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Grey glanced over at Joan. "You should go take a shower. You never changed out of those wet clothes, and I don't want you to catch cold." 



"Oh, w-well . . . I don't want to use up all of Claude's hot water," she mumbled, twisting her fingers together as she spoke. Grey put his hand over hers, gently prying her hands apart. 

"It's fine. He's probably not really paying for it, anyway." He grinned at her and winked, an abrupt diversion from his usual quiet countenance, then cleared his throat and regained his composure. 



"O-Okay." Joan got up and clumsily made her way down the hall. "I-Is it this door? This one on the left here -?" There was a muffled crash and a small squeal of pain. Before Grey could even become alarmed, Joan's voice rang out shakily. "Um, no. This is a closet. I'll just . . . um . . ." 



Grey chuckled to himself and glanced over his shoulder, smiling as the young artist attempted to shove a broom and mop into a miniscule side closet, then spoke up. "Close. It's the door on the right, I believe, just by Claude's room." 



"Th-thanks." Joan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, blushing bright scarlet, and tugged open the bathroom door, nearly whacking herself in the forehead in her haste. 



Grey paced the apartment in silence. There really wasn't much else to do, as Claude had dropped off to sleep again and the only other noise was the water running in the shower. Grey finally sat down beside his brother, contemplating his twin's face silently. 



One ink-black eye cracked open. "What's up with you?" 



"Nothing. I'm just looking at you . . . thinking." Grey leaned back on the sofa, his exquisite face pensive. "Joan's showering." 



Claude laughed and made a mock purring noise in the back of his throat. Grey sighed and raised one eyebrow at him. "Honestly. Could you at least attempt to be mature?" 



He was interrupted at the door at the end of the hall swung open. Joan peeked out, holding a towel around her bosom. "Um . . . Claude, can I borrow some of your clothes? I-I-I mean, if that would be okay . . . but I don't really have anything else to wear . . ." 



Grey's entire face turned bright scarlet, and he piously averted his eyes, instead becoming intensely interested with the fabric pattern of the couch. Laughing at his brother's nervous reaction, Claude shrugged at Joan nonchalantly, utterly unconcerned. "Yeah, whatever. Just pick something out of the closet. It'll all be too big for you anyway." She nodded and ducked into his room, shutting the door after her. 



Claude prodded Grey's shoulder, grinning. "Hey, Saint Celibacy. You can look now." He laughed quietly, smirking when he saw that Grey was still blushing. "That's right . . . you've never even seen a woman's shoulders before, have you? A living woman, at any rate." 



"Well, times were different when we were alive. I haven't experienced life in this time," Grey muttered. 



"You were blushing." Claude leaned forward, propping his chin up on one slender hand. "Lose your cool for once?" 



"What? No, of course not! What in the world is that supposed to mean?" Grey sputtered. "I'm just unused to it!" 



Claude shrugged. "She's cute. Mind you, she's cute like a puppy or a kitten . . . I mean, I wouldn't hit that." 



Grey frowned, uncomprehending. "Hit . . . what?" 



"Never mind. Slang term. But, I mean . . . you never . . . even when we were alive, you never got involved with anybody, right?" Claude added, quickly changing the subject. 



"No. We both liked the same person, remember?" He smiled softly, glancing over at Claude. "Antoinette." 



Claude whistled quietly. "Well, I thought I liked Antoinette. Personally, I was more fond of her brother, but . . ." 



"Times have changed," Grey repeated. "It wasn't as though you could have been open about yourself back then. But you were more open in everything else . . . more charming . . . it makes sense that Antoinette would be more taken with you."

"I don't think it mattered to her, Grey. I was just the less pious. I had less integrity." Claude shrugged indifferently. "We have the same face, the same voice. She didn't see a difference." 



"That's not true," Grey said, frowning. "We were different. People could tell the difference." 



"Yeah, because you were the one who wasn't breaking things and causing trouble. To Antoinette, we were one and the same." He paused for a moment, playing with a strand of ebony hair in his ivory fingers. "Remember when we looked the same? Exactly the same?" 



"We do look the same," Grey said carefully, watching his brother closely. 

"You know what I mean." Claude tucked the strand behind his ear. "I wasn't always raven-haired." 



"Oh, Claude, that doesn't matter!" Grey tried to make light of it, chuckling slightly. "We're still twins. I mean, the change . . . it's . . ." 



