Notes and thanks are due! First, a big thank you to Harukami, who betaed this, not to mention researched everything. You would not believe how long I pestered her with, "Wait, where are the trenches in the changing room of the Baths, again?" Another thank you is due to Mara'sem, who introduced me to beverages of varying colors. And last, but not least, I got this idea during a pharmaceutics exam, which only proves that inspiration can strike anytime, any place. Haru will never let me live it down.
What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.
--Theodore Roethke, "The Reckoning"
The Metatron sat on the windowsill of one great arched opening in the Tower. The marble was cool under his bare feet, and the wind ruffled the silk of his trousers.
There were no birds up here. Occasionally, he felt a pang of regret and wistful memory for his ages-ago flight with the brightly plumed avians of Earth. Sometimes he imagined them perched on the sill, green and yellow and ruby colored feathers, and dredged the sweet songs from his memory. Sometimes, if he asked, Most Holy would give him a clearer memory of what such and such a thing was like.
It was terrible to have to ask, though.
He traced the stone with one finger, feeling the immutable smoothness. He was older than the Tower itself, a fact which sometimes escaped notice. He and the Tower hadn't really been there forever. Just him.
Uriel had left this morning. Not a remarkable event, not in the slightest. But what had been unusual was the note on the pillow, a hastily scribbled, succinct missive. 'Going to Earth. U.' No reason, no agenda, no nothing. At least, the Metatron reflected, Uriel had given him notice, as opposed to taking off without any word at all. Slight progress, that.
After reading the note, he had flopped back down onto his pillows with a huge sigh. And then he was a little surprised by the feeling that simmered inside. There was loneliness, yes, all-consuming, ever-present loneliness. Standard fear that Uriel wouldn't come back this time. Normal, mild irritation at the brevity of the note. But this feeling welled up from where it was safely buried, and suddenly he had been hardly able to breathe.
He was bitterly jealous.
Because they could leave. Everyone else could leave. They could go on a Renaissance like Raphael and many others had done before him, living among humans as a human. They could wander about Earth, intangible, going where they wished and doing as they wished. They could walk among humans with none of the mortals being any the wiser, taking in the delights of Most Holy's creation undisturbed.
But the Voice had to remain. Unchanging, untouching. He had turned over into his pillow, the silent tears soaking the fabric beneath.
He was so lonely.
Abruptly he slid off the windowsill and crossed the room to his desk. He picked up the phone and punched the speed-dial for the Administrator. Two rings, exactly. Then he heard a curt, "Gabriel."
The Metatron twirled a finger in his hair for a moment, trying to decided how to broach the subject. "Is everything okay?"
An impatient huff. "Of course everything's okay. Did you just call me to ask questions you already know the answers to?"
The Voice narrowed his eyes and ignored the Administrator's last statement. "If everything's okay, then you won't mind me leaving the Tower for awhile," he cooed into the phone, certain he could just hear Gabriel's fists clenching if he listened hard.
"Shopping on company time again, Metatron?" Gabriel asked, his tone more than a bit snippy.
The Metatron smiled slowly, an action that would have made the Administrator pale were he to have seen it. "Not at all. I'm just going for a bit of a walk. On Earth."
Gabriel swore viciously. "You are NOT," he spat. "Don't tell me you have a Proclamation, or I'll personally march up those stairs and turn you over my knee."
"Kinky," the Metatron purred. "Didn't know you had it in you, Gabby darling. But no. I'm going for my own personal amusement."
"Amuse yourself here, Metatron. There's no need for you to go to Earth. Why the hell do you want to go all of a sudden? You haven't been there in almost - " a quick pause, "fifty centuries."
The Metatron felt his patience slipping out of his hands like wet satin. "Don't you think that's a little long, dearest?"
A pause on the other end.
The Metatron could feel something tightening inside, like a clamp on an old wound. "And don't you think that's a little hypocritical, uncle? Or is that, father?" He could hear Gabriel's sharp intake of breath, and pressed his advantage. "You said it yourself. Everything's fine. I've got a rather terminal case of cabin fever, and if I don't get out, NOW, I will not be responsible for the condition of the Tower."
A longer silence. Then, a slow exhale. "Take your cell phone. Stay intangible. And be back soon, understand? I don't like this, Metatron. I don't like it at all. But..."
"But?" the Voice prompted softly.
