And this, ladies and gentlemen, is chapter 33.
The place where things have never been more complicated.

(Trigger warning: street violence/gang violence towards the end of this chapter. Nothing too heavy.)

It was only when Cassidy's throat began to burn raw that she realised that she had been screaming at the top of her lungs. Wiping her mouth of spittle and collecting the remainder of her breath, she doubled over at the doorway, willing her knees not to give way.

"No…no…no…"

Distant drumming, rattling from the base of her spine to the top of her head, crippled Cassidy's body as she gripped the door-frame at her side. She poured her trust into the wooden border as if it were a real life, living crutch.
The bitter, astringent taste of bile surged upward through her throat and seared across her tongue as her stomach lurched.

"No…it can't be…you can't be…"

The living room lay in absolute tatters, mismatched debris scattered across the carpeted floor. While the windows seemed virtually untouched- the rest of the room suggested that it had played host to the most violent of conflicts.
Cotton stuffing, feathers, dry plaster, wooden splinters, torn wallpaper, assorted fragments…

Stone fragments.

It was the remnants of a battlefield- the furniture adopting the role of mutilated soldiers and victims caught in the crossfire.

And the most prominent victim of all- the most horrifying casualty- stood in the centre of the room.

"Michael?"

The once-proud, threatening Adonis now stood in a frightening, mutilated version of what he had once been.
The Archangel's left arm had been torn away entirely, leaving a dense crevice across his chest.
Jagged pieces had been torn from his abdomen and most of his lower body had been left so badly stripped away that it was virtually unrecognisable.

"…what happened to you?"

She stepped slowly over the upturned coffee table, one of her shins limply smacking against the splintered underside as she tried to traverse the room despite her violently shaking body.
It was only when she was standing directly at his fore- only centimetres away from the Archangel and looking up at him- that her quivering abruptly ceased.

Her body became rigid, her limbs turning to a stark, unmoving porcelain and her blood virtually freezing in her veins. As she stared up at the almost unrecognisable face of the Archangel that she had once feared, hated and revered, she found her hand slowly lifting upward.

"…it can't be true."

Her hand lightly cupped his jawline, as she once had before and as she had done upon their very first meeting. Somewhere in the back of the mind, a wide-eyed archaeologist still lived- gazing up with wonder at an ivy-covered but still very beautiful statue.
Eyes obscured and shackled to the ground- he was still perfect.

"Say something, you idiot. You crazy, obsessive psychopath….go on…say something…"

She very delicately ran her hand down along the side of his jaw, stroking the line of his mouth, her thumb grazing the remnants of his lips. She could tell that his mouth had been closed when he had moved last; he hadn't screamed. The skin around his lips had the smallest, faintest lines of tautness; he had felt anxiety.
His fangs were nowhere to be seen- anxiety but not rage or ferocity.

And now he was silent.

"Say something."

Cassidy realised that she was speaking aloud for the first time since her initial reaction, her voice cracking and splintering as it left her worn raw throat. Her jaw quivered, tears threatening to spill as she waited with held breath for the Archangel to speak.

"Michael. Say something. Please. Tell me you're alright…damn it…"

The first tear trailed, hot and uncertain, along her cheek before falling upon her collar- neither heard nor seen.

"Come on, you bastard. If you think you're being funny, you're bloody not! Just fucking speak! Say something! Say anything!"

More tears joined their fallen comrade as Cassidy's voice began to rise.
She gripped the side of his neck, her hand slowly moving to grasp his throat as he had once grabbed hers.

"Talk, damn it! Talk! You're not gone! You can't be gone! Monsters like you are never gone! Don't you know anything about fucking fairytales!? If monsters were easy to kill, they'd just be dead before the ending and there'd be no point to it at all!"

Words tumbled from her lips without sense or reason but she was too furious to care. She squeezed the stone, tears now freely falling down her face as she insistently choked the Archangel. Her eyes burned as her distraught and longing gaze turned to an angered glower.

"Come on! You want to play dead?! I'll kill you instead! Hear that, Michael?! Iblis?! I'll kill you! Try to stop me!" Cassidy begged, her voice ragged and whittling. "Stop me! Pull me away! Insult me! Tell me how weak I am!" Her mouth was quickly turning barren and an uncomfortable sickness still reigned over her entire body. "I'll kill you! I'll…ki…I'll k-…kill you…"

Her voice broke as tears gave way to heavy, laboured breathing, bordering on sobs.
Cassidy's hands slipped down to his pectorals as she pressed her forehead to the cold stone. Her fingernails raked painfully against the coarse cracks as she scratched the Angel's skin and her free hand pounded against his chest in a persistent fist.

"I'll…kill…you…"

Her eyelids slowly fell as her face pressed against his chest.
But as soon as the Archangel's quantum lock was lifted, Cassidy felt the torn stone beneath her skin turn to torn, living flesh and drew back in horror. She brought her hands to her mouth, stepping away further when she remembered that every time she closed her eyes- Michael was no longer stone.
He was a creature of skin, blood and bone.
And he was horribly mutilated.
And still standing.

Hesitantly, Cassidy lifted a hand once more to place upon his chest- spreading his fingers out along the hardened skin. She had very briefly felt something and she needed to test it.
Seizing the remainder of her nerves, she closed her eyes and felt as the shattered rock turned to shredded skin. She held her palm upon his chest and sure enough, there it was.
There was a tiny patch of lukewarm skin.

She had felt it against her face the first time Michael had ever held her against his chest.
And then every time that she found herself held against the Archangel- particularly in those cold hours that she had been his unwilling dolly- her face would subconsciously search for the spot. In the wide expanse of Michael's cool, unhuman skin, it was the single stretch of warmth that reminded her that the Archangel was nothing more than a living, breathing creature.
And that he wasn't invincible.
He could be defeated.
He could be killed.

