It wasn't until Michael took Gabriël from Joan's arms that she let go. The Lord Protector was the fastest flyer of the Vale and Gabriël's best chance at survival. She had no choice but to surrender her friend to him. With a mighty beat of his ivory-feathered wings, Michael flew Gabriël to the Hospitium himself without delay. Joan tried to follow, but the fight had worn her out. She ran most of the way, with Margaret and Catherine trailing her.
The lead physician of the Vale, Raphael, had already been alerted of the attack and stood waiting at the entrance. All colour drained from his earth-toned face when he saw the Lord Protector bringing in the wounded Archangel. It shocked everyone who had seen him fly over or who had been waiting with Raphael. The not-so-silent whispers flooded around the Vale as many recounted the sight. Fear struck them all. If it was so easy to strike at an Archangel, what chance did the others have?

As Raphael examined Gabriël right at the entrance to see what needed to be done, it became clear that the dagger had not only sliced several arteries and organs, but has also been dipped in poison. As the physicians rushed Gabriël into the theatre room to operate, the pharmacists got to work on figuring out what poison had been used. Joan recalled the Borgia Bastard was infamous for his use of Cantarella and warned Raphael of it. The panic that briefly crossed his face alarmed her greatly.
Time seemed frozen for a few seconds, but then an agonising scream came from the operating room. Joan broke out into a sprint, only to be stopped by Michael as he grabbed her by her arms.  

"There is nothing you can do! Stay here and let them save him!"

She knew he was right, yet struggled against his firm hold. He didn't know what it had been like to feel Gabriël's heartbeat slow, to feel his life slip away. Another heartrending cry pierced through the hallway. She fought harder, but Michael wouldn't relent and wrapped his arms around her, applying pressure to force her to calm down. Finally, she slumped against him, too tired and torn to continue.
Catherine and Margaret, who had been watching in silent fright, hurried to take Joan from Michael. He wanted her to be checked out as well, but Joan would have none of it, even after Margaret offered to do it. She only had a few bruises that would heal within a few hours, and the blood on her uniform wasn't even her own. Upon seeing her determination, Michael consented she remained with the girls on the condition that they wait until Raphael himself came out with more news.

"I need to return to the Gates and speak with Peter," he said. "The souls are restless, and we need to multiply the guard. Joan...you did well. I thank you."

And with that, he was gone. Joan couldn't have cared less about the souls. All that mattered was Gabriël.

Please, God, help him. Heal him. I will do whatever it takes, I swear. Just help him.

She prayed like she used to when she was alive, wondering if God also listened to his angels as He listened to the mortals on Earth. Or did He ignore them in their hour of need as well?
Another scream came from the room. Tears fell from Joan's eyes. Catherine cried too as she held her in what was supposed to be a comforting embrace. Little good did it do. Only Margaret kept her calm somehow, tracing the turquoise gems on her gold bracelet over and over with the same finger while she stared down at the floor.

Minutes became hours. The last rays of sun crept through the thin curtains. Gabriël's screams had stopped some time ago. Joan sat next to Catherine on the floor after she got Joan some other clothes to wear (it had taken her an hour to realise she was still covered in Gabriël's blood from when she held him). Margaret stood opposite them, back against the wall, silently praying. Others came to see how Gabriël was faring, but none had stayed long. All had gathered at the Agora to pray and light candles for him.
When the door finally opened, Joan jumped to her feed, her heart beating in her throat. Raphael appeared in the opening, taking off a blood-stained apron. He looked exhausted, his golden-brown hair tangled up in sweat and sticking to his forehead. A pinched look of defeat shone in Raphael's dark brown eyes, which were usually so full of life. It did not bode well. 

"Raphael!" Joan ran toward him. "What happened? Is... he...?"

"Alive, thank God." Raphael sighed wearily and rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. "He has a long way to full recovery, though. I entrust you three to help him in whatever way you can, but for now, I'll only allow one at the time in with him."

"Joan, you go ahead," said Catherine. "You were with him when it happened, and knowing Gabriël, he'll probably want to make sure you're all right. Tell him we care about him. We'll let Michael know in the meantime."

"I will join you," said Raphael. "There are some things I need to discuss with him. Oh, Joan, not too long, all right?"