"You're right. Fifty centuries is a long time," Gabriel said, his tone both grudging and understanding. "Don't get into any trouble, and for Most Holy's sake, don't talk to any of the humans."
The Metatron resented being talked to as if he were a child on his first day of school. "And why not?" he asked, annoyed.
Gabriel's tone was insufferably smug. "They'd inevitably conclude that the Voice of God is a flaming queen."
He seethed, on the verge of a wordless screech. "Then it would do wonders for homosexual rights, now wouldn't it?!" He slammed down the receiver.
Flaming queen, indeed. The Metatron could be discreet.
Maybe.
"No, no, no. You twit. It's near the end of winter in Bath. It's going to be cold and damp and you'll be miserable. Why you want to go there anyway escapes me." Sandalphon dug through one of the Metatron's armoires and emerged with a pair of trousers. "You can't go wearing silk. You need something practical."
The Metatron stared in horror. Surely not! "Wool, Sandy?" he whined pathetically. "It's all...scratchy."
His twin rolled his eyes. "It's warm, and that's what matters."
"It's ugly," the Metatron objected. "I don't look good in brown."
Sandalphon sniffed disdainfully. "Who will see you, anyway? Cassiel? The boy's so wrapped up in his research that he'll hardly spare a glance for anything else, I can assure you."
The Metatron picked at his tunic, his eyes downcast. "I'm sort of hoping to run into someone while I'm there."
When he looked up again, he could see that Sandalphon, his eyes shrewd, had already divined the truth. His twin turned back to another armoire. "Let's see if we can't find something slightly more attractive. Warm, though. And you need good, comfortable boots if you're going to be tramping about an archaeological dig." A pair of black leather boots sailed out over Sandalphon's shoulder and hit the floor with a thunk. "Those will do."
The Metatron picked them up, running his fingers over the supple leather, and then sat back down and let his twin take care of him. Sandalphon was very good at that. After all, he'd been practicing since...well, forever.
He released his Key and the first thing that hit him was the cold.
It was clear, crisp sort of cold, and he drew in lungfuls that almost burned with the intense sensation. After a few moments, he centered himself and looked forward. It always amazed him when the other angels told him about the things that humans built. So imaginative! And the Metatron could definitely appreciate any structure that had once been a wonderful bath. Even though it looked a little lonely now and uncared for, compared to the modern structures that surrounded it.
And so he followed the tourists inside off the terrace, and his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. They had entered the changing room when the Metatron noticed the top arches of wings in the trenches below.
He peered down and recognized the Angel of Tears, dressed in drab clothing and intent on some section of the wall. "Yoohoo," the Metatron called.
Cassiel's head snapped up and his eyes widened. "My Lord Metatron?"
The awe was stifling. "The same!" the Metatron caroled cheerfully. He held up a picnic basket. "Have you eaten yet?"
Cassiel's brow furrowed, and the Metatron could see that the poor boy was trying to remember when he'd last eaten. "If you can't remember, it's been too long," the Metatron told him, speaking sweetly so as to soften the admonishment.
The boy looked down at his dusty and dirty clothing, his lips pursing in apparent dissatisfaction. "I'm scarcely in a condition to take tea with you, my Lord Metatron."
The Voice smiled again. "I'm wearing Sandy's clothes, you know. It amounts to the same thing. So why don't we go wash up a bit and then see what Ardouisur packed for us?"
Cassiel's lips curved with a shy, subdued smile. "Alright."
"Old habits die hard, I suppose," Cassiel said in his customary near-whisper. "When we were in school, his hair was still in braids."
The Metatron racked his brain for an image of Uriel's forelocks done in warrior braids. "I think I remember it done that way at your graduation ceremony. It looked nice, as I recall."
Cassiel looked perturbed at the sentiment. "It wasn't a matter of fashion," he said, deadly serious. "But you knew that," the Angel of Tears added with utter certainty.
Well, no, he didn't know. The Metatron could ask Most Holy, but this presumed that the Deity would answer. "No," the Voice said slowly, a sinking feeling settling in. "I don't know anything about Uriel's past."
Cassiel looked up from his plate, eyes arched, as if he couldn't comprehend such a thing. "You are as close to Uriel now as Min...as anyone has ever been, and you've never asked?" Suddenly realizing what he had said, the angel added a quick, "My lord."