Ironically, that tiny patch of warmth beneath her hand- whatever alien biological function it heralded- now served as her last ounce of hope that the Archangel was still with her.

"Come on," she whispered hoarsely, opening her eyes and looking into the remnants of his face, trying not to imagine the kind of pain that he would be in. "If you're still warm…that means you're still here, right?"

She blinked several times in rapid-fire. "Move. Please, move…"

Her pleas were becoming increasingly desperate and Cassidy hated herself a little more every time she heard her own voice.
Breathing heavily, she ran her hand through her rapidly tangling hair, trying to deal with the fact that every time she closed her eyes Michael was restored to flesh and was probably in even greater pain than when he was in stone form.

"Is this over? Am I finally free now? Shouldn't I be happy? What if whatever or whoever did this to you comes back? What if I'm still at risk? What if you've left me without any hope of fighting back? After all I've done for you, you'd just abandon me again? After everything I've done for you…?"

Just as this thought flitted through her mind, Cassidy remembered something that he had mentioned before. He was capable of healing himself and restoring himself but this process worked better when he was in stone form. It was also aided by her archaeological skills.

Cassidy's fists clenched as she stared at the destroyed statue, her jaw starting to ache as her teeth ground and gritted.

"Alright, listen to me," she told him, her voice shaking. "You're not giving up on me. You want to defeat your father? I don't care if it was him who did this to you; you are not just giving up. You helped me and I'll be damned if you think you're leaving me feeling guilty about not being able to help you in return! No, Michael! You don't get to have that luxury! You don't get to leave me scared…you hear that?! You're so selfish!"

Cassidy continued to shout as she walked around the living room, pulling at various cabinet drawers. "You'll be able to fight them next time," she murmured, pulling forth a blue, weighty folder. "You were just weak earlier…weak because you wouldn't bloody hunt for yourself…why didn't you hunt for yourself, idiot? I'm not approving or anything but for God's sake, you knew you needed to eat and you didn't…I mean you…you said you needed to stay with me…but you didn't need to…you didn't!" She set the blue folder on the ground, flipping it open and letting the pages tumble out on to the floor. "You didn't have to stay with me…but you did…and that made you weak…idiot!"

Becoming slightly breathless, she spread the pages out upon the ground and examined the familiar writing.
Upon the pages were Cassidy's own hand-written notes from her first few days when she was documenting her progress taking care of Michael. Hewitt had originally gotten her into the habit of taking journal notes while restoring a piece and certainly all of missed lunchtimes and neglected conversations seemed worth her while.

She had taken note of every crack, every line, every fissure and every inch of the Archangel's skin.
She had also crudely sketched out sections of his body and labelled each area of weakness, drawing up designs for mould casts for every breakage.

She laid her notes out in a clear spot on the floor, pulling a pen from her jeans pocket and starting to mark out the information that she needed.

"I'll fix you up Michael but you have to work with me!" Cassidy said aloud. "You have to heal yourself. Use all that resilience that you're always bragging about…all those amazing healing powers that you lot have…now's the time to really show off…" She wiped her eyes and rolled up her sleeves. "I'd bet you'd like that, right? Show off for me, Michael. Show off." She pulled the elastic bobbin from her wrist, tying up her hair into a rough ponytail. "I'm gonna show off too. I may not be an alien or have super powers or anything like that…but I'm a damn good archaeologist...and I've been told that I'm pretty damn good with statues."

"What do you see?"

"…ok, do not take my word as Gospel but this looks very like a little girl's bedroom."

"Are you sure that it's not something else?" the Doctor whispered, still whacking the odd little clockwork device against his thigh

Clara held her torch up a little higher and continued to peer out the door of the TARDIS. "Something else? Something else like what?"

"Like a little boy's bedroom for instance?"

"From what I can tell, everything is a little bit too pink to be a boy's room."

"Why wouldn't a boy like pink? Pink is a good colour. I like the colour pink. Pink is good. Very good," he murmured pulling her back by the shoulder. "Here, take this." He thrust the bizarre device into her hands and took her place at the doorway. "But yes…definitely a little girl's room."

Clara inspected the weighty object- flinching when it suddenly began to whirr on its own. "What was your first clue?"

The Doctor sniffed loudly, still whispering. "Smells like a girl's room. Definitely a girl's room. Quite a good indicator that we're in the right place…"

"Meaning that the person here is more than likely the real Abbie?"

"Meaning," the Doctor replied, pushing the door open fully to reveal the darkened bedroom. "That this place here is more than likely the right place. As for Abbie…well, we'll see…"

"In that case, keep your voice down." The little machine whirred again and Clara almost dropped it. "Mmph! What is this thing anyway?"

"It's my patented timey-wimey detector," he informed her, beckoning for her to follow him as he slowly stepped out of the TARDIS. "Made it myself back in the sixties. It goes "ding" if it detects displaced time energy…we can use that to track anyone who's been in contact with an Angel…"

"Or an Angel themselves?" Clara questioned aloud, closing the door behind them both.

The Doctor was about to reply but was interrupted suddenly by the loud creaking of a second door opening.
The Time Lord gripped his companion's shoulder, his eyes widening slightly and muttering under his breath. "Get ready…"

A gentle thudding came from behind them and Clara's grip on her torch tightened.
"Get ready to do what?"

Silence.
A whisper from the Doctor broke it almost immediately.

"To turn around and to get back into the TARDIS as quickly as you possibly can."

Clara nodded and in one courageous pivot, her torch beam illuminated a tiny, freckled face and a fuzzy blue one.

