Rating: R

Category: Hard core non-romantic angst

Summary: An angel took her life…another angel gave it back.

Spoilers: Just the Pilot

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the storyline- I love saying that, that’s why I mostly write AU!

Author's Notes: Deals with Suicide and depression- so please take heed of the rating, I don’t just give R’s out for a joke!

***

I died last week. Figuratively, literally, you name it-- I was dead. Then he brought me back to life.

Michael isn’t Max. I don’t need to get shot for him to save me. I don’t need long black hair that swishes when I walk, or big brown eyes that say paragraphs in one glance.

I just need a pair of scissors and a bottle of pills as backup.

He came running to me, his eyes flashing and his hands-- his hands shaking as he held my wrists tightly, trying to staunch the blood as it poured onto the bathroom floor just like--

I don’t remember telling him about the pills. He must have figured that one out himself-- it wasn’t hard the bottle was still in my hand. It even had my name on it in faint print as well as the warning about not taking more than three a day. I took twenty. Funny isn’t it, how when you want to live the most, you’re dying, slipping away into nothingness as a floppy haired alien tries to save your life.

I could feel the drain. Every second that elapsed, I felt my heart beat that little bit slower, and my mind numbed that much quicker. My entire life flashed before my eyes and to see everything in front of you like that-- it’s awe-inspiring. It’s also frightening.

I saw Mom swinging me as a child, her blue eyes twinkling in happiness as she pushed me that much higher. I saw myself in the Crashdown smiling as Liz gave Max one of those patented soul-mate looks. I even saw the baby, her chocolate brown eyes shimmering as I held her for the first and last time. I heard the nurse’s voice as she asked me what I wanted to call her-- I heard my own thick voice murmur Indigo-- I saw my baby being taken away in the bassinet, her blue skin glittering in the unnatural hospital light, but none of that prepared me for what came next.

I felt him. I felt his mind, his soul as he begged me to hold on. He sent me his love, every single drop of it straight into my soul, and for the briefest moment I froze.

Near death experiences aren’t meant to include feeling loved, they’re meant to be about heaven and angels playing harps. They are meant to make you want to die, not force you to stay-- to make you guilty for choosing death.

The first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was Maria-- figures, Michael saves me, but the first person I see is the blabbermouth. Not that I mean it in a bad way. I like the blabbermouth, it makes me feel human somehow, something I really need right now. I got up slowly, and that’s when I saw him, glaring out of the bathroom window, tears streaming down his face as blood-- my blood, dripped off his hands, making a gruesome pattern on the sill.

He told Maria to leave so quietly that I barely heard him. I could feel him though, anger, love, fear-- it was all radiating off of him like heat from a red hot poker impaled in ice. The moment his girlfriend left he turned to me, his brown eyes set in stone as he asked me if I was OK. I was more than OK, I was great-- for the first time in my life I was actually feeling wonderful, but I couldn’t say anything so I just nodded.

I should’ve said something. I know that now. I should have thanked him, acknowledged his healing, anything-- anything that would have stopped him walking out of that bathroom. But I didn’t, I watched in silence as he strode out the emotions vibrating from him like nothing I had felt or will feel again--

He’s gone now, not physically, but mentally-- he hates me. He hates me for not being the sister I promised him to be when I hugged him for the first time at elementary school. He loathes me for wanting to take the coward’s way out. He despises me for not living up to the pedestal he painstakingly built over the years. He hates me, but I still love him.

I still love him.

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