This is the first of what I hope will be many little scenes of angelic interventions.

There are no TG/TS characters in this one. Some episodes will have TG/TS character(s), some won't. Those with them will be marked.

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School had just finished for the day, little Billy Ryder walked out to his bike, unlocked it, dropped his bag of books in the carrier and turned the bike around to face the street. He climbed on, not an easy thing to do as he wasn't very big, but eventually he was on it and pedalling away.

He made sure to stop at the inner edge of the sidewalk and look both ways before he turned onto the street to head toward his home.

He travelled several blocks, then began to hear what sounded like popping noises some distance ahead of him. He continued riding.

Seventeen boys from the North Wind Dragons MC club had crossed paths with a dozen or so guys from the Wild Mustangs MC club. The two gangs went at each other, using everything from baseball bats to lead pipes to handguns and sawed off shotguns in the fight.

The noise around the impromptu street battle was appalling, people ducked into shops or homes and locked the doors. The actual fight was taking place in front of Jimmy's Southwest Steakhouse, Grill & Bar, a location sometimes used by the Mustangs for club meetings.

Little Billy Ryder's route would pass right by the bar. He kept pedalling along, wondering what was making all the noise.

The noise kept getting louder as he rode closer. Those big bangs he was hearing had to be either guns or cars backfiring, most likely guns.

Billy had stopped for a moment and was just about to turn and head down a side street when a hand touched his shoulder.

He looked up and saw a tall, rugged looking man standing beside him, wearing a button down dress shirt and crisply pressed pants. That man looked down at him, smiling, then gestured for Billy to continue on his way home while he asked Billy about his day in school.

Billy chattered away about the kids in his classes, especially Tommy Baron and Sam James, two boys in his grade. Billy also mentioned three girls, Jeanie Blake, Patty Savannah-Valens and Ellie Trent, mostly about how they seemed to like doing things that were not very girlish.

The tall, rugged man walked beside Billy, his right hand holding onto Billy's left one as Billy slowly pedalled the bike down the street.

The two walked right by the big fight outside the bar, guys were being punched, hit, shot from one end of the place to the other. Several bullets went past the big man and the little boy, a few of them passing very close to the two. Billy held on to the man's hand very tightly.

The big guy to Billy's left glanced across the street, nodding, it seemed quite obvious that several of those guys wouldn't survive the fight.

The two continued onward, eventually reaching a point only a few blocks from Billy's home.

"Time for me to go, son. You take care of your mama and little sister, okay?" The big man smiled as he watched Billy pedal on his way.

Billy was soon home, dropping his bike in the back yard, then headed into the house, placing his book bag on the dining room table.

His mother smiled at him, she had been reading a book while rocking Billy's baby sister Bess in a cradle built by her father many years ago. Billy grinned over at his mother, he had vague memories of having been rocked in that very same cradle back when he was a baby.

He shuffled off toward the front door, where he took off his shoes and light jacket, then carefully hang the jacket in the hall closet.

Once that was done, he returned to the dining room, opened the bag, pulled out his homework and laid it on the table top. He spent a brief moment telling his mom about the big fight by the bar as he went by, including that a man had walked with him at that point. There wasn't a lot of homework to be done, the hard part for him was the math questions, but he took his time answering them, thinking each one through.

The next hour or two went by as it often did, with his mother eventually heading into the kitchen to start making dinner. While mom was doing that, Billy checked on his little sister occasionally, and when his homework was finished, he sat beside Bess, rocking her back and forth.

His mother kept a small colour TV in the kitchen so she could watch the early news at 5:30 each evening.

The anchor started talking about the big fight in front of the bar and Billy's mother looked over to see what the woman was talking about. There, walking right past the fight, just across the street, was her little boy Billy, but that wasn't what had caught her attention.

Someone passing by had had a video camera and had caught what she could now see. Next to Billy, between him and the godawful battle, was a tall shape slowly walking down the street. That shape was quite clearly holding onto Billy's left hand as they passed the fight.

It wasn't so much the fact that there was a shape beside Billy, it was that that shape could just barely be seen, as if some kind of weird electromagnetic effect or something was making it impossible to clearly see it. Billy's hand was reaching up and holding the hand of the tall shape, a shape that, if she squinted for a moment, appeared to have what looked like nearly invisible huge wings spreading out from his back.

Billy's mom ran out to the dining room table, where she examined her little guy quite closely, but she couldn't see a single scratch, nothing.

She looked up while hugging Billy tight, then whispered as the tears started to flow, "Bless you for keeping my little boy safe from harm."

Shauntelle Brannon lay on her shabby bed in the small, dingy room she shared with another girl, Valerie Evans.

Valerie was out working the street at the moment, not that any of them had much choice about it, as each of the seven that lived in this old three bedroom house on the edge of town had all been hooked on a variety of legal and illegal drugs over the last two years or so.

