Archangel

Sixteen

"Blue or green?", the young witch asked, two sweaters held to her chest in the vanity mirror.

"I like the blue", Angel answered honestly, "- it makes your hair look nice".

Wanda tugged the sapphire sweater over her head and grinned at her reflection, tossing her red curls over her shoulder.

"You are right, Angel. How about you wear the green one?". She tossed the second sweater into the girl's lap and Angel stroked the fabric in awe at its softness. She'd been wearing simple cotton shirts and shorts since coming to the Tower, but Wanda insisted they dressed up for Thanksgiving dinner. The beautiful emerald sweater felt wonderful against the sensitive skin of her hands.

"If you want to wear it I can cut holes in the back to stick your wings through", Wanda suggested, pulling out a pair of sewing shears.

"Oh- no!", the girl cried, hurriedly placing the sweater on the bed beside her. "Don't ruin your clothes for me!".

"It is fine, Angel. This will be my Thanksgiving gift to you! You will keep it, ok?".

"Are you sure?".

"Of course. You will look good in green".

"Angel?", Nat's voice sounded from behind Wanda's door.

"Come in!".

Nat briskly stepped inside. "Find some clothes to wear, Angel?", she asked, nodding gratefully at Wanda.

"Yes, Wanda is letting me borrow this sweater and some jeans", the girl answered, showing off the garments.

"Nice- those jeans loose enough for your bandages?".

Angel blushed. "W-well, everything is a bit big, honestly", she stammered.

"That's ok", Nat soothed, pulling a belt out of Wanda's closet. "We'll order you some stuff that fits and once you're doing better we can take you shopping".

A huge grin split the winged girl's face. "I would love that".

"Good". Nat gathered the clothing in her arms and helped Angel into her wheelchair, taking her up to the MedBay to get ready for dinner.

Carefully wrapping Angel's stitched-up wound with a plastic film, Nat lifted Angel into the tub and helped scrub her hair granted the fact that lifting her hands over her head for too long hurt her healing ribs.

"Do you want to clean your wings?", Nat asked, placing a bar of lavender soap in Angel's hand.

Angel nodded, taking the soap in one hand and pulling her left wing up to her side with the other. Her feathers were a bit water-resistant, but she was still able to scrub them, bubbles running down the long appendages. She stopped to breathe heavily after a bit, the ache in her ribs too painful to ignore.

Nat held her hand out for the soap, searching Angel's eyes for permission before carefully taking the soaked structures in her arms to pick up where the girl left off. Angel closed her eyes and shivered at the feeling of someone touching her wings. Despite the woman's gentle touches, Angel trembled at the contact and the vulnerability of the situation. Her wings were terribly sensitive.

"Stop", she blurted out, snapping her wings out of Nat's grasp and pressing them back against her shoulder blades. She pulled her legs as close as she could to her body, rocking slightly in the warm water.

"You're safe, Angel", Nat soothed, moving back a bit to give her some space.

"I-I know, I know. I'm sorry", the girl cried. "It's hard to let other people touch my wings- they're much more sensitive than the rest of my body".