Panic was now setting in. He was such an idiot. These new angels, they had mortal pasts and....bother. "You don't understand," the Metatron said, feeling quite wretched and all-around foolish. "I don't...get out much. And I'm just not used to talking with angels like you," he said, closing his eyes. "Gabriel, Raphael...we were all here in the Beginning. Uriel's never volunteered the information, and frankly, I didn't think to ask."
"Ah," Cassiel breathed, comprehension flooding his eyes. He settled back into his chair, adjusting his wings into a more comfortable position. "I think I can fill you in a bit. It's not privileged information...but Uriel doesn't bring it up."
The Metatron leaned forward, focusing close on the soft words of the Angel of Tears.
"In life, Uriel belonged to a tribe called the Getae, or the Dacians, as the Romans called them. They were fierce warriors, frequently embroiled in very bloody wars. The Getae were a Thracian tribe, from what today is called the Austro-Hungarian region. The Romans called them barbarians." Another trademark, miniscule smile touched Cassiel's face.
The Metatron frowned. "Uriel's not a barbarian."
A small laugh actually escaped from Cassiel. "You ought to ask him about the times when they slaughtered the pack animals and drank their blood because there was no pure water available."
The Metatron's eyebrows flew up in shock. "Ew."
Cassiel raised a knowing eyebrow. "That was the Romans' opinion, too. The Getae had a patriarchal society, and their values system was something of a cross between that of the Celts and Vikings." Cassiel seemed to be thinking about something. "Well, except for their attitudes towards sex, which were more similar to the Greeks." He met the Metatron's eyes. "You are familiar with these peoples, aren't you?"
The Metatron nodded absently. "I do actually read the reports, you know. Though the last time I was down on Earth, I was visiting... let me see...the court of Cheops."
Cassiel looked envious. "Fourth dynasty?"
He nodded again. "Belial kept going on and on about the big Pyramid thingy. I wanted to have a look for myself. I ended up staying for a year or so. Gabriel was a little less uptight in those days, you understand." He thought for a moment. "I still have my journal of my time there, if you'd like to see it."
Cassiel's eyes lit up. "I'd be most grateful," he said, his natural quiet barely managing to restrain his excitement.
The Metatron waved such petty notions as gratitude aside. "Pish. You were saying?"
Cassiel paused and almost visibly recollected his thoughts. "Mm. Yes. The Getae, you see, believed that they were immortal and could not die. So you can probably imagine Uriel's surprise upon awaking to find a halo over his head."
"How?" The barely breathed syllable was out of the Metatron's mouth before he could stop it.
Suddenly the Angel of Tears looked quite uncomfortable.
And the Metatron knew he had to know. Because there was something crucial here, he just knew it. Something that might explain why Uriel was the way he was, why he did the things he did. He learned over the table and placed one hand on top of the other angel's. "Please. I have to know, Cassiel. I'm not asking you as the Voice of Most Holy. I'm asking you as Koe, Uriel's lover. Please."
Cassiel bit his lower lip with indecision. "He wouldn't have chosen to tell you this. But..." The intense depths of Cassiel's eyes bore into the Metatron's own. "If I may say so, my lord, you may be the only thing left for him. The Gates incident - " Cassiel was clearly referring to Miniel's possession of Uriel - "It hurt him more than he lets on, and I'm afraid when he sees me now, all he can see is Miniel's betrayal. And that was three betrayals too many."
The Metatron laced his fingers through Cassiel's. "Tell me. I beg of you," he pleaded, desperate to know what had happened to his love in his last moments on this Earth.
Cassiel tightened his grip on the Metatron's hand and took a deep breath. "There was a battle. Not unusual for the Getae. And Uriel's father was the Clan-Chieftan. During this battle, Uriel was fighting alongside his shieldmate."
"Shieldmate?" the Voice questioned softly, not wanting to interrupt but needing to understand.
"Lover. A warrior to guard your back." Cassiel's eyes rose to meet his, and the brown depths seemed liquid. Abruptly the Metatron realized that Cassiel was weeping. He scooted around the table, and gently brushed the tears from the boy's cheeks. The tears kept coming, though, so the Metatron wrapped the angel in an embrace, letting the inevitable tears dampen the grey wool on his shoulder. Quiet words sounded impossibly loud in the Metatron's ear. "But his shieldmate turned away. Ran. And Uriel, unprotected, was slashed in the back. The wounds of a deserter, for one who had deserved them not at all. And his father, finding his son dying on the battlefield with those horrible wounds, called him a traitor and shore the back of his head, to prove that the Clan-Chieftan would tolerate no cowardice, not even from his own son."