"You came!" Abigail Drake exclaimed, waving her bear excitedly. "You came, Doctor! And Clara came too!"

Showing about as much relief as the little redhead, the young brunette stooped to accept a very welcome embrace. "Yes. Yes, we did! We got your message and we came to save you…"

The Doctor flicked out his sonic screwdriver, immediately holding it around the room. "But save you from what exactly? Or from whom? Where are the Angels, Abbie? Are they in the house?" He waved the sonic screwdriver over a nearby lamp, the bulb illuminating instantly. "Probably a good idea for things to stay nice and bright…"

"No!" Abbie said quickly, running over to the lamp and switching it off. "We need it to stay dark!" The little girl looked up at the Doctor. "Please. You can't turn the lights on. The Angels are outside the house. They'll know I'm in here if we turn the lights on."

Clara wore an expression just as confused as the Doctor's but no sooner as she took a step towards the window, Abbie had grabbed the hem of her skirt. "No, no, no! You can't look! We have to pretend there's no one in the house!" She held up the teddy-bear in her arms. "That's why Trevor and I were hiding in my wardrobe." Her eyes went wide as she examined the blue box, skimming her fingers along the wooden sides. "I can't believe you fit the TARDIS into my room…it touches the ceiling!"

The Doctor and Clara exchanged glances, both with mounting levels of bewilderment.

"Abbie," Clara asked slowly. "Are you in the house alone? Where is your brother?"

"He's not here," Abigail replied casually, still absolutely transfixed with the TARDIS as she traced its panelling. "He's not in the house. It's just me and Trevor…" The little girl blinked all of a sudden, turning on the spot to face the Doctor. "And me and Trevor need to go away out of here with you and Clara in the TARDIS...right now…"

The Doctor walked over to Abbie, slowly crouching down so that they were at eye-level. "Abbie…where is your brother exactly?"

"Out!" Abbie informed him with a gap-toothed smile. "Out with Shauna! He won't mind if I'm gone. We just have to go now before the Angels find a way to get inside…"

"And where would we be going in the TARDIS, Abbie?"

"Tomorrow. In the future. We can be safe there."

Clara was about to say something but the Doctor spoke over her.
"…rigtheo then, Abbie! You're the lady with the plan! Come on then, all aboard the Doctor Express…you too, Clara."

It was Clara who brought Abbie a hot drink as soon as they were safely on board, (and an extra plastic cup of juice for Trevor the bear too).

The little girl sniffed the hot liquid and gave it a suspicious sniff before cautiously giving it a sip. "Mmm…" She pulled a face. "What is this?"

"Ovaltine," Clara informed her. "It was all I could find in the kitchen. It was all she'd let me find." She gestured to the TARDIS walls around them. "She doesn't really like me that much…"

"Why not?" Abbie queried, helping herself to a gulp and then grimacing. "Ugh…it's not as good as tea…"

"Yeah, Ovaltine isn't one of my favourites either," the older woman remarked. "It's the tenth most disgusting thing ever created…"

"What's the eleventh?"

"Whiskey."

Abbie pulled a rather disgusted face, nodding in agreement. "Is brussels sprouts the first most disgusting thing?"

"I think so, anyway."

The Doctor's head poked around the door of the little library. "Hello there ladies. Abbie, I have a rather nice collection of colouring books in that box over there. Clara, could I have a word please?"

It was only when both of them were out of the room and a good leg stretch down the corridor that the Doctor chose to speak.

"Ok, first things first. You don't like Ovaltine?!"

"Doctor, I think we have slightly more pressing matters at hand. If you haven't noticed." Clara dropped her voice. "If you haven't noticed, there's something a bit off with Abbie…"

"Of course I've noticed," the Doctor replied, his voice descending to a similar level. "Little girl. No older than seven. Alone in the house. In the dark. Angels supposedly waiting outside. And all the while, she seems absolutely fine…not shaken or stirred…"

"Not to mention the fact that the Angels were actually waiting in the first place. I mean, why hadn't they just gotten her already? Why were they after her in the first place? And her brother? Where is he right now? After Summer Bank, I remember talking to her and her being all worried about where he was and if he was missing her and now…now…"

"…now, something about her seems a bit off…"

"Excuse me?" Abbie piped up, standing between them. "But you left your toy radio in the room with me. Do you need it?"

The little girl held up the Doctor's patented timey-wimey detector, cradled carefully in her skinny arms.

"It keeps making this funny noise whenever I hold it close to my tummy…"

The Doctor and his companion exchanged almost identical looks of horror as the machine went off with a loud and indisputable "ding."

Cassidy began by clearing a wide space in the centre of the floor, clearing away any broken pieces of furniture, lugging aside the tipped-over bookcase and piling away the amassed chunks of splintered wood.
The coffee table- or what was left of it- was pushed to the furthest wall of the room, giving her ample room to work.

"Why am I even doing this for you? Why do I even bother? If you are, in fact, actually dead- and hallelujah, you can be killed- doesn't that just mean that I'm free? I mean, I should be lugging what's left of you out to the curb for the rubbish men right now! Not breaking my back trying to figure out how to help you. There were some days in that damn hotel room where I had fantasies about this. Yeah, Michael, that's right. I had fucking fantasies about getting a sledgehammer and doing this to you myself…"

When the Archangel's immediate radius was clear, she went about seeking out just about every restoration tool that she had left in the house. She scoured the kitchen, utility room, bathroom and her bedroom until she had unearthed all of her leather dig-kits and every last resin bag, hammer, cup, drill, glue bottle and metal strut that she had ever borrowed from the museum.
A large plastic wash-tub that her mother once used for dying clothes, a bundle of towels and three two litre bottles of water were the last supplies that she dropped to the floor of the room before setting about her next task.

