When Angels Fall [GXG]

Chapter 9

Try as she might, Abigail ends up making it her very mission to do everything in her power to help.

She patches Sofiel up. Slowly but surely, nursing her back to health. The cleaning and dressing of her wounds had been a slow and arduous ordeal. But apart from the fleeting grimace at the extent of Sofiel's injuries, Abigail had sat through the entire process in relative silence. Her fingers had moved meticulously across her tarnished skin with bandages soaked thoroughly in holy water.

Despite Sofiel's initial protest, she soon finds herself wearing clothes that are not her own, and staying at a place that's nowhere close to home.

At this point, she is sure that Abigail has literally given her everything there is to give and possibly more.

And honestly. She doesn't know what to make of it.

Granted that her time in the mortal realm has jaded her, deadening her heart and enclosing it within the confines of tall barbed impenetrable walls, she's still not about to go leaving a debt unsettled.

The heavens take, and the heavens give. But first and foremost, the heavens are always fair; such is the code that Sofiel lives by.

So for as much as Abigail has offered her, she tries her best to make it up through her shortcomings – she teaches herself to cook.

It isn't a particularly hard feat. Not when all Sofiel has is time on her hands and an apartment filled with stray cookbooks lying around. It also helps that she's somewhat invulnerable to mortal knives and weaponry. And that no matter how many times she slips up, she doesn't exactly bleed like the mortals do.

It doesn't take long before she's able to whip up something half-decent onto the dining table, taking Abigail by surprise one evening when she returns home after a tiring day at work.

"This is good!" Abigail exclaims in between bites, wolfishly scuffling down the plate of spaghetti bolognese like she hasn't eaten in days. She pauses just long enough to jerk a fork towards said-dish with much zeal and enthusiasm. Her head bobs up and down in approval. "This is very good."

"Slow down, you're going to choke," chides Sofiel, albeit half-heartedly if the smile on her face is anything to go by. She reaches over to pour the mortal a glass of water, who easily gulps it all down with the same gusto she has taken to her meal.

Abigail slapdashedly wipes the dribble off her mouth with the back of her hand, throwing Sofiel a lopsided grin that lights up the very blue of her eyes. "But it's so good!"

Sofiel sighs in affectionate exasperation. Considering that she has only ever seen Abigail have nothing but leftover pizza and chinese takeaway for dinner in the time she's been here, no doubt she must have been starving for something home-made.

She really does need to take better care of herself.

Sofiel doesn't think that there's much nutrition in the stuff she gorges herself on a daily basis. But she supposes that's where she'll be coming in for now.

"I bet you haven't actually tasted it yourself. So here," Abigail actually stops amidst her voracious shovelling to raise a forkful of pasta in Sofiel's direction. "Try it."

Sofiel purses her lips, staring stonily between the dripping bolognese off Abigail's fork to the mortal behind it; Abigail, who's looking back at her expectantly with her large blue eyes and her crooked little smile.

"You do know there's no need for me to eat right?"

Abigail doesn't waver in the least bit, only snorting out loud, shrugging.

"There's no need for you to frown all the time, but you still do it anyway. So, your point being?"

Reflexively, Sofiel nearly frowns in turn, but catches herself in time to school her features into a blank mask. She regards the mortal briefly, staring her down – hard. But Abigail merely meets her gaze head-on, unflinching and blithe. The side of her lips quirks into a small ingratiating grin as she wiggles her fork at Sofiel goadingly.

Sofiel sighs.

"I really can't win against you, can I?" she murmurs quietly, and finally obliges, leaning in forwards to take a delicate bite off Abigail's proffered fork.

Abigail beams triumphantly at her, looking almost smug. "How is it? Pretty good, yeah?"

Chewing carefully at her mouthful of pasta, Sofiel can now safely say that just like every other mortal dish she has ever feasted upon, it's nothing spectacular. But for some reason, it fills her up with this strange blossoming warmth in her chest that takes her back to their first meeting in that dark alleyway ­– in the snow with the coffee and her warm fingers around her own.

And she finds that she doesn't quite want this feeling to end.

Sofiel smiles, a soft sound of assent escaping her. "It's good," she says, nodding.

When the spark in Abigail's eyes glows iridescently brighter at that, her lips tugging into a large radiant grin, something in Sofiel almost thrills at the sight – the heady warmth in her chest deepening ever so slightly.

"And you know what makes it taste even better?"

"What?"

Abigail inches in towards her as if to clue her in on a scandalous secret. Up close like this, Sofiel can make out the pretty twinkle of divinity outlining her frame – of her face and her eyes.

"Having it together with awesome company."