Shauntelle was still in bed because she had come down with a case of the flu and their pimp, Sebastio, had given her strict orders to stay inside until she was well again. Alicia Kelmar, a girl like Shauntelle, entered the room carrying a large mug filled with hot chicken noodle soup. Alicia handed the mug of soup to Shauntelle, standing there for a moment to ensure that Shauntelle actually started to eat, then left the room.

Shauntelle had pushed herself up in the bed until she was relaxing against the wall behind her when Alicia passed the mug to her. While she slowly but methodically worked her way through the delicious contents of the mug, she thought about how she had ended up here.

Shauntelle, you see, had been born male, and was known as Shaun until shortly before his fifteenth birthday. He had known for some time that he should have been born female, but had suppressed it until it could no longer be contained and he finally told his parents.

To say that that had not gone well would be a vast understatement. Shaun's father had backhanded him hard, sending Shaun crashing into a nearby wall and creating a fair sized hole in the process, then laid a nasty beating on Shaun before literally throwing him out of the house.

Shaun's father, Brian, stood on the porch yelling at him, "You are no son of mine! If I ever see you again, I'll kill you! Now bugger off!"

Shaun had slowly hauled himself to his feet, one hand holding his ribs on the left side, then staggered away from the house. Shaun was not watching where he went at that point, it was all he could do to stay on his feet and keep moving, eventually collapsing against a wall.

The wall in question was a property marker between one of the three library locations in the city Shaun lived in and a large house next door.

Shaun lost all knowledge of the world around him at that point, descending into oblivion while leaning against that wall.

The owner of the house, Mrs. Eileen Brady, came out on her porch late that evening to have a look around before heading off to her bed. To her surprise, there was a person slumped against that wall at the edge of the property, so she wandered over to take a look.

It didn't take long to see what had been done to the boy, Eileen was seriously upset. She yelled for her husband, Colm, to come out and help her; between the two of them, they carefully lifted Shaun up and carried him into their living room, placing him on their old sofa to rest.

Shaun woke up a few hours later to find himself lying on the old sofa. The ribs hurt a fair bit, but he thought they might just be bruised. He knew that there would be an obvious mark on his face from that first slap, and likely several other bruises, but he could handle a little pain.

Shaun used the downstairs bathroom, then carefully laid down on the sofa again, and eventually slept.

Eileen and Colm woke him up early the next day, fed him, listened to what had happened to him, then respectfully agreed not to do anything regarding it largely due to Shaun's saying he wasn't seriously injured. They exchanged phone numbers, then Shaun went on his way.

For the next three weeks, Shaun managed to keep himself fed, although his clothes were becoming rather dirty and quite stinky.

Then he ran into Sebastio in a cafe/bar for teens that didn't card anyone; so long as you didn't cause problems, you were welcome in there.

Sebastio talked with him for a fair while, plying Shaun with drinks; Shaun, being only seventeen, wasn't paying attention to how much he was drinking. Eventually, it reached the point where Shaun was drunk enough that he wasn't very steady on his feet; when Sebastio offered to drive him home, Shaun just nodded, staggering over to Sebastio's car with Sebastio making sure he didn't fall down during that brief walk.

Shaun barely managed to put the seat belt on before Sebastio started driving, then passed out a few minutes later.

Shaun was still out of it when Sebastio arrived at the shabby old house, Sebastio carried him up to a bedroom on the second floor. Sebastio laid Shaun on a bed, stripped him, then grinned a wolfish smile as he headed down to his small office, pulled something from a locked cabinet in the office and carried it upstairs. Sebastio laughed as he filled a syringe with heroin and injected it into the young man's arm near the elbow.

It didn't take too long before the heroin became the controlling force in the youngster's life, then crack and speed were added to the mix. By the time Shaun's eighteenth birthday arrived, he was seriously underweight, being 5'9" tall and maybe 125 pounds.

Somewhere along the line, Shaun had told Sebastio about being transgender, and Sebastio obtained hormones that slowly worked their changes on Shauntelle's very slender body. Sebastio also forced her to eat more as the hormones would need the fuel to boost her transition.

Time passed, Shauntelle's body became more and more feminine, eventually reaching a B cup with slight padding around her hips. The drug use continued, with Shauntelle eventually being forced to do her own injections, shifting from one location on her body to another as needed.

Shauntelle was finally alone in the house that day, the other girls that lived there had all headed out to their usual "work" locations.

She dozed off and on as her body recovered from the flu; what she didn't realize was she was also clearing her system of the drugs. On a few occasions that evening and night, Shauntelle went into brief convulsions as her body reacted to the lack of drugs. With no one else in the house, she was very lucky that none of the convulsions had any other effects; they ended and she slept for an hour or so each time.

At one point that night, shortly after 1:30 AM according to the small clock on the nightstand the girls shared, Shauntelle noticed an odd light in her room and looked up to see what could only be described as a glowing winged female standing about five feet away from her.

"Come, child, it is time for you to leave this place, I will take you to people who will love you and care for you as if you were their own child."

Shauntelle giggled, she had to be hallucinating, there was no way an angel would be here to rescue her.

