For a moment, Meg just stood there, looking at the floor. How did he do that? How did he just say things like that? More importantly, why did he say things like that? Oh sure, she'd asked him the question, but who in their right mind would just lay themselves open like that? She knew what angels were like. She knew their limited capacity for emotional connections. They were even worse than demons in a lot of ways. More importantly, though, she knew him. And she knew that when he said that he cared about her, he meant it. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that? When she finally looked him, she could not control her face. There was anger there. And more than a little fear. She could be "good" if that's what it meant to be close to him. He was important enough to her that she could make those choices, fly in the face of her very nature, just to stay on the same side of the battle as him. But she wouldn't name her motivations. She couldn't. Demon, human, fucking corpse, it didn't matter. She was who she was, and that was not a girl who wore her emotions on her sleeve.
He was her opposite in every way. When he made mistakes, they plagued him. She could see it. But she never felt that way. The only mistakes she felt she'd made had been trusting the wrong people, but that had been a side effect of being on the "good" side of things. Surely that underscored the fact that she didn't really belong there. But he cared about her. He actually cared about her. In spite of everything that she was, everything she'd ever done that had caused his kind to hunt hers, he cared about her. She tried to speak, to form words of disdain or to find some way to turn the situation into a joke, but for a long time, nothing came out of her mouth. Finally, in a strangled voice she barely recognized as her own, she managed one word.