The Metatron found he was crying as well. Then, lifting his eyes from Cassiel's shoulder, he felt his heart stop.
There was a very distinctive set of angry blue eyes burning into his soul, and Uriel looked supremely pissed off.
Whatever Uriel had been expecting as he rounded the corner and approached the Roman Baths, it wasn't his lover and his best friend, crying on each other's shoulders. And as he approached, he could hear Cassiel divulging the most personal, most private, most humiliating moment of his entire existence. Something he wanted to forget, forget, forget, and here Cassiel was, spilling out the story of Uriel's death.
And as Koe's eyes rose and took his presence in, he read the guilt there. Abruptly, Koe disengaged himself from Cassiel's embrace and stood in front of Cassiel. Was Koe protecting him?!
"Uriel," Koe began placatingly, but Uriel cut him off.
"We're not doing this here," he said roughly, grabbing Koe by the wrist, ignoring the grey-eyed angel's squeak of pain. He threw a contemptuous glance over his shoulder at Cassiel. "You and I will talk about this later," he hissed, his teeth clenched. He proceeded to walk quickly, and when Koe stumbled, trying to pull back, Uriel spit out several Getic oaths and slung the slender angel over his shoulder. "Don't even think about kicking me," he warned in a flat, even voice.
Koe's body went limp and he was silent as Uriel carried him inside the Baths.
Uriel set him down once inside, and not at all gently. And then for good measure, he pinned Koe against the wall, his hands trapping those girlish wrists so easily. "Now. You are going to tell me what you were doing, prying my personal history out of my best friend. And you'd better make it good, Koe."
Koe's eyes were defiant. "You've never told me. Not in all this time." Uriel's head was just close enough that Koe could brush the fingers of his captive hands against Uriel's black hair.
Uriel jerked back as if burned. "And why should I? What business is it of yours?"
"I LOVE you, you heartless idiot! Did you think I wouldn't love you if I knew?"
Uriel growled and pushed Koe back in the wall, hard. The angel cried out with pain as his head connected with the wall. "I didn't ASK for you to love me. You're always pushing for more, more than anyone else." Uriel was aware, somehow, that he was ranting loudly, angrily. "Everyone else is happy with just sex. What is it with you? You've got to worm your way into my life, without even asking! You're an obsessive little stalker! Who in God's name do you think you are?!!"
And Koe brought up his knee and made direct contact with Uriel's groin. Hard. Uriel fell to the ground gasping.
And when he looked up, still kneeling on the ground, he saw that Koe's eyes were hard. "Who am I?" the Metatron asked, enunciated his words.
Uriel tried to take in a breath, tried to make the pain dissipate. "A possessive little bastard," he spat.
Koe seized his chin in one surprisingly firm grip and gave a humorless smile. "Try again."
He tried to pull away, but the other angel tightened his grip, painfully. "You're Koe."
"Wrong again." A sad, sad sigh. "Oh, Uriel, don't you know, after all this time?"
"Just tell me, already!" he yelled, frustrated.
Koe sank to his knees on the ground, facing Uriel. He cupped Uriel's face with his hands and leaned forward, so that their noses were almost touching. Koe's eyes were dark, dark, and somehow bright.
"I am the Metatron. I am the Voice of the Most Holy," the angel said. "I am older than Hell, older than this Earth that you lived on, and older than even the Tower in Heaven. I have served the Most Holy without regard for myself since the beginning of Time. I have done His will throughout the ages, through peace and Rebellion and death and beyond. I have always been alone, because few would dare to talk with the Angel who Hears the Most Holy. I have asked for very little in my existence, except for some hope that we win the Final Battle, and that you might find yourself able to love me."
Uriel froze, and forgot about breathing. Koe's nails tightened and threatened to break skin.
"So don't you dare take that tone with me again, child. I've been your Koe all this time, hoping you would see past it and see me. I've given you everything and the best you can manage is to spit on it and grind it beneath your feet. I saved your life, and you still don't trust me. So what's it going to take, Uriel?"
Uriel said nothing. He couldn't say anything. Not when Koe was...was this. This frightening, intense, powerful being.
