, encouraged that he might be opening up to me. "Feeling is good, it's…"

"Human," Chris laughs. "It's human is what you were going for, right?"

"No, it's just…you can feel, you could feel before," I remind him.

"You just want me to feel what you feel."

"Sometimes," I tell him. "But I'm glad you feel more now…sometimes you feel like an imaginary friend. Or like I'm crazy." I feel my nose start to burn, the first sign of tears and he looks at me so tenderly that I feel like kissing him. "It just helps when I know that you're feeling stuff…makes me feel less crazy."

"I don't see how that is accomplished."

"Shove it," I pout and he laughs and looks like he wishes he could touch me, but he can't. "Paul won't let his friends bug me. I can talk to him about it, tell them that Sean is being a jerk to me and he'll tell them to lay off. Paul really cares about me…or so I think."

"He loves you," Chris says. "He's so very much in love with you."

"For the right reasons?"

"Yeah, every single right reason. It's right there on his face every time he looks at you. I think he's boring, but he absolutely loves you."

"I thought so," I sigh. "I like him a lot, but I don't know about love yet. I guess that's why he hasn't really told me yet. Maybe he thinks I love him, I don't know. I just know he hasn't said it yet and I hope he doesn't for a while, but I can tell him to make his friends leave me alone."

"Good," Chris says, "because I really don't like them."

"Neither do I," I admit, "jerks."

"You throw that word around too liberally, you know," he tells me, the mood instantly lightening. "You think everyone is a jerk, why don't you make up your mind on when to use the word?"

"Stop teasing me," I stick my tongue out at him, "Mr. I Can Change My Clothes in a Blink. You only did that to show off. And how do you even know what to wear? Aren't angels supposed go around naked, that's how they always did it in the paintings."

"Yeah, they also had these little flying cherubs, but there aren't any of those around and would you quit it with trying to see me naked. I don't want you to think any of your future boyfriends are grossly inadequate."

"You're sick!" I gasp. "Oh my God, you are terrible. Wait, are you saying that you haven't been impressed with any of the guys I've been with."

"I'm not saying I'm not impressed, I'm just saying that you wouldn't want to know what I'm packing."

"Yeah right, you're probably a Ken doll down there."

"Do not make me pull my pants down."

"I dare you," I say with more aplomb than I probably should at the moment. If he were real, right about now is when I would pull down his pants and see for myself.

"What are we, 12?" he kids, which brings up a good question.

"Were you ever 12?"

"Sort of," he answers. "I kind of hover around your age, but I probably won't get any older."

"So when I'm an old woman, you're going to be this hot guy still?"

"You think I'm hot." I feel myself blushing something fierce, the heat rising from my neck all the way to my ears and I can feel my skin burning like it's on fire. Why do I always get caught up in these situations? Why does he always make me blush, no matter how many times I embarrass myself around him?

"You're…good-looking, but I'm sure all angels are."

"You'd think that, but no, I'm pretty hot I guess," he winks at me. "I guess that's why you stare at me all the time, huh?"

"Don't get an inflated head, you egotist," I tell him, sitting up, "you think I'm beautiful so it goes both ways, you know."

"Stephanie, I'm kidding," he says. "I'm just trying to ease the mood, okay. Look, I worry about you, it's my job, but just like everything I've ever tried to do for you, you have it covered. I'm a pretty useless guardian angel when you think about it. You always take care of everything. You're amazing that way. I'm kind of just along for the ride."

"You can lie," I tell him, glancing over my shoulder at him.

"You think I'm lying?"

"Your job is to protect me, so yes, I think you're lying when you tell me that I handle everything myself, you, Mr. Angel, are a liar."

"Well then, Ms. McMahon, I guess I am."