"Have you forgotten Eileen and Colm so soon, child? They have worried for the last two years because you stopped calling them."

Shauntelle had to sit back and think for a few minutes before she remembered meeting the older couple after the beating from her father.

"Yes, child, they wanted to report him for what he did to you then, but you persuaded them to let it go, so they did for your sake."

Shauntelle whispered, "I'm not the same person as I was then. I'm transgender, I'm an addict, I'm a fucking whore, dammit!"

"You have the chance to put all the bad things of the last two years or so behind you child, if you give them the chance to love you."

The shining angel held out her hand, waiting to see what Shauntelle would do.

"They will help me?" Shauntelle asked, "Even with all that has happened to me?"

"I believe so, child, now come, your time to leave here without being seen is limited."

Shauntelle smiled, whispering, "Okay," as she climbed out of the bed, wearing only a long sheer nightgown and grasped the angel's hand.

The two walked down the stairs, out the front door and down the street, Shauntelle was surprised that the angel's glow disappeared.

The angel laughed, remarking to Shauntelle as they continued walking, "I don't want to advertise my presence, you know."

It was a slow journey, with many stops, as Shauntelle would suddenly slump, convulsing briefly within the angel's outstretched wings. Yet it wasn't long after each of these stops before Shauntelle would be on her feet again and walking onward across the city to the Brady home.

Eileen was relaxing on her front porch when Shauntelle staggered up her walk, then collapsed just a few feet from the steps. Eileen never noticed the angel that had been with Shauntelle; the angel smiled when Eileen came down to check on Shauntelle, then vanished.

It didn't take more than a few seconds for Eileen to recognize the young person lying there. Just like the first time they had met, she yelled for her husband Colm and the two carried Shauntelle into the house, once again laying her on that old, comfortable sofa to rest.

Over the next six months, Eileen and Colm got Shauntelle all the medical help she needed, eventually allowing Shauntelle to overcome the addictions she had been dealing with, plus they found her a good psych doctor to oversee her transition and hormone regimen.

The biggest gift they could give her, though, was when they showed her the adoption forms they had filled out in her name.

Shauntelle wept, hugging the two hard for a moment, then signed the forms. Now she could start anew.

The caution is not for an actual rape, but an attempted one. There is no caution for attempted rape, so I used that one.

Samuel Thomas Kerrigan sat in his recliner in the living room of his tiny bachelor apartment, staring into a nearly empty long neck bottle. There were dozens of identical bottles scattered across the floor around his chair, and eleven more left in the case he had bought earlier today.

His life had been good before everything changed seven years ago, a beautiful and loving wife, a rambunctious five year old boy, Daniel, a beautiful little three year old angel of a girl named Alison and a 15 month old golden retriever that loved the kids as if they were litter mates.

Then his wife reported him to the police, insinuating that he intended to sexually assault his precious little girl.

Never mind that it had taken him over six months to have the stigma of the charges removed, he had watched his family be ripped apart by her and had come very close to losing his freedom. He had barely managed to hold onto his job at the radio station as the sound tech; if his boss, Felix, hadn't known him for almost eight years after hiring him just days after his high school graduation... well, better to leave that alone.

He was still staring into the depths of that long neck, on the point of raising it to drink the last of the beer, when the impossible happened. There was no way it could be real, but he stared at his apartment door as someone, no, some THING, walked through it as if it were vapour.

The hallucination threw him for a loop when it stared at him and whispered, "Do ye plan to drink yerself into the grave, Sammy?"

"What business is it of yours, whatever the hell you are?" Sam snarled at the brightly shining creature. Damn, now he would have a migraine!

"I be an angel, Sammy. Have ye not drowned yer sorrows enow yet? It has been nigh on seven years, me bucko!"

Sam couldn't believe his eyes, this supposed angel was standing on at least three bottles, yet none of them were broken? How could that be?

"I am nae a ghost, Sammy, I be an angel, I tell ye. I can appear to ye without being fully physical. Do ye intend to let her win? Do ye?"

Let her win? Her who? Did this creature mean his wife or someone else? He shook his head, sighed and drank the last of the beer, then reached down to the case beside the chair, picked up another bottle and used the bottle opener sitting on the end table to open it.

Opening the bottle wasn't as easy as it normally would be, thanks to how many beers he had already consumed tonight, but he managed it eventually. Once it was open, he carefully set the bottle opener back onto the end table, then tipped the bottle up and chugged half of it.

"She already has won," he muttered at the bottle in his hand, "She has the house, a new car, the children, a boyfriend and a divorce decree."

The purported angel sighed, then stepped closer and took the bottle from Samuel's suddenly shaking hand.

"She has nae won yet, Sammy boy, e'en though it may seem to be that way to ye. Would ye let her harm the children?"

That brought an expression of anger to Samuel's face. "Let her harm them? Hell, no! What in the seven hells is she doing to them?" he snarled.

"Ahhh, that looks more like the Sammy that ye used to be! Why, she be setting up your little angel to be hurt as she accused ye of doing."