"What? 'Traditional?' It marks me. It's a great big sign saying, 'hey, look! I'm a reject!'" Shaking his head, Claude snorted, staring at his hands. "We used to be identical. We were the same." 



"We were different," Grey argued. "We were always separate people." 



"Yeah. You were always better." 



Grey let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed Claude's arm. "Listen to me. These mood swings, this pent-up guilt - it's not normal. I'm worried about you."

"Psh. It's worrying about me that's gonna get you in trouble," Claude muttered. 



Before Grey could respond, Joan stuck her head out of Claude's room with a shy, tentative smile, then walked out and took a seat in one of the chairs. She was wearing one of Claude's black turtlenecks, which was so big for her that the hem reached to her knees, and a pair of old jeans that had been rolled up at the cuffs about five times to make them short enough. 



"Awww. She looks adorable, huh?" Claude murmured out of the corner of his mouth, smirking at his brother. Grey blushed again, flustered. 



"Claude, honestly. I don't think that way, and - and she's human, and . . . well, it's out of the question anyway," he whispered back. 



"Yeah, yeah. I was just kidding." He glanced up at Joan and smiled slightly. "So you found some stuff?" 



"Y-Yes. It seemed like these were the smallest." She looked up at him curiously, swinging her legs back and forth. "All you ever wear is black, Claude!" She laughed - an actual laugh, for once, rather than her usual nervous titter. The sound was surprisingly pretty; she had a beaten-down look about her that would make one expect her to wheeze rather than giggle. 



"So, what do we do for the rest of the day?" Grey asked. Hearing Joan laugh had put a smile on his face, too, but Claude didn't share his good mood. 



"I dunno. I don't usually do much. Go do a crossword or something." He got up off the couch and stretched his long arms, then tramped off towards his room. "As for me, I'm gonna sleep off my pub crawl." The door slammed, and the apartment suddenly seemed weighed down by silence. 



"So . . ." Joan's nervous laugh was back. "Um . . . he smells good," she blurted out. 

Grey raised his eyebrows, and she rushed to explain, turning bright scarlet in the process. "Um, uh, I mean . . . his clothes." She sat down by him and held out her arm, where the sleeves of the turtleneck dangled far past her fingertips (she had given up trying to roll them back.) Grey leaned down and breathed in the scent curiously. 



It smelled distinctly of angel. 



"S-See? It doesn't really smell like cologne, but it's . . . familiar, somehow." She sniffed at her wrist again, her big blue eyes seeming soft and comfortable rather than wary. "Maybe it's his fabric softener . . ." 



Grey sighed. It was harder than he had expected to keep secrets from her - she was too perceptive. But then again, how could you expect a human to know that angels had a special smell? "You're probably right. Claude isn't the type to wear cologne." 



"But he's still so elegant, even when he's not trying to be," Joan mused, smiling to herself. "I . . . I hope you don't think badly of me for saying this, but . . . you're both so handsome, and I . . . well, I've never really met anyone as - well, as good-looking as you two. It almost seems strange . . ." 

Grey cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with her. "Well, it . . . it runs in the family, I suppose."

Joan's pale eyes widened, and she leaned forward, intrigued. "There's a whole family as beautiful as you two?" 



"Well, yes . . . though Claude and I aren't that unusual," Grey replied. 



Joan raised her eyebrows at him, and he chuckled. "Well, not unusual within the family," he amended. "Claude was close with our . . . cousin, Gabriel. Actually, maybe 'close' is the wrong word . . . he admired him immensely. And another, ah, cousin, Isobel - I spent a lot of time with her. She worked in the same department as I did." 



"So what do you actually do? Your occupation, I mean," Joan pressed. Her expression was curious, her eyes eager. Grey hesitated for a moment, then skillfully edged around it. 



"The heads of my department identify someone in need, and I'm assigned to take care of them in any way I can . . . without interfering in their lives," Grey explained. He nodded almost imperceptibly to himself, satisfied with that answer. It was the truth, but not necessarily the whole story. 



Joan smiled at him. "That's wonderful. Are you assigned to anyone right now?" 

"Yes." Grey smiled, too, and his green eyes softened. "A little girl in South Africa. Her name is Soni . . . she's very sweet, but her village is extremely poor. I make sure she can find clean water, that she doesn't injure herself . . . things of that nature." 



