Leo loves watching her fight. Loves it. She's skilled and confident. Her movements flow. She takes her sharp edges and dances across the battlefield. He's smitten and she's beautiful. She's an excellent shot, skilled with a sword, fast and brave and fierce and loyal. Agile, both on the ground, with her wings tucked close to minimize damage, or in the sky, wings unfurled proudly as she evades her opponents. Calm and in control, she leads her team and watches over them. She controls the sky and he understands what she means when she said ballet helped her fly.
Leo hates watching her fight so much it hurts. It makes him remember the time they huddled for warmth in a cave in a snowstorm, and she confessed she wasn't sure if help was on the way. He remembers sharing her hospital bed, quietly whispering and she admitted she was tired of fighting. He recalls trying to stem the flow of blood from a gunshot wound and she said she was afraid of dying. Leo has yet to see her pick up a weapon she couldn't use, but he knows it's because she saw her first real fight at age 14. She's always been a child soldier and Leo despises that. Eden will never know her like Leo does. Every injury, scar, allergy and trigger is in her medical records, but it's not the same. Leo knows every injury (not just the ones he's treated). He knows the way her scars feel under his fingertips, and the way her freckles will form constellations. Pictures will never capture her crooked nose, her laugh, or the way she commands attention when she walks in a room. Leo knows the fears and dreams and nightmares of his Guardian Angel more than Eden ever can. Eden will never treasure and appreciate her as he does. To Eden, she will always be a soldier, replaceable, despite her rank and talent and skill set. To Leo, she's a person.