The meaning of that statement changed the anger that Samuel was feeling to utter horror. "She'll let some bastard rape my little angel?" The actual angel standing in front of his chair nodded her head, then extended her hand as Samuel grabbed the chair and attempted to stand.

"That be what she intends to do, aye," the angel replied. "Do ye care enow to protect yer little ones, nae matter what it may cost ye?"

"I'd wade through the fires of hell itself to protect my children, dammit!" Samuel hissed as he swayed unsteadily in front of his recliner.

"Then get yourself to yer bed, me boy, get some sleep, and when ye wake up, call yer friend the lawyer, have her contact a judge for ye."

"Are you saying that I can save my kids from whatever she is planning?" Samuel asked the creature as he nearly fell down.

"Aye, Sammy, ye can, but ye canna drown herself in the bottles nae more, do ye hear me? Ye must be strong for yer little ones!"

Samuel swayed again, barely managing to stay upright, turned and muttered as he stumbled to his bed, "I swear it, on my honour!"

The angel nodded, her job was done. So long as Samuel did not break his oath, the children would be safe. She smiled and vanished.

Samuel collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to undress or to cover himself and slept as he had not done for almost seven years. He woke up a few minutes before 8 AM the next morning, used the toilet, then showered and shaved before he pulled his one suit from the hall closet.

He was about to put the suit on when he remembered the creature from last night saying he needed to call his lawyer friend right away. He stalked over to the kitchen table, spotted his cell phone on the floor, picked it up and dialled the number from memory, then listened as it rang.

The phone was picked up on the second ring, a pleasant female voice stated, "Hello, Samuel, it's been a long time since you last called me."

Samuel sighed, then answered her, "Yes, Bonita, it has. Can you get a restraining order against my ex-wife and her boyfriend?"

Bonita frowned, why would Sam Kerrigan be wanting a restraining order now? The poor guy's ex-wife had divorced him six years ago.

"Sam, you need to talk to me and explain why you need one. I can't just go in and ask Judge Browning without a damn good reason."

"Bonita, a friend of mine came by last night and said something to me that leads me to believe my ex-wife's new boyfriend is a pedophile."

"That's a very serious allegation to make, Sam. How did this woman discover this and why did she only tell you now?" Bonita asked him.

"She said that the guy has done this before, he gets close to women with young kids, then does... I can't even say it, it makes me feel sick."

"That's still only hearsay, Sam. Do you know his name? Anything about him?"

Samuel sighed into the phone, "No, Bonita, I've never actually met the guy, I've only seen him once or twice with my ex and the kids." Samuel turned and looked out the window at the rain falling hard enough that it seemed as if the very heavens were crying in wretched sorrow.

Bonita growled through the phone, "You were close enough to see him and did nothing?"

"I did nothing back then, Bonita, because I try to stay away from the ex, I lost almost everything years ago thanks to her," Samuel snarled. "Also, I didn't have any idea the guy might be like my friend last night implied. I try not to run around accusing people of things, but this time, if there is even the slightest chance that my friend was correct, I have to do something! I can't let my little girl be harmed by doing nothing!"

Samuel shuddered as he saw the image in his mind's eye of what could happen if he ignored what the strange creature had told him the night before. "I will do everything I can to protect my children, Bonita, even if it means that I put my life on the line in the process."

"Sam, slow down, you can't go running around acting like a vigilante!" Bonita declared.

"Bonita, you've known me since Danny was a year old. You know that I value my word as my bond, my honour, yes?"

Bonita listened to Sam, who seemed to be more exasperated by the minute. "Yes, Sam. Just what does that have to do with it."

"I swore an oath last night, on my honour, Bonita, that I would not drink any more because I need to be fully aware to help protect my kids."

"People break oaths all the time, Sam. That doesn't change anything in the situation you've told me here."

"Oh, but it does, Bonita," Samuel chuckled, "When have you ever known me to break an oath I had made? My word is my honour, remember?"

Bonita was quiet for a few minutes, then muttered into the phone, "You've never broken an oath that I heard you make."

"Bonita, I can't be sure, but it's possible that my wife hooked up with the guy to actually have him do what she accused me of intending to do."

"Why would your ex do that?" Bonita enquired. "That would make her an accomplice at the very least if it did happen and she was involved. If it was proven that she intended it to happen, that would raise it to the level of either conspiracy or actual accessory to rape."

"Because she conned me for years, Bonita, led me to believe we had a life with each other, then almost destroyed my life for the heck of it. Can you give me any other plausible reason for her alleging that I intended to sexually assault my own daughter seven years ago?"

"You know I can't, Sam. You know darn well that I know that you would never harm a child, not if there were any way to avoid it."

"And yet you sit there in your lovely house and tell me that I cannot protect my own daughter from something that would definitely harm her? Bonita, if you do nothing, I WILL put my life on the line to prevent my little angel from being harmed by this bastard. I swear it."

"Oh, dear God, Sam, are you insane? You could be throwing your life away!"

