"It is looking better already," he said as she slipped on the shirt. It almost made a dress on her. It didn't make her any less beautiful. "Good. It will not take long to heal, but you are welcome to stay."

"I do. Because of what we are." The kettle started to whistle and he turned down the stove beneath it. He made cups of tea and set them on a tray with milk and sugar, and slices of fresh lemon, she could choose what she wanted to put in her own tea. He brought it to the low table by the couch. "I am Illya Kuryakin," he said, setting the tray down. "I'm afraid I have no cookies to go with it. I have not driven into town to get groceries yet."