She nodded and slipped past him, not bothering to see if her friends and Raphael left. As soon as she entered the room, she smelled blood - Gabriël's blood. The rusty scent was all around her, overwhelming to the point of sickening her. His pale figure lay on a bed in the middle of the room. A nurse was still there, fetching a bowl of clean water. Joan walked towards her and took the bowl. The nurse nodded silently and closed the door on her way out, leaving Joan alone with Gabriël.
He breathed softly and had his eyes closed. Blood still stained his face and throat. Joan stroked his hair away from his eyes and washed away the remaining blood, making sure not to hurt him. She felt the tears well up again and did not hold them back. As she moved her hand to his chest, she also noticed blood there. She pulled back the covers and uttered a horrified gasp at the spatters left on the sheet. Her eyes travelled to Gabriël's body. From his side to his chest, just to the right of his heart, ran a clean scar. The stab wound had already healed - the benefit of being an Archangel and having Raphael as an on-call physician - but the poison had done much harm.

Joan rested her hand above his heart, and she closed her eyes. His heartbeat sounded better. Back at the Gates, feeling his pulse slow with each beat, it had been the worst thing she'd experienced in all her time as an angel. Life slipping away. Her best friend.
She had always been close to death, been responsible for it even. But this was different. When she was alive, she knew another life was awaiting her. But up here, there was no more 'here after'. This was it. That was why everyone feared the day of the Final Battle. Why everyone was in shock after hearing what had happened at the Pearly Gates. The danger had never been this real for anyone.
Joan wept silently, with her hand on Gabriël's marble-like chest, counting every heartbeat and carefully caressing the wound's edges. Suddenly, someone touched her, wiping the tears from her cheek. A hand covered hers while another cupped her face.

"Joan... I'm all right now..."

Gabriël's voice, soft and loving, sounded as if he was comforting his wife instead of his friend. She kept her eyes closed, believing she had imagined it. The hands touching her weren't his. She couldn't hear him.

"Joan... open your eyes..."

But she did hear him. She opened her eyes, taking in his beautiful, fragile face.

"Guess that didn't go so well, did it?" Gabriël said with a faint smile.

"Don't joke... Don't you dare joke!" Joan slapped away his hand.

"Joan, calm down. I'm -"

"You're what? Huh? Don't be cute, Gabriël! You have no idea what it was like to... to feel you slip away and to -"

Joan made to hit his chest, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Their lips crashed together. She froze, taken by surprise, blinking through her tears. Gabriël was kissing her. He was kissing her!
She feebly tried to push him away, but she couldn't. Not because of his hold on her, but because... she didn't want to. Not really. Joan succumbed utterly to his soft, warm lips. How often had she imagined this? Dreamed of it? Too many times. It couldn't be real.
But it was. And it felt wonderful.

"I know," Gabriël whispered when he parted from her. "Somehow, I always know what you feel."

Joan stared into his blue eyes. Eyes that could entrance without mercy. They seemed darker somehow.

"Y-You can't... we can't," she stammered

"I know." He brushed against her lips with his own. "But I don't care anymore. I'm done denying my feelings for you, Joan. And I know you feel the same for me."

"I...  I don't."

Or did she? Her feelings for Gabriël had always seemed clear. Apart from one other, he was possibly the only person she truly trusted. The past sometimes strained their friendship, but it never broke. He always listened when she asked to hear her. He was the one who had helped her adapt to her afterlife and was stuck as an intermediary between her and Michael. But she couldn't deny what hid deep inside her heart. She could only describe it as... a yearning. She was never sure what she yearned for exactly (though her mind came up with several scenarios). Was this it?
How long had Gabriël felt like this? Why did he admit to this now? Could she trust he was clear enough to realise what he was doing? This could be an after-effect of the poison or something Raphael had given him. Could she take this chance?
Being this close to Gabriël could save her, but it could also damn her. And he would be damned with her. They could both lose their wings and become part of the Nephilim - angels who had given up their lives and destiny in the Vale for each other but still fought for God in the Mortal Realm. It was a different fate than the one Michael had used to threaten her with, but a daunting one nevertheless.

Hurried footsteps echoed outside, and Joan jumped away from Gabriël's bed, turning toward the window to hide the distress his confession caused her. Not a second later, Michael entered the room. She thanked the Lord he had not come in sooner.