Koe sighed and rose to his feet. "All this time. This isn't about your freedom, Uriel. It's about your fear." A heartbeat. "I'm beginning to wonder if you didn't deserve those wounds on your back."
And that goaded Uriel into action. He was beyond fury, again, and it was boiling in his veins so hot, so frighteningly hot. "HOW DARE YOU?" he screamed. He tackled the Metatron and they both landed on the stone floor with a painful thump, and he wrestled the Metatron beneath him, pinned once again. "You will NEVER say that to me again," Uriel said, in between deep, shuddering, furious breaths. "I don't give a FUCK if God talks to you all the time," he yelled right in Koe's face.
"And I don't give a fuck about what your father did! It has nothing to do with us, do you hear me! NOTHING!!!" Koe yelled right back. "When will you stop looking for the knife in the back? I'M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU!"
Uriel stared down into Koe's eyes, breathing hard. Koe stared right back.
Finally, "Get off me."
Uriel rolled off him, his eyes focused on the ceiling, unseeing.
He heard Koe's measured step leaving the room, his soft, "Goodbye, Uriel."
One minute, they were all sitting in the Teacher's Lounge, watching Suriel trying to teach Mikael how to salsa.
"Move your hips, Mikael," Az grumbled. "Salsa is a fluid kind of dance." He watched for a few minutes and then knocked the rest of his drink back. "No. Suri, let me have a crack at it."
Az stomped over, and Uriel watched with very nearly unrestrained glee. "Now. These are your hips." He planted his hands on Mikael's hips. "You know the pattern your feet are supposed to go in, and that's good. But you need to..."
"Shimmy?" Uriel called out throatily, and then ruined it by laughing himself silly. Thoughtful, wonderful Suriel topped off his drink.
Azrael glared briefly in Uriel's direction, to which Uriel toasted him in response, before turning his attention back to Mikael. "Pretend you're Raphael. He's all loose-limbed - looks like he doesn't have a spine, some days."
"Well, he certainly is...flexible," Uriel purred. Both Azrael and Mikael glared at him that time.
Something apparently clicked, because a few moments later, Azrael and Mikael were pretty competently doing the salsa together. Studious, so serious Mikael, Uriel noted, wasn't a bad dancer when he let go. Must be the attraction in bed, he concluded absently, filing the idea away in his head, rather mechanically.
Suriel came back from the kitchen with another cup of tea and made himself comfortable on the couch. "So, Uriel, where's Koe? We haven't seen him in what? A month?"
Uriel's glass slipped through his fingers and shattered on the ground. "Damn," he murmured. "Sorry about that. Wanna throw me a towel, Suri?"
Suriel gave him an odd look, but returned with a towel and a dustpan. Uriel mopped up the mess carefully and picked up the glass. And when he was through, he suddenly remembered an urgent appointment that was anywhere else but the Lounge.
He left three shocked and confused expressions behind him.
Cassiel was in his office, as expected. Raphael had mentioned that the Angel of Tears had returned for a few days to submit a research proposal of some sort or another, and Uriel remembered that he and his very best friend were overdue to have a little chat. Well. Actually, Uriel was looking forward to a one-sided rant, because no matter how easy-going he was, he still had some pretty strict ideas of Things You Don't Do.
One of them was, Thou Shalt Not Rat Out Thy Best Friend's Innermost Secrets to Said Best Friend's Lover.
He didn't bother to knock. You could never hear Cass say, "Come in," anyway.
All thoughts of ranting disappeared when he opened the door. Because Cassiel's head was bent over a paper, and the combination of the mussed brown hair and the image of Cassiel's lips worrying at the end of his pen did wonderful things to Uriel's insides. After all, he'd made his way through the Barracks and was starting to get a little bored with the soldier boys.
But Cassiel was different. Cassiel understood. Good friendship and good sex could, and did, go hand-in-hand, no matter what others might think. And right now, Uriel could use a lot of both.
He stalked with purpose around behind the desk and pulled out Cassiel's desk chair, smoothly seating himself in Cassiel's lap with no wasted motion. He cupped his hands around the brown-eyed angel's face and said in his most sexy purr, "Say you're sorry, Cass."
Cassiel blinked. And then, with perfect diction, he said, "I am sorry that I revealed a confidence without asking permission." Uriel frowned as he noticed that Cassiel didn't say he was sorry about what confidence in particular he had revealed. Fuck it. He could rant later. He shifted purposefully in Cassiel's lap, and then kissed the other angel with a considerable degree of expertise.
