HOMECOMING

HOMECOMING


Andrew's Pov

“Oh. You're otherwise stable,” the doctor says, not meeting my eyes. He knows. You’re good to go, sir.”

He’s had me here for a long time, so long my leg started bouncing. At first he was convinced the tests were wrong, that I was about to die.

And even after he admitted that it was because half of my symptoms were gone, both he and I realized, too late, that it was the half of my symptoms caused by the fatigue of using magic. And now that the cause was gone, so were the symptoms. Years of hiding makes me keep forgetting I can wield it.

“Thank you,” I say standing. “I can expect doctor-patient confidentiality from you, can't I, Doctor?”

He nods vigorously. He’s a doctor working under Midas single probably won't fall his lips but I just needed to make sure. “Thank you, again.”

Ian, who has been sitting at the back of the room since he finished bringing me up to speed, stands, rolling us shoulders. He needs a raise.

“I'll drive, sir.”

I nod, unwilling to argue. “Let's go then.”

I'm already halfway to the doors, when he speaks again. “And sir?”

I turn, disgruntled. What now? Can we just get going please? “Yes?”

He hands his phone over to me. On it is a message from Midas; Tell Andrew that his Angel should have arrived home by now.

I stare at the words, relieved. I sigh, about to hand it back to him when I see the time stamp. Half an hour ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately this came in?” I thunder. She'd be by herself, at home.

He swallows as he replies, “Because I was thinking you would have left immediately sir. You wouldn't have seen reason if you thought she was already back at the house.”

Ian is smart and it makes me want to slam his head against the wall. But I don't. He's right, and that would waste more time. I toss the phone to him. “I assume we already have a car.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” Making me not regret my decision to let him keep his head.

The drive makes me miss Maximus, because I know he could have had us out of downtown right to my front door in half the time.

Still Ian doesn’t do badly. I'm out of the car before it even completely stops.

“Angel?”

There's no answer.

I swear, if Anthony is joking with me, pulling my leg, I won't hesitate to find his Matteo and kill them in one fell swoop. I promise him that I will toss his body in the ocean at one end of the world and his Matteo's in a valley at the opposite end of the world.

I charge up the stairs, two at a time. Her room is pristine and untouched, just as it was the day she left. I stare at the bed, like if I look hard enough I'll materialize. She doesn't, I don't think she's even been in here.

Every room I check is empty, even my office. My chest feels tight, my breath beginning to leave my body in shallow pants. My shoulder begins to ache at the strain I'm causing my wounds by throwing doors open.

I've been patient. I've waited. But if he lied, if something happened between the call and now, Anthony won't know what hit him. Maybe I will make him swallow Matteo's blood first—

There she is.

“Angel,” I breathe, unconsciously.

She's curled like a fawn, facing the moonlight which spills across her like a veil. She looks so small like this, so still.

She's asleep.

I walk into the room, approaching gently. I feel like I'm decompressing, like a rubber band that has been allowed to rest.

Her hair sticks up around, the short red strands blowing on the soft winds. Her bare feet are almost completely tucked under her, her dress is patchy with dirt. I remember that dress, the one she went ice cream in after the hospital.

Up close, I see the way her shoulders fold slightly inward, how her arms are crossed, as if she's holding herself together even in sleep.

I stop, just short of her and take a seat beside her sleeping form on the bed.

Gently, softly, I smoothen her hair down, caressing her head. I don't want to surprise her. I imagine she's had enough surprises recently.

She stirs slightly. Blinks. Then she sees me. She doesn’t speak. Just sits up slowly, like she’s afraid this might be a dream.

“Hi, Angel.”

She starts crying immediately she hears my voice, raw, silent sobs that shake her whole body.

I begin to panic almost as immediately. I didn't want this to happen, I don't want to see her tears. “Hey, hey, please, Angel, don't cry.”

“You’re here,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here,” I reply, wiping her face gently. “Of course I am.”

“I didn't know what would happen to me,” she chokes out. “I tried to be brave, but I thought I’d never see you again, any of you.”

“I'd never let that happen,” I say firmly

She shakes her head, a self-depreciating motion. “ I don't know. I think. . . you'd look for me for a while but then you'd realize that I’m really worth it, that I'm just some girl—”

“Stop it,” I cut in. I cradle her chin in my hand tilting her head up. I need her to see me as I say this, “I've been looking for you since the moment I found out you were gone. Even if it took me years, I knew I would find you. It never even crossed my mind that I wouldn't bring you back home.”

She looks at me, wanting to believe me. She should, it's the fucking truth. “Come here.”

She smells like plain soap. And salt. I let my fingers slip into her hair, tentative at first, then more firmly, massaging her head. She clings to my shirt, me, like she’s afraid I'll vanish again.

We stay like that for a long time. Even when my arm begins to hurt, I don't move. I need this as much as she does.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” she asks, voice fading.

I nod against her head. I don't think anything could take me away. The fierce need to protect her still hasn't dampened.

I settle her down in the bed, so she'll be comfortable. And then I take a seat opposite her, just watching. I'm not sleepy and I don't want to take my eyes off her.

Friend is not a strong enough word anymore to encompass our relationship. In such a short perio
d of time, she's become so much more.

What? I don't know. . .

. . . maybe even, sort of a sister?