Title: Breathe Me
Summary: Morgan Valance doesn't want anyone to see her cry. But someone does.
Warnings: References of child abuse (Not too bad, but I prefer to be on the safe side for all you overly-sensitives types who go to cries-babys house for vacation).
Disclaimer: I don't own Vincent Nigel-Murray, or the song (Breathe Me by Sia) But I do own the plot and Morgan Valance.

Nine Year old Morgan Valance was sitting on a walkway in an English park as the rain poured around her. The cold droplets mingled and multiplied her own hot tears, which flowed fast and free from her large, usually curious blue eyes. Although they were not curious now. They were scared, and sad, and alone. A perfect reflection of her soul, if one believed in such things. Morgan had long given up on any sort of God saving her from her pain and suffering.

Help, I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself again today. And the worst part is, there's no one else to blame.

She looked down at her arms, thin and bare, and covered with long, red gashes. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but polishing the silver cutlery was long tedious work. She would have gladly accepted the work over the alternative she had received – stabbed and slashed with the knives and forks by her foster 'parents' and thrown into the cold. It was all her fault.

Morgan heard footsteps approaching her, and she crawled off the sidewalk and into a bush to hide from whoever it was. She hugged her knees to her thin, empty chest. Her hands were purple from the biting frost, but her face was almost white, and her lips blue. She wore only a thin cotton shirt (soaked to the skin by now) and a pair of denim shorts. They were her only clothes. She dared not dream for any others.

Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me. I am small, and needy. Warm me up. And breathe me.

The person bent down to look through the shrubbery, and saw her frightened eyes. She could see theirs – pale blue like her own, laced with concern. They were young, and framed with jet black hair. "Do you need help?" The person asked. A boy, a little older than herself. Morgan tried to shrink further into the bushes.

They boy held out his hand. "I promise I won't hurt you." He whispered gently. Morgan had never known such kindness in a human being. She took his hand gingerly, and he helped her out so she was sitting on the grass of the empty English park. The rain was still pouring, but he seemed not to notice. "Did someone do that to you?" He asked. Morgan said nothing. She was hurt when she spoke. She didn't know how to react to this stranger.

Ouch, I have lost myself again. Lost myself, and I am nowhere to be found. Yet, I think that I might break. I've lost myself gain and I feel unsafe.

"My name is Vincent Nigel-Murray, and I am eleven years old." He murmured as he gently took one of Morgan's arms and examined the cuts. Morgan hesitated for a long time before speaking. "I… am M-Morgan Valance, I a-am nine years old." She whispered. But Vincent heard her. He held out his hand and looked at her with a calm expression. Morgan slowly gave him her other arm. He looked at them both, and deducted that the left arm was more badly damaged.

He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts, and tied it gently around her forearm. He looked at her face, where there was a single gash directly above her right eyebrow. He carefully wiped away the blood with the white sleeve of his shirt. Morgan was staring at him with wide eyes. How was it that he did not want to hurt her? Was this the god she had read about books – the merciful being that sent angels like Vincent to save the little children who suffered?

Morgan lunged forward and threw her arms around Vincent's torso. She didn't want to let him go. He could stop the hurt. She choked back a sob – she shouldn't cry in front of an angel. "Please be my friend." She whispered to him. He loosely returned the embrace. "Yes." He murmured into her ear.

Be my friend, hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me. I am small, and needy. Warm me up, and breathe me.

Morgan Valance was nineteen when she stood before the white casket holding her angel. A little way away, of course, hiding near the same bush that he had found her in when she was nine years old. But she watched as they lowered him into the ground, and took out the handkerchief he had given her. How kind of him to give her one of his wings to dry her tears. As she left the English park, she did so stony faced.

She changed her mind about the merciful god that sent angels like Vincent to save suffering children. Such a god would not have allowed Vincent to die the way he did. On foreign lands, with metal in his heart. Far away from where she could have given on of her wings to save him. Such a god would have saved her angel. Her Vincent.

Breathe me.

If you enjoyed this Fic, feel free to request your own! Any song, any characters (even originals of your own), just drop me a line. Boy, I would love it if someone gave me an lllustration to this fic...
Lots of love, Rattie!