"No, not at all, Bonita," Samuel replied, "My wife is the one that threw my life away seven years ago, I drowned my anger in beer since then. Now I have a chance to turn my life around, from the hell it has been since she made that blasted accusation, and to keep my little angel safe."

"All right, Sam, I'm not promising anything, let me see if I can find something to take to Judge Browning. I'll get back to you later."

Sam listened as Bonita hung up the phone, then he dropped his phone on the kitchen table and put on one of his at work outfits.

He left the tiny apartment a few minutes later, heading in to the radio station, where he made sure the audio equipment was working properly. He would examine the equipment at least two or three times each day, then watch the control systems for anything out of the ordinary.

He rarely had to do much more than sit around for most of the day, but that was okay, he was paid to be there even if nothing happened.

He had just finished another check of the equipment while the DJ took a brief break when his cell phone rang. He answered it right away.

"Sam, it seems you were right," Bonita stated. "A detective I know on the force here found your ex's boyfriend on an old warrant list, his name is John James Barber, he was accused of raping two little girls in a city on the other side of the state five years ago and was acquitted on a technicality. Judge Browning issued the restraining order thirty minutes ago, the police are on the way to your ex's home to hand over the restraining orders and to pick up the children. You are not, I repeat, you are not to be anywhere near your ex's house, is that understood?"

Samuel shook his head, he wanted to be there for his daughter, but Bonita was right. "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand."

Samuel sat in his booth watching the audio systems, praying that his children would be safe. He was worried to the point of being nauseous. It was not an easy thing for him to let other people do what was needed, but this way, if his ex was involved, he would not be implicated.

Samuel's shift ended, the evening guy, Parker, walked past him into the audio room and Samuel shuffled out of the building. He had just entered his fifteen year old rust bucket of a car when his phone rang again. He answered it on the second ring, Bonita was calling again.

"Sam, I need you to go to the courthouse. Police officers are bringing Danny and Allie there, your ex and the boyfriend were just arrested. Your wife refused to obey the court order, ran back into the house without closing the door, and the police followed her up the stairs, where they discovered the boyfriend stripping your little girl. It gets worse, though, your ex was screaming for him to "fuck the little cunt good!"

"Oh, my God!" Sam yelled, "So they got there in time, he hadn't done anything beyond stripping my little angel?"

"That's right, Sam," Bonita whispered. "Just be glad they weren't any slower. Both are facing charges including attempted sexual assault."

"Thank you for listening to me earlier today, Bonita," Samuel responded. "I'm on my way."

Sam listened to the angel and by not interfering in what took place, was about to be reunited with his children after seven lonely years. He wasn't happy it had come to this, but he would do everything he could to give Daniel and Alison a stable, loving home from this day forward.

Alaric Stephens was riding his Harley Davidson 2009 model year Fatboy, having just entered the town of Silverhill, Texas and decided to pull into a restaurant and bar that reminded him somewhat of an old English pub with its heavy wooden beams and part wood, part stone walls.

He was a big, sturdy, muscular man, standing 6'2" in stocking feet, weighing about 205 pounds, with a medium brown crewcut. He was clad in a pair of heavy leather pants, a 3XL t-shirt with a picture of a Harley Davidson Fatboy on it, a zipped up worn leather jacket and combat boots.

The only part of the building that didn't match that iconic pub image was the 30 foot wide, six foot high plexiglass window across the front.

He found a seat next to the big window and glanced out for a moment at his bike sitting a short distance from the front entrance. He hadn't been in there for more than two minutes when a pleasant looking woman about 40 or so stepped up, asking "What would you like today, sir?"

He thought for a moment, then replied, saying, "A 12 oz. New York style steak, rare, a large baked potato and a King Cobra beer, please."

She smiled as she wrote down his order, then turned and walked back to a door in the back wall, poked her head through it and passed on the order to the cook and a young male who was busy sweeping the floor. The young man stopped for a moment and brought her the beer.

She took the bottle, walked back to the table and set the bottle on the table, pulled a bottle opener from a pocket and removed the cap. She then walked over to the bar area, picked up a tall glass, filled it with water and brought it to the table, placing the glass in the middle of the table.

Alaric thanked her, picked up the bottle, raised it to his nose briefly to sniff the contents, then grinned and took a nice, long drink.

He was actually surprised to find this specific beer here, there were plenty of places that stuck to the more common American beers. That didn't stop him from enjoying the beer as he looked up at the 50" flat screen TV hanging at the far end of the bar counter near the kitchen.

He didn't watch the TV for long, it seemed to be showing a recap of a recent college football game that didn't appeal to him at all.

Alaric shook his head, he'd seen things in his four years of service in Iraq that made football games seem completely juvenile to him. He'd never gotten past private first class in those four years, largely because he cared more about keeping his buddies safe than following silly rules. Hell, there were several times during those four years that most of his company would have been wiped out if he or others obeyed those rules.

He had finished about 2/3 of the bottle by the time the waitress brought him his steak and potato, and he thanked her again.