"Gabriël, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone concerned.

"Better, I suppose. Thank you."

"Thank Joan. She protected you with the fierceness of a lioness."

"She did?"

Joan felt Gabriël's eyes on her back. She hoped Michael wouldn't notice the pink colour on her cheeks she would certainly have now from being so flustered.

"At least, according to Peter." Michael continued. "He was quite impressed. Speaking of which, Joan, would you mind waiting for me in the Villa? I will hear your report in person."

"Michael, let her rest, please," Gabriël interceded.

"No, it's fine," said Joan quickly. "I will see you there. Take care, Gabriël."

She hurried out of the room, avoiding both of their gazes. Then, she ran from the Hospitium into the cool evening air, still feeling Gabriël's ardent kiss on her lips.

***

Michael sat on a chair next to Gabriël's bed. He scowled at the bowl of bloody water and moved it out of sight. Gabriël frowned at the reaction. The Lord Protector was a warrior through and through. The sight of blood never deterred him. But... maybe because it was his? The spilt blood of an Archangel? Yes, that had to be it.

"Tell me what happened," Michael said.

"Do we have to do this now?" complained Gabriël.

"Yes, we do. This is more serious than we thought, Gabriël. I need to know everything that occurred."

Gabriël knew Michael would just sit there until he started talking. He sighed and recounted the events at the Gates. 

"Peter was taking a break. I told Joan to go with him. A few minutes later, I noticed dark shadows among the souls and instructed everyone to go towards the Gates. More shadows followed. They made for the children. Then the fighting began. One of the shadows grabbed a girl and tried to take her over the border. Joan appeared just in time. At first, we fought back to back, but we had to split up. I sought to get the shadows over the border whilst Joan pro-protected the... souls."

His breath caught. He felt his heart skip a few beats. Michael noticed and put a nearby cup of water on Gabriël's lips. 

"Easy," he said as he helped him drink. "Take your time. You did not only fight the shadows, did you? I saw another there with you."

"You know him too, Michael. We cast him out of the Heavens before he had the chance to ruin everything here."

"So it was him. Cesare Borgia... I had hoped the Circles would drive him mad."

"I told you he would be a problem. I warned you about..."

Sudden pain struck Gabriël, and he gripped his chest, gasping for breath. He coughed, his body contracting as if he'd been violently punched in the gut. Something warm trickled from his mouth, dripping over his chin. His skin went clammy. His vision blurred, and Michael's panicked voice faded to a ringing. A sinister laugh in the back of Gabriël's mind pulled him further into darkness. He lost consciousness.

***

It happened again. That stabbing sensation inside of her body. Only much worse now. Joan rushed back to the Hospitium as fast as she could. She found Michael standing outside Gabriël's closed door. He looked up in surprise when he heard her approach.

"What happened?" yelled Joan. "He was fine! What happened?"

"I do not know." Michael led her away from the door. "He suddenly had an attack of sorts and spat out blood. Raphael is with him now. He knows what kind of poison was used, and the other physicians are already working on an antidote."

"But what if they can't give it to him in time? What if they lose him?"

"Joan, calm yourself, please." He grabbed her by the shoulder. "They will save him. Have faith."

She sank to the floor, breathing heavily, taking Michael down with her as he didn't let go of her. He knelt on one knee and pinched her shoulder. It oddly helped ground her. She gazed up at him and stiffened. Why was he looking at her with such intent suspicion? 

"How did you know he got worse all of a sudden?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "I was walking to the Villa as you asked me, and I felt this sharp pain in my heart. I just knew something was wrong with Gabriël, so I came back here."

"Have you ever felt this before?"

"Today, in the fight. I believe it was when Gabriël was stabbed, though I can't be sure."

"I see. Joan, I am going to ask you something, and I want an honest answer." Fear crept inside her as she waited for him to continue. "Did anything, anything at all, happen between you and Gabriël?"

"What do you mean? We're friends, I..."

"I do not mean that, Joan. Has there been a moment when you or Gabriël felt more than friendship for each other?"

This was it. Joan could admit to the kiss, her feelings (even though she didn't understand them), and Gabriël's confession and face the possibility that he would say otherwise. Or she could deny it and save herself. And him, too.