"South Africa?" Joan marveled. "Wow . . . you travel a lot, don't you?" Grey nodded. Joan smiled down at her hands and softly added, "Soni . . . she must love you so much." 



Grey's smile faltered slightly. "Well . . . she doesn't know about my protection of her." 

"What?" Joan's forehead creased in confusion. "Why not? You're doing all these wonderful things for her - shouldn't she know who to thank?" 



"Obtaining gratitude is not our goal. Like I said, we are to avoid interfering in our charge's lives. It would be much easier for them to just think it was good luck." He sighed heavily, contemplating the thin silver-plated chain on his right wrist. "Another issue is that there aren't enough of us to protect everyone who needs our help. If someone found out about our work, everyone would want a guardian of their own . . . people would start trying to buy us. The purpose of our mission would be ruined." 



Joan stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. "I've never heard of anything like this before . . ." 



"Well, like I said . . . it's a secret." He laid one finger to the side of his nose. "Just between you and I. I'm really not supposed to be telling you this." 



Joan nodded fervently. "Oh, of course, Grey. I won't tell a soul." 



The rest of the day passed in this manner - the two taking turns to share their lives. Joan told Grey of her frustration with life, her bad reputation at school, her broken family life, and most of all her stressful and unhealthy relationship with her boyfriend. Most poignant was her fall from grace at his hands - because of his promises of undying love and a future together, Joan had surrendered her virginity to him when she was only fifteen. It turned out the only future she had with him was one as a tool. 



Grey confessed, as well. His endless anxiety over Claude, his devotion to his "job," and the piercing sorrow of being separated from his true other half for years on end. He didn't tell her exactly how many years, of course, but she could tell how agonizing their separation was for him. Being away from Claude tormented him, and Claude suffered just as much. For the two of them, that was true Hell - existence without each other.

At this point in the conversation, Joan was once again struck by a strange feeling - marveling at the peculiarly, almost unnaturally strong bond between the twins. She knew that twin siblings usually had a very strong psychological connection, but the Cordon twins were different. Being together made them more than happy . . . euphoric, even . . . but being apart incited acute, wrenching despair that almost escalated to true physical pain. It was almost frightening to try and grasp the immense strength of their bond, so Joan decided to let it slip to the back of her mind. She had enough to worry about without wrapping her fragile mind around the conundrum of freakishly devoted twins. 



She turned to look out the window, savoring the brief silence. That was one thing about talking with Grey - the silences were never awkward. He was perfectly content to allow a pause in the conversation, musing on his own until one of them got the urge to talk again. "Oh, it's dark already!" she gasped. "I-I didn't realize!" 



"The gripping conversation, I suppose," Grey laughed jokingly. He himself had been surprised at the depth of Joan's conversation. As a human more than sixty times younger than he was, he had expected her thoughts to be trite and superficial. She had proved him wrong.

Joan suddenly gave a wide, long yawn, and Grey couldn't help but smile. 



"Well, I think that settles it. You should get some sleep." He stood up and glanced around, then sighed. "Now that I think of it, I should have told Claude to let you sleep in the bed. It looks like the couch is the only other place open . . ." 



"Oh, n-no! That's all right!" Joan reassured him hastily. "I can sleep on the floor, really . . . and you can take the couch." 



Grey looked over his shoulder and smiled gently. "Oh, actually, I'll sleep with my brother. You take the couch . . . I'm sure he has a blanket somewhere." He walked down the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom and rummaged around in the linen closet built into the wall, withdrawing a large, rather thin blanket and an extra pillow. "Here. Will this work, Joan?" 



"That's just fine, Grey. Really, you don't have to -" She was cut off as Grey leaned over and slipped the pillow under her head, then began tucking the blanket around her. "Um, Grey, I can - I can do it myself," she stammered, embarrassed by his casual affection. 



"Sorry." Grey straightened up, still smiling slightly. "I suppose I just have a nurturing instinct." As if to prove his point, he absentmindedly straightened the pillow a bit before turning on his heel. "Sleep well, Joan. I'll see you in the morning." 



"Y-Yeah . . . good night, Grey." Joan smiled tentatively at him, then turned over, trying to get comfortable on the creaking sofa. She heard the door of Claude's room swing shut just as her eyelids drooped, engulfing her in slumber.