"See the marks on my face? Those were from you, Michael. See the bruises on my wrist? Those were from you, Michael? See that ugly gash on my neck? That was from you, Michael. After all the times you've seen it fit to tear me to shreds, I really should be just leaving you to rot right now, shouldn't I? All those times you treated me like a toy…now who's helpless? You bastard. And it's not just what you've done to my body. I'm probably now clinically insane thanks to you. At the very least, I'm permanently emotionally scarred. Psychologically disturbed. I'll be back in fucking bedlam again by the time this is over…and I don't care what River says. You haven't changed a bit. You still fucking think you own me…but you don't. You don't own me."

Cassidy emptied all three bottles of water into the plastic tub. Doing some rapid-fire mental maths, she attempted to figure out how many cups of resin powder she'd need. She needed to consult her original notes to aid her calculations but deciding that improvisation was the best way to go and that time was not exactly a luxury that she could afford, she emptied six cups of carefully measured powder into the water.
She stirred until her wrists ached- more than aware that she could not allow the resin to settle prematurely. Her mind launched itself four years into the past to her first ever statue-restoration session at University and the words of her practical tutors rang in her ears.
It needed to be smooth. Not too many bubbles. Thick but not stodgy. Fine but not watery.
She really hated the smell. It didn't often bother her in small amounts but mixing this amount of stone-setting resin at once gave off an overpoweringly nauseating odour.
It reminded her of walking past a tyre yard and smelling the burning rubber.

"I shouldn't expect anything different from an alien whose race uses rape as a means of establishing dominance and violence as a means of persuasion. The only reason you'd ever do something like this for me is because you think you own me…that's the only reason. That's the only reason why you saved me from that crazy bitch Kyrie….or saved me from drowning myself…or took me back in time to see my mother…or gave me the time to mourn her…or let me have my way all those times…or wanted to look after Abbie…or got rid of my father…or helped me to stand when I couldn't…or offered to train me…or told me that I was strong…or made me feel strong…or trusted me…"

Now came the difficult part.
With the greatest care, Cassidy searched the room for the pieces of stone that matched the colour and texture of Michael's body. She set the smaller fragments on the rug at his feet, ordering them by size and where she supposed they came from in terms of his anatomy. In her left hand, she carried a page of her original sketches for comparisons. Treating them as sacred scripture, she analysed each miniature striation on each jagged edge- soon managing to group the pieces off depending on which crack she thought they came from.
Then came the larger fragments- his wings and his limbs and certain parts of his head.
She noticed with ghastly curiosity that the pieces remained as stone even when she closed her eyes. She had no time to ponder the intricacies of her Archangel's biology.
Especially not when she was facing into the most difficult jigsaw that she'd ever thought about attempting.
It had nothing on the four thousand piece Lord of the Rings jigsaw puzzle that she'd completed when she was fifteen anyway.
With care, she dipped the first fragment in resin and slotted it back into the fissure whence it came.

"You're not the same person you were back in Summer Bank, are you? Back then, you didn't even talk to me properly…not even when you couldactually talk. Now you and I talk for hours. The Michael from back then just seemed so cold and vicious….and now I know what you're afraid of and what upsets you because you told me…you showed me what makes you vulnerable…you gave me control even when it didn't benefit you…you gave up an opportunity to make yourself stronger because you were afraid to leave me alone... For God's sake, Michael…Iblis…whoever you are…what changed? What's so different about you and I now? If you still think I'm your slave, you don't always treat me like it...less and less, actually…"

Gluing the pieces into place was a painstaking process.
The industrial glue hardened in minutes in a hot and plastic-like film regardless of the surface that it found itself stuck to. So it wasn't long before Cassidy's fingers were burned a searing scarlet, the pads of her fingers starting to peel. Biting her lip and ignoring the discomfort, she continued to work.
There were some areas of his body that had been crushed to fragments so fine that they could not be replaced. Followingly, Cassidy was forced to refit these areas using concrete resin.
In the past, Michael's metabolism had been capable of turning Cassidy's artificially created areas back to whatever the rest of him was made from. Silently, the archaeologist hoped that the volume would make no difference this time and that she wasn't doing more damage than good to him.

"Who did this to you, Michael? Was it your sister? Was it your father? Someone else entirely? Something else? Will they come back? Are they even gone? Are they still here? I could turn around any second to find them standing right behind me, waiting to rip me to shreds too…I don't care how sick with fear that makes me…I can't turn away right now…I have to keep doing this…Are you still there? Are you still listening? Damn you, Michael. I used to talk to statues all the time…now I actually care if they can hear me or not…"

Resetting his wings was the hardest part and she found herself having to resort to metal staples to keep the folds of the plumage from falling apart as she chiselled and glued the feathers back into the order that they had been in before. She examined each new addition to her statue's body with a spyglass, making positively sure that the most microscopic of cracks lined up perfectly.
The idea of someone putting her back together wrong was nightmarish.
The idea of her having to be put back together at all was another level of terrifying altogether.
It wasn't long before her eyes hurt just about as much as her knuckles did. Her nails were shredded and her fingers were starting to bleed at the seams, not to mention she was in dire need of her eye-drops.
She ignored everything, focusing solely on the task at hand.