"I missed you," Uriel whispered in Cassiel's ear, taking the lobe in between his teeth and tugging on it, before laving it with his tongue. "Why'd you go and leave me all alone, anyway?"
"Alone?" Cassiel asked, with a breath that might have been a laugh. "I hear you've been alone with the entire Exotic Dancing troupe. Poor you."
"Poor me," Uriel husked, grinding himself into Cassiel's lap. "Make it up to me, darling." His fingers made short work of the buttons on Cassiel's shirt. "Why don't you stay a little longer, this time? You can come stay with me, you know...we always have such....fun...together."
"Stay with you?" Cassiel repeated.
"Yeah," Uriel breathed, undoing both his and Cassiel's trousers. "Fuck," he moaned, rubbing their erections together. "Missed you, gods! Stay over at my place, we could...all day..."
Cassiel's lips caressed his ear, and then he whispered, "No."
The word didn't penetrate the sexual fog clouding Uriel's mind for a moment. But once it did, he pulled back, dumbfounded. "No?" he asked, completely confused by the denial.
"'Stay with me'? 'All day'?" Cassiel quoted, looking Uriel straight in the eye. "Those requests aren't directed towards me. I know better."
Panic seized Uriel. "Of course they are. You're my best friend, Cass - I love you."
"I love you too," Cassiel said in a thick whisper. "But I refuse to let you use me like this."
"Use you?" Uriel repeated, bewildered. "Cass, I've never taken you against your will - you know I would never do something like that! That's not what friends do! Friends - "
"...don't use friends, dance troupes, and brigades of soldiers to try and forget their beloved." Cassiel did up his trousers. "Do they?"
"He's not my beloved!" Uriel insisted, and at the narrowing of Cassiel's eyes, cursed himself for a fool.
"He is waiting alone, whilst you seek empty solace in the arms of anyone who will have you. You are my best friend, and I do love you - enough to tell you that it's not me you want." Brown eyes flickered to the floor. "If Miniel were here, he'd say the same thing."
Uriel sat heavily on the desk, unmoving as Cassiel gathered his things and moved to the door. On his way out, the Angel of Tears said softly, "You can't run forever, Uriel. And are you sure you want to run from him in the first place?"
Uriel was fairly certain that drinking with Raphael and Azrael was a bad idea right now.
At least, he thought he remembered thinking that. About four drinks ago. "Another," he demanded of Azrael. The Angel of Death poured another shot of the hideous pink liquid. "It smells nasty," Uriel said thoughtfully, "Yet tastes like Strawberry Quick."
"Weird," Raphael and Azrael agreed in unison, before tossing their own shots back.
It also contained a fair amount of tequila, which meant that when Uriel attempted to stand up, he rather abruptly landed on his ass. He giggled a bit. "What am I doing here, anyway."
"Drinking with friends," Az said, mixing more drinks with an enviable degree of dexterity.
"Not methodically sleeping your way through the Barracks," Raphael volunteered, his cheeks flushed.
That almost seemed funny, for some reason. "And the City," he added, contemplating the latest drink that Az had pressed into his hand. It was green. Oh well.
Raphael and Azrael kept the drinks coming. Uriel was never one to back down - he liked to keep up. Besides, if you fell behind, the jokes weren't as funny. The alcohol stopped burning and Uriel was starting to feel very good.
"So what's with the marathon one-night stands?" Raphael asked sometime later. There was something strange about how clear Raphael's words were. Something odd. Uriel couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe he'd ask later.
Uriel giggled and then hiccupped. "Just sharing the love."
"You were sharing it pretty consistently with one person for awhile," Azrael said, his bass tones seeming to reverberate in Uriel's head.
Uriel waved his glass negligently. "Nothing lasts forever, does it? I'm still waiting for the dagger.."
Raphael and Azrael traded a look.
"What dagger?" Raphael asked.
Damn, the man was persistent. Uriel was starting to get annoyed. "He told me. I'm still waiting for the dagger. In the back. You know?" He looked mournfully into his empty glass, shaking it a bit, hoping for more at the bottom. "So I thought, if I'm going to wait, might as well have fun, right?" Except that suddenly it didn't seem fun anymore.