He cut a small piece of the steak, caught it on his fork, then brought it up, taking that first bite. Would it be done right or not?

He chewed on it for a moment, then grinned and turned, giving a thumbs up to the waitress next to the bar, the steak was perfect!

He turned back to his meal, settling down to enjoy it, it had been a long time, over four years, since he had last tasted a good steak. He was smiling as he continued to eat the steak and the potato, which had also been done to perfection, properly cooked without being dried out.

Some people liked to have a pat of butter or margarine on their potato. He didn't, he preferred to have his au naturel. Mmmm...

He finished eating about fifteen minutes later, having finished the beer as he ate. He relaxed in the bench seat, quite contented.

The waitress noticed that he was no longer eating a few minutes later, came over and asked him if he wanted anything else.

Alaric replied that he was fine, waited to receive the bill, then paid it and left a nice tip for the waitress before he exited the restaurant.

Katerina Paulsen was exiting a large supermarket on the other side of Silverhill when someone ran up behind her and hit her with what looked to be a homemade spiked blackjack; the first hit struck her on the right side of the head, the ball on the tip of the weapon wrapping around and striking her in the eye. The attacker struck several more times, first on the head, then between the legs, before running away from her.

Kate was known to many of the folks in Silverhill as "that freak", "the damn tranny" and by many similar epithets. She had come out three years ago, started her transition and tried to cope with the harassment that came her way from coworkers and many others in the small town.

It was at this point that a stranger stood over the fallen girl, he appeared to be a tall, weatherworn individual of indeterminate age. What was truly odd is that Bob Andrews, one of the town's two unofficial firefighters, was exiting the market and walked away without seeing the person.

The odd individual continued to stand over the badly hurt girl, he seemed to be waiting for someone or something, perhaps guarding her?

Alaric spent a few minutes checking the items in his hard case saddlebags on the back end of the Fatboy. There was a medical kit he had bought three days after his army service had ended, he had been trained as an auxiliary medic while in his second two year tour in Iraq.

During his last year, he had spent as much time patching members of his company up as he had out in the field fighting in various battles.

Everything seemed to be where it belonged, one last quick glance caused him to decide to pick up some bottled water for the trip.

Perhaps fate was intervening, who would know? He pulled out, then drove for a few minutes before he reached the supermarket.

He parked the bike near the entrance and was about to enter when the coppery scent of fresh blood drifted to him on the late fall breeze.

"Blood?" he muttered, "Why would I be smelling blood here?" He quickly scanned the lot, then noticed the fallen girl and the strange man over her. "Oh, shit!" he swore as he opened the saddlebag with his medical kit, pulled it out and raced across the parking lot to the fallen girl.

He dropped to the ground beside her, opened the kit, then spent a moment doing a quick examination of the girl. Some jerk had used a weapon to hurt her, the eye was smashed, hanging from the inner corner of the socket, the skin over it half-shredded. Gods, it was a nasty mess.

That was only part of it, though, his examination soon found the other area that had been injured. Whoever had done this deserved to have his balls and johnson cut off and stuffed down his throat! This young person was just trying to live her own life, intending no harm to others.

While he was checking her for any other injuries, he found a gorgeous tattoo above her left breast, an intertwining bunch of bright red roses.

He started pulling items from the kit and swiftly tended to her wounds, then reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a cell phone. He quickly dialled 911, then reported that he had just provided initial medical attention to a person who needed further hospital care immediately.

The operator assured him that an ambulance was on its way, although it would take some time as it would be coming from Waco.

He thanked the operator, assuring her that he would continue to monitor the girl until the ambulance arrived.

He ended the call, then looked up at the strange one now standing by the girl's feet. "And what brings an angel to this place, pray tell?"

The angel turned his head and looked down at Alaric, saying, "She needed me to guard her from further harm until you could get here."

"You're an angel, could you not have stopped whoever did this to her? Why let it happen, dammit?" Alaric screamed at the angel.

"Because what she needed even more than me was a man like you, Alaric, a man that respects one and all and tries to treat everyone as fairly as you can. She needs a man who can be a protector and a friend, one that will keep her safe from those who would do her further harm. As for the person that did this, he wasn't too bright. He jumped on a cheap motorcycle and raced onto the highway right into the path of a semi."

Alaric sighed, shaking his head. "I'll bet that truck's driver is wishing that he stayed home today. I assume he is okay, if a bit shocked?"

"That is a rather accurate description of the truck driver's current emotional state, yes. He wasn't physically harmed at all."

"She'll get her wish, I suppose," Alaric opined, "There isn't any way to save the eye or her genitals, the bastard made sure of that."

"True," the angel agreed, "But now she will have you to stand with her, she'll recover and she'll thrive under your capable care, Alaric."

"Huh," Alaric grunted, "I've made sure that she'll make it to the hospital in Waco, we'll see what happens once she is being treated."

"Guard her well, Alaric, and help her to heal. You were always happier when your mates were up and going again, thanks to your help."