"You know, Michael…before you came into my life, I was so content with having a normal life. I mean, sure, I'd watch all of these movies and cartoons and television shows and read all these books and dream about living a life that was full of adventures and magic and excitement…but everyone does that. Everyone wants what they don't know. Then finally it all happened to me…I travelled through time, I fought monsters, I caught the attention of an alien…and I hated every second of it. I wanted you out of my life as soon as possible. Now…and this is the funny part…now, the more I think about it, if things were to just go back to normal…that'd be the weirdest thing ever…As much as I want to convince myself otherwise, I don't regret you coming into my life. I think…you made me find something in myself that I didn't know was there…or maybe I just lost it a long time ago…you made me realise that I was stronger than I thought…and as much as I hate it, things certainly are never boring with you around…I could just do with a little less of the slavery and the forcefulness and a little more of the chatting…and maybe…maybe the intimacy…maybe a little…Jesus Christ, I'm a lonely person, aren't I? So are you. Maybe that's why we're so good together…"

Almost an hour and a half later, Cassidy was finally re-lining the last of the marks on his skin. The places where veins caused the surface to pucker, the folds of his fingernails and knuckles, the curves of his face, the bridge of his nose, his brows, his lips, his hair, his eyes...a final dusting with her fan brush- one that he had once toyingly held out to her, long before she was even aware that he was anything more than an ordinary statue- was all he needed before he was perfectly restored.
This was the point when Cassidy realised that she was crying again.

"How dare you do this to me? That's what makes you a monster. You can find some kind of watery excuse for everything else but this. Why did you have to make me hate you? Why did you have to make me hate you so much with every fibre of my being and then change? Why did you have to change and make me see you differently? This doesn't happen in real life! People don't just change all of a sudden! So why does it seem like you have? Why did you make me hate you and then make me like you? I still haven't forgiven you but goddamn it! Why did you have to make me hate you and then just when I've started to stop hating you…you go and get yourself killed?"

She took a step back to survey her work, still trying to keep her composition despite the tears that poured from her eyes. "Well…there…y-you're done now. Come on. Move. I'm blinking…look, now I have my eyes closed…say something…move…" She choked on her words, her voice starting to crack. "Don't let ev-everything I've done…everything y-you've done…everything we've done together…be for nothing…"

Shaking, she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and stood for almost an entire minute, blinking in rapid succession as she waited for the Archangel to show some sign of life.
But he simply stood still.
Stationary.
Silent.
Nothing more than an ordinary statue.

For a brief second, an indescribable pain rose from Cassidy's stomach to her chest, growing hotter and hotter and tighter and tighter and then vanishing suddenly.

A second later, Cassidy had stormed right up to the Archangel, eyes smouldering and seeping at the time, waxing and weeping, fire and rain.
Without hesitating, she clapped one hand to the back of his neck and placed her lips over his in a long, hard kiss.

A kiss had started it all, after all.
All those weeks ago, she had first kissed him after the presentation- dressed in red, glowing with an inebriated haze and she had stumbled backwards to witness her favourite statue having moved.
Now she was sweating, dusty, bleeding in parts, still burning with a formidable mixture of emotion…and she stepped backwards carefully, only to see what she had expected to see all those weeks ago.
A statue that hadn't moved.

"You wanted a kiss, didn't you?! Well, there's your kiss! There's what you wanted! Considering all the shit I've put up with from you, the least you could do for me is move a little! Or say something!" She took a moment to regain her breath before going on. "Now, look here, Angel-boy…I'm going for a little walk down the street…I'll be back in less than five minutes…when I get back…you had better have moved…or else…or else…or else…"

Finding herself unable to complete the threat, Cassidy instead turned around and walked out into the hallway. She took her coat from the rack in the hallway, wrenched a house-key from her jeans pocket and stormed out into the dark.

She was sick to the stomach, quivering all over and her temperature was rising and falling with no measure of grace to speak of. It was bitterly cold out anyway. She shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling the unwashed cuts starting to sting in the wake of a cruel, winter breeze.
The same breeze violently picked up in speed and strength, tearing the bobbin from the weakly-tied ponytail and unleashing her hair to the mercy of the building wind.

She found herself quite uncaring and quite numb in the wake of it all.
Cassidy was good at being numb.
She had always been.
Despite the Archangel having labelled her as full of emotional extremes, Cassidy had always found herself quite capable of simply "switching-off" when the scenario called for it.

She could make herself blind and deaf to her surroundings and a spectre even to her own feelings.
Being a stranger to one's own emotional turmoil, she had found, was a far easier conflict that having to confront said turmoil.

But try as she might- she couldn't banish the weight and worry in her chest.
She was still sick with fear for him.
For him of all people.

She found herself squeezing her eyes shut, muttering under her breath and praying frantically that when she got back to the house, he'd be alive and well.
Prancing and swanning around the place like the arrogant cockerel that he was, scolding her for being late and spouting some condescending nonsense about human beings and their flaws…

Cassidy didn't see the four silhouettes at distance but when she opened her eyes once more, there they were. Four unmistakable figures beneath the lamplight, lounging about at the bus shelter at the end of the street.
At first, she imagined the absolute worst but found as she approached that they were just four ordinary human men- probably waiting for an evening bus.

She allowed herself to get close enough to them to see their half-illuminated faces, noting that they were only just about her age at most if not a lot younger.
Deciding to be friendly, she offered them a polite greeting before turning on heel and heading back up the street.

One of them shouted something after her.
Something incoherent but met with a chorus of whistles from his three friends.
She frowned deeply, her face becoming uncomfortably hot but she ignored it.
One of them was soon barking after her again but she continued to remain deaf to the persistent howling.

Swearing under her breath and continuing to walk, Cassidy's legs quickly turned to wet ribbons when she heard the familiar clattering of footsteps at her back. The shouting was getting progressively louder too and progressively clearer.
They were following her.

Cassidy's eyes widened and she quickened up her pace but it wasn't long before she could hear every word of their very obscene remarks and one of them had jogged into step at her side.
The teenager leered at her from beneath the shade of his hood.
She refused to meet his eyes, persisting in moving faster but it didn't deter her followers.

