Her eyes follow his movements, and there is a curiosity in the glance she casts the package he sets on the table, but beyond that she doesn't have much reaction to it. Or the way he coasts into the room like he belongs there. By her own measure, he does, as much as anyone else that has come to see her.

You don't scream a prayer to an Angel and then say he can't come see you in recovery. That's blasphemy.

"As well as I can," she says with a slight nod. "Whatever that awful concoction was seems to be working. I don't... feel... the way I felt back there." She's a long way from recovered, but the immediate effects of the cure have been rather immediately noticeable.