With that, the angel vanished as the sound of a rapidly approaching ambulance, siren blaring, lights flashing, approached the supermarket. The tires of the ambulance squealed as it spun into the supermarket's parking lot, then screeched to a halt beside the kneeling Alaric.

He stood aside as the paramedics checked Kate, then passed on what he had found injury wise to the two men.

One of the paramedics pulled a stretcher from the ambulance. They carefully lifted Kate onto it, strapped her down before covering her with a blanket and loaded her into the Ambulance. The paramedics informed Alaric as to where they would be taking Kate, then they were gone.

Alaric quickly placed the remainder of the items he had needed back into his medical kit and walked over to his Fatboy. He leaned down, carefully dropped the medical kit into its customary place in the saddlebag, then closed it, climbed on and drove away.

It wasn't until he was halfway to Waco that he realized he had not bought the bottled water he had intended to get at the supermarket.

The afternoon had slowly faded into evening as Alaric sat near Kate in a recovery room at Central Texas Urgent Care in Waco, Texas.

The operations had resulted in the removal of the eye and the sewing of the tattered skin over the empty socket, as well as the removal of Kate's penis and testicles, which had been crushed by the blackjack; there had been enough intact skin to perform an emergency SRS.

Kate finally woke up, the time was 11:40 PM. She knew immediately that she was in a hospital, the scent was unmistakeable.

What surprised her, no, shocked her, was that a big, very muscular man was sitting in a chair not far from the bed.

"Hello," she whispered, then repeated it in a stronger voice, "Hello. Why are you here?"

Alaric slowly raised his head and looked at her, then sighed. "I found you a few minutes after you were attacked. I had training in the army as an auxiliary medic, so I checked you and gave you what treatment I could until the paramedics arrived to bring you here."

Kate smiled briefly, noticing that the pain was only a dull ache. She supposed that they had given her morphine or something similar to have her feel so little of the pain that she had felt when the attack happened. "So where am I and what has been going on since the attack?"

"Well, the idiot who attacked you wasn't paying attention when he ran off, he drove his 350cc motorcycle into the front end of a semi. As for you, the bastard did a number on you. You lost your right eye, and the damage to your genitals required that you undergo emergency SRS."

"You mean...?" Kate whispered, the shock quite apparent. She was far too poor to be able to afford SRS on her modest income.

Alaric nodded. "I imagine that, once the packing comes out in a few days, you're going to have to adjust to your new status."

"I know what I will have to do at that point, yes," Kate agreed. "But that still doesn't tell me while you are here."

"Do you believe in angels at all?"Alaric asked.

Kate nodded, and Alaric continued speaking, "When I found you, there was an angel standing over you, keeping you safe from anyone and everyone else until I could provide basic immediate medical attention to you that would allow you to reach here while still alive.

"That angel told me that I was to stay by you from now on, to protect you and to be your friend if you wish," Alaric muttered.

"You would do that for someone you don't know? What makes me so special, worthy of such attention from you?" Kate enquired of him.

"You're a person, deserving of love, kindness and respect like any other. I have no ties to anywhere, so I'm free to do what I want."

"Even if that means being with me, someone who will be visibly scarred for the rest of my life because of that bastard?" Kate asked him.

"Even then, from now until the day I die, I'll be there for you, that is if you want me to be with you?"

"A man who will love me, be kind to me, respect me and protect me from assholes like the one who did this to me? Mister, I don't even know your name yet, but in just this short talk, you've treated me better than the folks of that damn town ever have. Hell, yes, I'll have you!"

Alaric was a Good Samaritan, there in Kate's time of need, someone who looked beyond the surface and saw the true person within.

Kate was a person who had been sorely wronged by others for no better reason than that she didn't fit in with their bigoted ways.

Now Alaric and Kate would have each other to lean on, each of them giving love, respect and kindness to the other one when needed.

Lucinda Rebecca Adams was out riding her old gelding Comanche King, she had needed to do a tour of the back of the ranch for some time now. The ranch was pretty big, just over 105,000 acres total, located in northern Texas not too far from the Texas - Oklahoma state line.

The ranch was home to over nine thousand longhorn cattle, most of them roaming where they willed across the ranch's broad expanse. There were over a dozen small to medium sized creeks on the ranch's land, so the cattle had plenty of places to go if they needed water.

Lucy was approaching the one place on the land she disliked more than any other, some folks said The Fickle Fall was a cursed slope. How else could the accidents that occurred there be explained, like a horse slipping, breaking both front legs and throwing its rider, who broke his leg?

Lucy sighed, then shrugged and dismounted from Comanche King, lightly grasping his reins as she walked toward the top of the slope. It wasn't a particularly high hill, perhaps 30 feet above the land at its base, but the whole slope was shattered shale rock, mixed scree and talus.

She began to lead the gelding down the slope, slowly picking her way in somewhat of a zigzag pattern.

Everything was fine until she reached the halfway point, then fate turned on her and a large piece of loose shale slipped under her left foot.

As soon as her foot began to slide out from underneath her, Lucy dropped the horse's reins, she didn't want to have the gelding be hurt as well.