"Evening, love. What brings you out so late at night, eh?" the Hoodie asked her, a heavy scent of tobacco and alcohol surrounding him. Every now and then, he would brush his shoulder against her arm, forcing her to walk sideways slightly to avoid the physical contact.

"Just going for a walk, t'sall," she said shortly, keeping her head down.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably beneath the wool of her jumper as one of his friends joined her on her other side.

"What's a posh little totty like you doing around 'ere? You local, pet? Never seen you about here…"

Cassidy could hear the third one at her back, practically walking on her heels. Her stomach tightened with every step and her eyes darted around for the nearest open driveway she could dash into. It was no use though- Oakside was so out of the way that the only accessible nearby house was her own.

"We're headed to a party at our mate's. Fancy coming with us?"

"No."

"So you're not a local then? Don't live around here, do you?"

And the expanse of the street had never seemed longer.
She didn't want them knowing her address but she wouldn't protest if she could put any kind of wall between them.

"No, not local," she sharply returned, lying through her teeth still refusing to slow down or look up. "I'm staying here with someone. He'll be expecting me home soon."

Before she could fully comprehend what had happened, the fourth was at her front, stopping her in her tracks. "Ah here now, love. He won't mind if you're a bit late to tea…"

Cassidy bit her lip, ashamed of how much she began to shudder when she recognised the gang insignia on one of their necks.
These were nothing but some rowdy, revolting teenagers.
She had fought monsters. Aliens with super strength.
Perhaps in that time…she had forgotten that her own kind could pose a threat too.

She took a step forward, trying to push past them.
"Look, I don't want any trouble…I don't have any money on me…or a phone…"

She let out a cry when one seized her around the waist, suddenly pulling her backwards and against him. "Don't worry love, this kind of fun won't cost you a penny!"

Cassidy pushed him away fiercely, shouting in protest as she was forced to stumble into the arms of another of them. His stubble brushed against her cheek as he dragged her close, seizing her by the wrists.

"Don't be so frigid, babe! Relax! Let us warm you up from the cold!"

They guffawed and snorted, sounding more like animals than human beings as they continued to paw at her. One of them held her, manacled, as he tried to shove her against a nearby brick wall. She let out an indignant shriek, struggling even harder as one of their hands moved to the button of her jeans.

"Come on, babe…let's have a look at you, then…"

She continued to scream, ramming a knee as hard as she could into his gut.
He doubled over, groaning and cursing, spittle spattering from his mouth.
The street light above their heads flickered.

"You fucking bitch…"

The scrabbling swipes of these disgusting half-humans were nothing in comparison to the kinds of holds that she had escaped from at the hands of the Angels but when one of them threw a punch into her stomach, Cassidy was painfully winded.
The street light flickered again.

"Here, Daz. Oi. Fucking hold her still, right? I'm going first."

She let out a dry sob, wheezing and gagging as one of them pressed himself against her- her head connecting with the wet wall with a sickening crack. She turned her head away, still desperate in her escape attempts and suddenly crying out when she felt his tongue against her ear.
The street light flickered a third time.

"Awwh…don't close them pretty blue eyes, love," he whispered. "You'll want to see this…"

Cassidy screamed again, thrashing against the three who restrained her.
The street light went out, plunging them into complete darkness.

Her assailants froze for a moment, looking around, seemingly confused by something.

"What the fuck? Did you hear-?"

Cassidy felt a sudden lightness on her right side and realised that one the men had released his hold on her arm. It was only when she began to push at her holder that she realised that he hadn't released her.
He had vanished.

"Where the fuck did Daz get to? Daz, 're y-?"

The speaker was cut off mid-sentence and Cassidy's second arm was suddenly freed.
She immediately lifted her arm to throw a dig into her attacker's throat but froze in her own actions.

An ear-splitting roar suddenly tore through the darkness.
A roar.

The man holding her suddenly sounded frightened. "The fuck was tha'? Daz? Cheevers? The fuck are you? Where'r you all after running off to? You fucking-?"
His words were cut off with a strangled cry.
Cassidy felt her assailant shivering against her.

Suddenly, the light flickered back on and there, gilded beneath the harsh, yellow glow, stood the Archangel. His wings spread to their full magnificent span, casting an imposing shadow across the street. The human man's face served as a pathetic comparison to the Archangel's, his eyes wide and terrified while the Lonely Assassin's remained cold and unwavering.
Feral and only barely tamed.
His teeth and talons were exposed, threatening to rip the human man to shreds.

His huge, stone forearm was wrapped around the human man's throat, keeping him in an unbreakable hold.
Cassidy looked up into the face of the Archangel, warmth igniting within her as a shared understanding passed between them. Without another second of hesitation, she drove her knee into the man's stomach, winding him as he had winded her.
Then she closed her eyes- allowing Michael to do his worst.

She heard the man's pitiful scream right in front of her face and a sudden rush of cool air.
When she opened her eyes once more, there was a small spatter of crimson on the ground and the man had gone.

The street was entirely empty save for Michael.
And there he was, looking down at her with blank but intense eyes.
Not an ordinary statue by any means.
And very much alive.

Cassidy's chest heaved with every breath and she was so breathless, in fact, that she could not find herself capable of speech at all.
Instead she simply shook her head, the last remnants of tired, frightened, angry tears spilling down her face as she lunged forward, closed her eyes and threw her arms around the Archangel.

He returned her embrace, holding her close to his chest.

"Y-You're alive…" she eventually managed to say, aware but in complete disbelief of what she was doing.

"Yes," Michael whispered back, lifting his wings to shield her from the oncoming winds. "And I have you to thank for that, clever human."

She brought her hands to rest against his chest, pressing her cheek against the familiar patch of warmth as she returned with a whisper of her own:

"I didn't give you my permission to die."

