The door swung open without a sound. A half second passed before Jael slammed the door in her guests' faces. "Oh fuck no."

Michael slipped his foot next to the doorframe before the door could close properly. "May we come in, Jael?"

Outside, a cool breeze was rustling the few leaves left on the trees. Winter had come to New Orleans, but thankfully, New Orleans winters were milder than some of the others Jael had seen. She would have been happy to let the pair of unwanted guests wait outside in the relative cold, but something in Michael's tone sounded like humility and desperation, and those found their likenesses in her heart. Without a word, she opened the door and allowed the guests to enter.

Living as she did in a sort of limbo among the planes, Jael had been forced to settle in among the mortals for the past three years. Shantael's house provided her the only reliable sanctuary she knew. And New Orleans herself provided more security than Jael could have guessed. With all of the madness--both figurative and literal--that kept happening in the city, no one seemed to care much about one lone and quiet fallen angel.

Creation seemed to have moved on without her, and that was fine by Jael. She had accomplished plenty over the past three years! Shantael's two-story shotgun house looked brand new, with fresh interior and exterior paint, reupholstered furniture, modern color schemes, even brand-new connected appliances, and Jael had put all of it together herself, by ordinary human means. Not that anyone beyond her would appreciate her efforts, but it meant something to her, at least.

Jael waved in the vague direction of the sofa, which was a muted red that complemented the living room's beiges and browns. "Make it brief," she said, her back turned to her guests, watching their reflections in the windows.

Taking a seat, Michael leaned forward and picked up a meticulously wrought figurine, all transparent. The figurine was of the sort of angel often seen in human culture, with her hands raised as though offering a bowl to Heaven, but with no bowl present; but the figurine itself was made from angelwork, a material made only in Heaven. "How have you been, Jael?" the archangel asked as he set the figurine back in its place.

A scoff came from Jael's direction. "What do you want, Michael?"

Michael sighed. "I have an assignment for you. Two, in truth, but they go hand in hand."

Jael turned around--but that was a mistake, as her gaze fell directly on Gabriel. He did not seem to see her. His grey eyes were fixed on a point before or behind her, his eyes open and unmoving, the stare of a blind man. Jael stifled a shiver. "Is he my assignment?" she asked.

"He is your assignment in one case," Michael answered, "and your partner in the other."

Jael's gaze went from Michael and back to Gabriel. "I think it might be a little difficult to work an assignment with a blind and mute angel."

"He is neither blind nor mute," Michael said. "He sees perfectly, and he speaks when it is necessary."

"Of course." After witnessing how staunchly he had believed in his own cause, and how intent he had been on wiping New Orleans out of existence to further that cause, Jael put absolutely nothing beyond his capabilities. He was probably playing another of his little games in hopes of screwing her over again.

She felt no sympathy for him. Yet when she looked at him, she realized he was not all there, if he was there at all. If he had blinked since he had arrived on her doorstep, she had not seen it. And he had not moved since taking a seat; he hardly seemed to be breathing. His body was perfectly still. "What happened to him?" she asked Michael.

"We aren't sure," Michael admitted. "The Throne sentenced him to five years in Hell and allowed Satan to do what he wished with him. Father ended his sentence early once we discovered how far Satan had gone."

"He was in the Hellhole."

Michael frowned, then nodded. "That is our theory, yes."

Jael had seen the pit before, and had watched as Satan used it to destroy several fallen who had attempted to move against him. If Satan had placed Gabriel there, it would explain Gabriel's current state. All of the others she had seen tortured there had eventually begged for death. Gabriel would never have done that, so Satan would have done worse: Left him his life, but taken away everything else.

Jael's gaze dropped to the figurine for a moment, then up to Michael. "What do you want me to do?"

Michael wrung his hands. "Care for him. Help him recover."

Jael chuckled and turned to face the window again. "You do realize that he and I are mortal enemies, right?"

"Yes," Michael answered. "I also realize that, for a while, you did love him."

Jael paused and closed her eyes.

"At the moment, he is on a probation of sorts. If you and he are successful in your assignment, he will be reinstated as an archangel." Michael looked directly at her--she could see it in his reflection. "And you will be able to choose your own compensation, within reason."

"Interesting," Jael murmured. "What is the assignment?"

"I will give you the details later."

"Right. This totally sounds like it's on the up-and-up."

Michael frowned. "We will discuss the assignment when it is time for you to join in it. For now, we must wait until Gabriel is in a better state, or you will be working alone."

"Fine. Whatever."

The archangel sighed again. "Jael, I realize that this is a delicate situation. However, we have very few options open to us. My brothers and I cannot take him, as he is technically still fallen, but there are too many parties interested in his death to leave him by himself."

"Who says I'm not one of those parties?"

"I believe you are not."

Jael chuckled again. "Well, the mortals do say that belief is a powerful tool."

Because she still had her back to the brothers, she did not see one of them pass a small item to the other. A moment later, a small but wicked angelwork dagger slammed into the upper window frame, just above where Jael was standing.

"You are one fallen angel," Michael said very, very quietly, "and although his mental state is altered, he is still very capable of defending himself."

A few seconds passed in silence among them. Then, Jael said, "Give us a moment alone."

After a long moment's hesitation, Michael stood and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Jael pulled the dagger from the window frame and turned around. She then moved toward the table and placed the dagger on it, its point directed to her right.

"What did they do to you?"

He did not answer, only continued to stare as he had before, with no apparent focal point.

"Gabriel." The name felt foreign on her tongue. "What did they they do to you?"

Then, as though some unseen force had animated him, Gabriel's gaze locked on her, and he shifted, leaned forward to pick up the dagger. He held it out to her, with the handle pointed at her.

"Do it," he said.

Jael blinked. "You can't...."

"Do it or I will."

Confused and conflicted, Jael held out a moment too long. Gabriel took the dagger back, and Jael leaped forward, knocking the dagger away before it came close to his body. Both of them had both of their hands wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, and they both fell over, with Jael bouncing off of the table to land on Gabriel's back. She knocked Gabriel's hands against the floor, and he released the dagger, sending it spinning away. She rushed over to pick it up, then tossed it on top of a cabinet, out of sight. When Michael rushed in, having heard the commotion, Jael was standing to the right of the table, and Gabriel was sitting as he had been before, with only a slightly disheveled shirt to give the action away. Michael noticed the shirt but made no comment.

"I accept," Jael said to Michael.

Michael nodded. "What do you want in return?"

"I haven't decided yet." Jael gritted her teeth. "I'll take my time. Whatever it is, it'll have to be really, really good."