It only took a second or two for her back to slam against the slope, then a whole bunch of pieces, large and small, started to shift under her. From that point on, she had no control over the slide down the slope, which ended in her right foot slamming into the trunk of the lone pine tree at the base of the slope, a pine tree that had been growing there since before her family claimed the land and built the initial ranch house.

How long had they lived here? Well, the earliest record for the ranch, an old diary, stated her ancestors had arrived in the late summer of 1831.

She clearly heard one or more of the bones in her foot shatter when she hit the tree, she screamed long and loud, but no one heard her. It wasn't the only injury from the fall and slide down the slope, she had broken at least one of the bones in her left forearm and scraped it badly.

Comanche King, her sturdy old roan gelding, stood a few feet away from her. The lucky git had escaped unscathed, just her luck!

With a broken foot plus a broken arm, she knew she wouldn't be able to reach the saddlebags which contained two large water bottles and other odds and ends that she might need while wandering around the ranch. She growled under her breath, then snarled several curse words in at least three different languages, English, Spanish and Polish. The Polish ones she had learned from two of the ranch hands many years ago.

She laid there, near that hoary old pine, staring up at the cloudless blue sky of high summer afternoon. It was already as hot as hell here, or it felt like it to her, especially with the thought that she wouldn't be able to stay hydrated even with Comanche King standing right there.

Then her world flipped over again, a large shadow fell across her, one that was on the side opposite to where Comanche King was standing.

A quick glance to her right, and she shook her head in shock, she had to be hallucinating, she had to be! That was an ANGEL standing there!

Well, it sure looked like angels were described to be in the Bible, tall, sturdy, strong but fierce. This one stood protectively over her!

Then the angel surprised her, walking around her and over to the horse, where he pulled a full water bottle from the nearest saddlebag. The angel brought the water to her, bending down so she could take it from his hand, then watched as she took a short drink from the bottle.

She stared up at him, bottle in hand, completely stunned. This angel was helping her, she knew no one else was close enough to assist her.

The angel smiled at her, then in a voice that seemed soft yet vibrant, spoke to her, "The ranch needs you, Lucy. Another comes to help."

Lucy shook her head, what in the world did he mean by another comes to help? She was several miles away from the ranch house, alone!

That was when she was shocked yet again, for out from behind that hoary old pine loped a coyote, old and grey, but still spry.

The coyote sat near her feet, looked into her eyes for a moment, then nodded in a rather human way and yipped at Comanche King. The gelding was startled when the coyote appeared, but settled down a bit when it was clear it wouldn't harm Lucy.

Then the coyote yipped, and even though he was a horse, he understood what the coyote said, "Run to the ranch, bring back help for her!"

Comanche King nickered, nodded to the old coyote, then trotted up the slope and broke into a gallop in the direction of the ranch house.

Lucy was reminded of the six impossible things before breakfast from Alice Through The Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. How could any of this be happening? An angel appearing from nowhere, a coyote that also appears from nowhere and talks with her horse, sending him home?

Lucy looked up at the angel again, the angel had straightened up and had moved back to her right side, where he stood and spread his wings wide to protect her as much as possible from the sun. The wings were white, but she could see glints of other colours in various parts of the wing, a bit of pale blue here, some blue-green like running water there, gold like the bright sun in that spot, pink and rose and gold in another.

The wings were beautiful, no, beautiful wasn't sufficient to describe them; they were utterly gorgeous, yet they suited the angel perfectly.

From time to time, Lucy would sip from the bottle, then look at the angel, then at the coyote lying near her feet. It was a strange world today.

The angel's wings kept drawing her attention, she had never seen anything like them, not even the wings of eagles were that beautiful!

She supposed that she must have been lying there for about an hour when she heard the rumbling of an engine in the distance. Moments later, an old pickup truck came around the far end of the slope, then approached the pine tree, stopping about fifteen feet away.

Old George Carter and his son Peter were in the truck. They jumped out, Peter reaching into the back, then the two walked over to her. It was soon quite obvious as to why Peter had reached into the bed of the truck, he had grabbed the makings of splints and two ace bandages.

The next few minutes passed as Peter and George carefully splinted and wrapped her foot and her forearm, then the two men picked her up and carried her over to the back of the pickup truck. George held her off the hard, dusty ground as Peter opened the tailgate; the two men gently placed her in the bed of the truck, where she could lie on a pile of blankets, using one as a pillow for her head.

While the two men were binding her injuries, the angel that had been keeping her safe from the harsh sun vanished, as did the coyote.

The trip back to the ranch house took perhaps fifteen minutes, Peter was on a cell phone reporting the injuries to the nearest hospital. After a brief stop at the ranch house to let some of the hands know that Lucy would be all right, they continued driving, headed for the hospital.

The hospital was quiet, not much happening in there at the time, so it didn't take long for the injuries to be assessed and properly treated.

Lucy would recover, she would be using a wheelchair for the next six weeks, but she was still alive, thanks to an angel and an old coyote.