Michael made a noise akin to a chuckle and very slightly tightened his hold around her, his head coming to rest atop hers.
Cassidy sniffed against his skin, keeping her eyes tightly shut as her mind slowly pieced together the events of the day. Overwrought with exhaustion, both mental and physical, she allowed Michael to simply hold her in silence.

Until finally, she gathered the strength to make a soft-spoken but much-needed request.
"You can take me home now."

Without a word of protest, the Archangel complied with her request and a bare moment later, her feet were on a hard wood floor and a familiar warmth was around her once more.

It was only after she stepped back and away from him that she opened her eyes and there he was, standing before her with his arms folded, wings lowered and gaze settled on her.

Cassidy simply stared at him for a moment, unsure if she was admiring her own work, incredulous, relieved, something else entirely or an odd, rocky but satisfying cocktail of them all.

She was hit by a tinge of disappointment in herself when she realised that she was smiling, that she had given him a freebie but when she realised that she was mirroring the Archangel's own smile.

Shortly after this realisation, her lower lip quivered and began to cry again.
Only, this time, it was not a torrent of fear or an onslaught of rage and sorrow.
It was simply a release.
A beautiful, beautiful release.

"Nathaniel, please, I beg of you...don not persist in this cruelty…"

"She must learn, Althea. She must learn not to forsake the will of her sire."

"Her wings could be permanently damaged from this torture. Our daughter will be of no use to you then. She and her seekers are your strongest warriors…"

"And they acted without my permission, precisely in contrary to my original orders."

"They did so with your best interests fuelling their actions! Please, Nathaniel. Reconsider!"

"Their foolhardiness may have cost us vital vengeance against our enemies. Ariel's plans may have been upset by their senseless endeavours…"

"Vengeance against our enemies? Our last son is dead. What more vengeance could you possibly long for?"

"Ariel has found means by which to procure a source of time energy that would feed us for all eternity and give us the instruments we need to achieve sovereignty over all those who challenge us."

"What such instrument exists outside of mythology and stories for cherubs?"

"A device of Time Lord construction."

"Time Lord? Gallifrey is long destroyed. The Time Lords are no more."

"Yet one survives and one of their machines of defiance still roams the wider universe…"

"You cannot mean…."

"The Doctor."

"That creature is a fantasy. A being of folklore created to inspire fear…"

"Angel Ariel has first-hand experience with him…"

"And you trust her? A wanderer? Even if she were telling the truth, have you stopped to consider what possible danger you would be bringing to this tribe by challenging the Doctor? Have you not heard the legends?"

"I am not naïve, Althea. Do not imply otherwise! And have you not considered the greatness we would achieve in the Doctor's defeat? We would be renowned as one of the mightiest powers in the universe, our young would never be left without nourishment…"

"Or what is left of our young following this violence that you see so fit to bring upon our tribe…"

The supreme Archangel and Angel were interrupted by the interjection of a fledgling. Her eyes were covered but her presence in the dark drew the two superiors to still silence all the same.

"I do not wish to impose Archangel Nathaniel, Angel Althea...but I have news from one of dispatched seekers following the unauthorised mission led by Angel Karida."

"Speak."

"We have reason to believe that Archangel Iblis may still be alive…"

Nathaniel was silent for a moment and before his mate could press the matter any further, he seized her by the arm.

"Release Karida from imprisonment. Tell her that if she wishes to retain her title of my flesh and blood, it is in her best interest to report to me immediately…I have a mission for her…"

"Nathaniel…she is weak...what would you have her do now? Has she not done enough? Have you not done enough?"

"That is none of your concern, Althea! Now go."

It was as she was leaving that Nathaniel spoke again.

"I may have a mission for you too, my sunlight…"

"A mission?"

"A duty to fulfil. You have come into Cycle recently, correct?"

"…"

"Althea…you are fertile? Correct?"

"…yes."

"In that case, I wish for you to bear me another cherub. The current brood are turning out to be unworthy of being heirs to the tribe. I cannot bring myself to place my faith in our last loyal one…"

"Nathaniel…I…I am not strong enough to-…"

"You are adequately strong enough to mate and keep cherub, Althea…and if you were to even think that you had the right to refuse this request, it would not be difficult for me to find an Angel who would be more willing…now, are you going to disappoint me?"

"…no."

"Very good. Retrieve our daughter. We will speak more of this later."

Althea let out a long, pained breath that sent a quiver throughout her entire body as she followed the messenger fledgling into the darker passages of the cave once more. As heavy as each step felt, a small spark of hope remained in her chest.

She was still mother to two living children.

As for how long this lasted, that was another matter entirely.

Cassidy finally left the bathroom, having washed, showered and changed into the baggiest tartan pyjamas that she owned.
For once, she was actually quite relieved to see Michael standing on the other side of her bed.

"…I never thought I'd be saying this but…you had me worried there for a moment…"

"I would almost wager that I had you feeling a fraction more than "worried"…"

"Don't flatter yourself, Angel."

"Shall I flatter you instead, human? Shall I tell you about how I agonised that my last memory of you would be of you walking away? How I was just about ready to chase after you to beg you for one final kiss or one final smile?"

"No…that's unbelievably creepy…please don't…but I'll be honest. If you had told me that you were in that kind of danger, I wouldn't have left you."

"Precisely…I could not have allowed you to stay…Karida would not have hesitated to do to you what she did to me. I could not risk following you and leading her to you either."

"It was definitely your sister then? Is there any chance that she'd come back?"

"She still believes me to be dead. I daresay she'll not return in the near future."

Cassidy dared herself to ask the question that she was dreading having to ask, tugging violently on the loose threads on one of her sleeves. "So…you sent me away…to save me?"