"We're friends," she said. "Close friends, yes. We confide in each other, as you well know. But no more."

As Joan looked straight into his blue-grey eyes, it hit her that Michael could have witnessed what had occurred. The Hospitium was public domain; his gaze would not have been deterred if he had looked this way at that exact moment. He had nearly caught them in an embrace, now that she recalled. If he saw anything at all, this was the end. 

"Very well," said Michael, much to her relief. "Go home. I will stay here."

"No, I can st -"

"Joan, you are tired. You have been through much these past hours. Go home and rest. If anything changes, I will send for you. You have my word."

If Gabriël's condition grew worse, she would know before anyone else. She would be here before Michael even had time to send a message. But she wasn't about to point that out to him. Eventually, she agreed, too tired to argue with Michael right now.
Joan walked the long way home as if in a trance. Her fatigue had taken its toll, though her thoughts also went to Gabriël. She still felt his pain, but not as much as before. She thought of what had happened between them. Was that why she felt his pain, his feelings?

No, Joan, you felt it before, remember? Michael asked you about it.

She recalled sensing the dagger's stab as if the blade had also pierced her own body. But how was that possible? Gabriël had mentioned more than once that he felt connected to her, but so did many others here. Not once had she heard that angels could actually sense each other's pain. Joan wondered about it. The next time she saw the girls, she would ask them. Margaret and Catherine also shared a deep connection with each other, so perhaps they knew more of it.
Of one thing, she was certain, though. No one could ever know what had happened in the Hospitium. It had to remain a secret, at least until Gabriël was home again, and they could discuss it quietly and without prying eyes. Michael saw all that occurred in the Vale, except what happened in private dwellings. Even he was not allowed to do that.
Joan still felt the touch of Gabriël's lips on hers. She should have stopped him. She knew she should have. But every fibre of her being had screamed at her to allow it, to kiss him back and enjoy it. Gabriël's eyes had taken her in, and Joan had become his for those few moments.

No more, she thought. The risk is too great. And yet...

It wasn't until Joan reached the house that she noted her surroundings. Her feet had not carried her to her own home, but to Gabriël's. The stable door was open. Joan walked over, seeing Thirza lay in the soft hay of her stable. She went inside to stroke the mare's manes.

"Hey girl, he's not coming home right now. He's... sick."

It was almost as if the Heavenly Horse also felt Gabriël's pain. Thirza's eyes were as dark as her rider's and full of sadness. A scuffled sound startled Joan. She turned, still squatted, to see enter. The white stallion knelt beside Thirza and nudged her neck with his nose.

Even the horses have a connection, she thought as she left them be.

Joan didn't feel like walking home and didn't want to take Spiritus away from Thirza. Surely Gabriël wouldn't mind her staying over, just for one night? She lit a candle at the door and walked through his home. Never had she gone further than the living room, because she never had a reason to do so. She stood still in each room to find that every design flowed smoothly into the next. Nicely decorated, cosy, neat, and orderly. It was so very different from the homes of certain men she knew. Even her own brothers and father had been sloppy, while Joan herself was more like her mother.
It felt strange being at the cottage on her own when she had been there only yesterday with Gabriël. And she had been angry with him. Well, maybe not angry. Just determined not to address him directly. If only she had known what would happen. She wouldn't have shut him out like that.  
Joan walked to the last room and hesitated at the door.

Gabriël's bedroom... No, I can't.

But before she knew it, Joan was inside. The door shut behind her. She put the candle on the bedside table and sat on the mattress to take in the room. It was rather simple compared to the rest of the house. She took Gabriël's pillow and pressed her face against it, thinking of what had happened in the Hospitium. Her hands washing away the blood and resting on his chest. His hand wiping away her tears. His voice... The surprise of his hand suddenly around her wrist... The kiss...
Joan lay down on her stomach, face buried in the pillow. It had not been her first kiss. But it was the first time she had lost control of herself, of the moment. Willingly. She couldn't get it out of her mind. Nor did she want to. His soft lips on hers, urging and inviting. The moment he parted from here had been agonising. Joan had wanted that kiss to last forever. With that memory repeating in her head, she finally gave in to sleep.