Vincent gazed down at the petite young woman in his bed as he sat on the edge beside her. He gently smoothed her hair away from her face, tracing his thumb across her full lips. He shivered slightly, withdrawing his hand. Her fever was getting worse, and anxiety crept into his chest. In the stillness of the bedroom, walls yellow with age and floors bare wood, the labored sounds of her breathing overwhelmed him. He felt a strange sense of relief that she wasn't awake to experience the immense pain her body portrayed.

He rushed to get a bucket of cold water and as many clean rags as he was able to find. Once he returned to the bedroom, he set the items down and found himself staring once more. He couldn't help himself. He allowed his fingers to traipse over her flat belly as he slipped the black tank top off. He trailed the tips of his pinkies along her smooth, supple thighs and well-toned calves as he removed her black shorts next. Her only cover was now her matching black bra and panties, and he looked away.

'She's perfect…' Vincent thought to himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. 'An angel that even wax could not preserve or justify… Too beautiful to even look at a monster like me… How cruel it is that I can only enjoy her company when she sleeps…' He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the images his brain conjured of Angela gazing up at him as if he were as handsome as Bo. Suddenly, something he noticed distracted him and he lifted her left arm for a better look. There, on her forearm, were three perfectly straight white scars that disrupted the smoothness of her pale skin. Two were smaller and more faded than the other. They had clearly been self-inflicted with a straight blade once upon a time.

Vincent turned back to the task at hand, unwilling to think about what could have caused his angel to feel so desperate that she needed to hurt herself. Cloth by cloth, he soaked them in the cold water, covered her body with them, and placed one on her forehead. He stayed up all night, hour by hour, ensuring no single cloth turned warm. He had hardly noticed the passing time until the sun began to rise, and orange light filtered into the room. It fell over Angela, and the red hues in her hair danced as if it were on fire. His breath caught as he was once again enraptured by her beauty. He was soon brought back to earth when he heard his bedroom door open, turning to see his brother.

"I'm going to the store," Bo explained as he leaned in, looking over at Angela. "Still hasn't woken, huh? Do you need anything?"

"Lotta ice," he rasped, his voice like gravel in his throat from the lack of use. Bo nodded in understanding and left. While Vincent would have preferred to remain by his angel's side, he also wished to check on Dakota. He knew how rough his brother liked to get. He walked to Bo's room and opened the door just enough to lean in. Dakota was sleeping soundly, her wrists still bound to the headboard and a blanket covering her. Satisfied, Vincent quietly closed the door and returned to his room. He stopped, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up as he made eye contact with Angela.

"Good morning, handsome," she whispered weakly. Vincent awkwardly shuffled over to the side of the bed to check the temperature of the cloths, and they were still cool for the most part. He gently brushed his hand against her arm. Her fever was climbing too high, and he became anxious for Bo to return with the ice. Angela's small slender fingers wrapped around Vincent's hand, causing him to flinch in surprise.

"Can't even *wheeze* give me *wheeze* a name, honey?" she teased with labored breaths between sweet whispers. "Are you *wheeze* hiding behind *wheeze* that mask *wheeze* because of *wheeze* how shy *wheeze* you are?" He stared at her as she spoke before pressing a finger to her lips. Her forehead crinkled and she inhaled sharply as if she were about to protest. Instead, her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she lost consciousness again.

'She must be delusional from the fever,' Vincent thought. 'She may even possibly be hallucinating.' He sighed heavily. There couldn't possibly be a chance that she knew what she was saying or even who she was talking to. She was too sick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oooooooooooooooooooooooo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bo arrived home, he carried in the bags of ice first, taking them straight up to the bathroom as he called for his twin. He began to open the bags to pour the ice into the tub until the bottom was fully covered. Vincent lifted Angela in her arms, carrying her to the bathroom and setting her in the tub before ripping open the rest of the bags to cover her. Bo left Vincent to take care of the rest as he went to his room to check on Dakota.

"Bo," Dakota purred in a soft whisper.

"Now, now, there will be none of that," Bo quipped. "No looks or other seduction techniques will work here." Dakota's expression turned to a mixture of pain and offense.

"Bo, I promise I'm not trying to trick you," she whispered pleadingly, eyes getting glassy at the thought of him not believing her despite her honesty.

"Dakota," he responded in a warning tone.

"Please, Bo, I really want you again." She was breathing fast to keep up with her pleading, small tears rolling down the contour of her nose and cheeks. She was quite unprepared for how quickly he was on top of her, kissing her fiercely. She kissed back with equal ferocity, nibbling on his bottom lip. His tongue claimed her mouth and she mewled as she suckled it, pressing her chest up against him. She never felt him untie her wrists, only realizing that suddenly his hair was between her fingers as she gently gripped and tugged it. He growled excitedly, breaking the kiss to trail more along her jaw and drawing a delicious moan from her lips as he lightly bit the curve where her neck and shoulder met. He reluctantly but suddenly withdraws, causing her to whimper.

"I believe you, sweetheart," he conceded as they panted softly. "Right now, there are things that need to be done around the house. I need your help and, if you're a good girl, I'll make it up to you later tonight."

"You're starting with oral then," she bravely claimed as she got out of bed and got dressed. He chuckled to himself, enjoying her feistiness before he led her downstairs. Once they had the groceries in the house and put them away, he gave her a tour so she could know exactly where all the weapons, ammo, and other necessities were. He took her through the tunnel under the house to the wax museum and explained the logistics of what they did. He found it a little odd that she didn't seem freaked out by any of it but didn't draw any attention to it. Dakota simply took everything in, keeping a firm hold of his hand with their fingers laced as the idea of separation unsettled her. When he realized she was trembling, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Vincent was still on the floor beside the tub, watching his beloved angel. She had been shivering in her sleep for a while, the ice slowly melting from the heat of her body. He lightly placed his forearm against her forehead, a small sense of relief and accomplishment rolling over him as he could tell her fever was finally starting to break. Surely once he succeeded in helping bring her fever down, some good rest and plenty of fluid would be all she needed to recover.

Angela's eyes snapped open, causing Vincent's heart to begin beating hard and fast as he quickly withdrew his arm from her. Then, the whole house became filled with her screams. She lashed out, fighting to get out of the ice, pieces scattering all over the floor as she desperately writhed and clawed the sides of the tub. All Vincent could do was hold her down in the ice, since he wouldn't be able to get her to hear him when she was this hysterical. As she struggled against him, her arm flew up, knocking his mask clear off to reveal the grotesque deformity left on the side of his face from when he and his twin were separated at birth. He was expecting her to react to his grisly appearance, but she only struggled harder, desperate to get out of her torture.

Vincent watched Angela sadly as he kept her submerged in the ice. When she had finally spent what energy she had and gave up, she broke down into wailing sobs. Guilt washed over him as he released his hold on her. He mentally cursed the fact that he didn't have a strong enough voice to explain that he was trying to help her, not hurt her. He turned away to look for his mask but was interrupted by the sensation of the young woman reaching out of thetub to wrap her arms around his neck. Every muscle in his body stiffened. Using him as an anchor, she held on tightly, pulling herself out of the ice and into his lap.

Vincent grabbed a towel to wrap her in before wrapping her in his arms. She curled up tightly in his lap, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she trembled violently. He breathed in her scent, a faint mixture of citrus and sandalwood. Ensnared in her vice grip, he couldn't move much. He stroked her hair with one hand and rubbed soothing circles on her back with the other. Eventually, she stopped crying altogether, just sniffling pitifully in his embrace.