"Yes."

River had been right, Cassidy thought, sitting on the bed and crossing her legs as she ran a hairbrush through her hair.

"Oh…thanks for that…I guess…" She found herself looking downward, becoming quite unnaturally interested in the ornamentation on her hairbrush's underside. "But, like…if you thought that you were going to killed either way…why did it matter whether I was there for that? I could have helped to fight back…"

"No. You could not have…and…I could not abide the thought of having to watch you die. To watch you be murdered on my account. For some reason…the thought of losing you after all I've done to keep you near me seemed far worse than the idea of dying…"

Cassidy only nodded, settling back against the pillows.
Her face was uncomfortably hot while her body was uncomfortably cold.

"You are trembling."

"I know."

"Are you afraid?"

"Not of you. Not really."

"Then what inspires fear in you?"

"The world. My world. The human world. All of it…I guess, this evening was a reminder of how shitty human beings can be." She curled up, laying on her side and drawing her knees up to her chest. "I gave you Angels so much crap for being complete and total monsters…but humans can be such monsters too…" Her voice became thick and her shoulders began to quake uncontrollably. "Maybe we're all just monsters. All of us. In our own ways….and some of us have just gotten good at hiding it…" She laughed slightly, despite the overwhelming urge to start crying again. "And maybe I'm just still seriously weak…and still completely incapable of defending myself…"

"You cannot devalue yourself and your own being simply because you've experienced the worst of your own kind." The Archangel gave a growl, his voice becoming progressively more enraged. "And do not blame or think yourself weak for the weaknesses of those half-breeds…they do not deserve a single second of the time you spend thinking about them…" Michael's hand very lightly skimmed her shoulder before he retracted it once more. "And they'll not hurt you again. I have seen to that."

Cassidy smiled faintly, running her knuckles across her face to dry her eyes. "Can you get rid of all the bad things in the world? And all the terrible people?"

"With my strength? Of course. But I would require more than one single night…and if you plan on being there to witness my triumph, you will need to first replenish your mind…you are fit to fall as it is…"

"Yeah, maybe sleeping it off would do me some good."

She reached over to the bedside lamp, switching it off and settling herself beneath the sheets. Her stomach still felt uneasy and regardless of how hard she tried, her mind kept flitting back to the events of that evening.
It couldn't have been that cold in the room with the heating left on but paranoia still clung like frost to her skin, chilling her to her core.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw their faces, heard their voices.
The doctors at Mason Vale.
Those men from the bus shelter.
The Angels.

"Y-You'll stay with me, right?" Cassidy suddenly said aloud, sitting up slightly and looking up at the stone Archangel. "I don't want to be alone right now…"
She longed for contact, for comfort of any kind.

"Of course. I will watch over you as I always have."

Taking a deep breath in through her nostrils, Cassidy pulled back the sheets from one side of the bed and closed her eyes, moving over slightly.
"I…I…really don't want to be alone right now…so…could you...?"
Her face was now burning as she turned to face him in the dark, keeping her eyes shut.

The unfinished question hung in the air for a moment before Michael asked a question of his own, in a voice that was more hesitant that Cassidy had ever heard it.

"Do you want me to lie down with you?"

"…yes."

Then the Archangel's body was next to hers.
It took a few moments of admittedly awkward shuffling and squeezing for Michael to adjust himself beside her. He wasn't necessarily laying down beside her, instead resting his back against the headboard and allowing her to settle down upon his chest.

"I'm trusting you, alright?"

"I understand that."

Overcome by drowsiness and feeling more protected than she had in a very long time, Cassidy allowed herself to fall asleep. One of her arms came to slip around the Archangel's waist, keeping her close to him. From time to time, his feathers would brush against her, occasionally grazing a bare patch of skin and causing her to stir happily.

"Why did you leave me?" she mumbled, in the throes of slumber and unaware of herself.

Michael lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, looping the tendrils away from her face. "I did not intend to leave you…I will not do so again if you do not wish it…"

She wouldn't remember her dream when she woke up the following morning.
Only that it involved the cave, the river, an immense heat and a feeling of elation that had long since been lost to her.

Weeping Angels did not sleep or dream in the conventional sense but from time to time, they did allow themselves to descend in a kind of fantasy-like torpor.
It was in fantasy that Michael found himself engaging in the worst, most forbidden of wants and desires. It was only a little while ago that the most dangerous of these fantasies had first began to take shape. First provoked by a notion that she, herself, had put to him, Michael had begun to wonder about a world in which fate had been slightly kinder to him. About a world presided by a reality in which Cassidy had been born as one of his kind.

One of his tribe, specifically.
It would not be uncommon to have known her since her cherub years. She would be the same, impossibly stubborn, impossibly shy Cassidy, often deciding to isolate herself rather than to engage in social niceties. He could imagine that that would be what would draw him to her. He could imagine bringing her pieces of pottery and other curios to collect and reassemble.
He would be present for her first hunt, her first flight…
Then when she came of age, he would make her his.
They could journey far from the tribe, with all of space and time at their feet. They could overthrow his father and rule over the tribe together.
Whatever they decided to do, there was not a single being in the universe who could take her away from him.

Thinking without reason or restraint, the Archangel looked down at the human that rested peacefully in his arms. For the first time he was forced to confront a reality that he hadn't been able to before.

"I'll never fully possess you, will I?" he murmured, running his hand along her face. "I can give you whatever title I wish, I can imprison you, I can exert strength over you…but I'll never fully own you…"

Michael truthfully could not tell whether this fact enraged or saddened him.
All he knew at that moment was that he needed to stop moving his wings because Cassidy was stirring again and he did not want her to wake just yet.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
The next one will find things heating up quite a bit in more ways than one.