Raphael took the glass from his hand and settled beside him. "Who told you? Koe?"
At the mention of the name, Uriel closed his eyes. Just when he was starting to feel good. He let his head rest on Raphael's shoulder. "Nah. He looked like Koe, you know? But he wasn't."
"No?" Raphael asked casually. "Strange. Who was he, do you think?"
"The Metatron," Uriel said emphatically, and he felt Raphael tense. "Bastard kneed me in the balls."
Azrael snickered.
"Asshole," Uriel muttered. "It hurt like hell. And he...he told me I deserved the marks on my back."
"You don't have any marks," Raphael said, looking confused.
Uriel shook his head with some effort. "No, no, the marks. The ones I died with. Called me a..." He started to sniff, and slowly realized that tears were rolling down his cheeks. "Called me a coward."
Raphael and Azrael both exhaled at the same time. "So that's what why we haven't seen Koe around," Azrael said quietly, like it was some sort of big revelation.
Uriel grinned through his tears. "Got him back, though. Called him a whining stalker. Even though it was the Metatron, not Koe, you know? Still pissed him off, though." The smile faded from his face again, and the tears fell faster.
"Fuck," Raphael breathed.
"Nah. Did pin him down a lot, though."
Gossip, despite its unsavory status, spread like wildfire through Heaven. And Uriel, a teacher at the School, could hardly help but hear the latest.
In the month since the Baths, the Metatron had yet to leave his Tower. The Door at the top, they said, was shut and locked. Sandalphon brought up trays of food, which seemed to be consumed at regular intervals, which meant the Voice was still there, and not wasting away. Unless he was chucking the food out the window, which the Guardians denied. But thick draperies blocked the windows, and the Metatron reputedly took phone calls only from Gabriel, Raphael, and his twin.
I have always been alone.
"I don't care," Uriel told himself, shaking it off on his way to Gabriel's office.
He walked in and stopped in front of Gabriel's desk, waiting for the man to push over his schedule without looking up.
Gabriel did nothing. Uriel frowned and cleared his throat. "Yo, G-man? Schedule?"
"No schedule this month," Gabriel said curtly. "Go away, come back next month."
What the hell? What did he mean, no schedule?! There was always a schedule. Uriel wasn't looking forward to it, mind, but he wasn't going to shirk his duty just because he didn't want to be around the person involved.
"Gabriel," he said finally, "Why don't I have a schedule this month? Summonings always need to be done."
The Administrator finally looked up. "Because it will be that long before the replacement is trained."
Uriel's breath caught in his throat. "What replacement?" he demanded, his voice harsh.
Gabriel went back to his paperwork, his pen flying across the page. "The Voice is no longer available to assist you in routine Summonings, Vindicus . The replacement will be available next month. Until that time, all Summonings will be put on the wait list to be rescheduled."
Uriel stared at the Administrator, his mouth working but no words coming out.
And then he tore out of the office and ran like hell towards the Tower.
He ran into Sandalphon at the base of the Tower. "I'll take that," Uriel said firmly, lifting it out of Sandalphon's hands.
Sandalphon caught his sleeve. "Just where do you think you're going, young man?"
Uriel frowned. "I'm going upstairs."
Sandalphon grabbed one forelock and pulled Uriel even with him. "Listen to me, child. You've been breaking his heart for quite awhile now. What makes you think I'm going to let you do it again?"
Uriel winced as Sandalphon pulled harder on his hair. "Please. Just. I need to talk to him. Please."
Sandalphon let go and snorted. "You're welcome to try, I suppose. But you've never tried to talk to him before, so I sincerely doubt he's going to listen this time around. After all, he's always been alone. You've just convinced him that he was better off that way. Congratulations, you little bastard. Hope you're happy."
Uriel backed up slowly, and then ran as quick as he could up the stairs without jarring the tray too much.
At the top, the door was closed. He'd never seen the door closed before. It was a big, ornately carved, stately door. With no handle on the outside. He knocked.
"Just leave it, Sandy, I'll get it later," Koe's voice sounded through the heavy door.
He knocked again.
"Whaaaat?" Koe called, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "I'll get it, I promise. I'm busy right now."
Uriel frowned and knocked again. He smiled tightly as he heard Koe stomp across the room, grumbling underneath his breath about pushy twin brothers and not being at all hungry. Locks clicked and the door was wrenched open.
"Hi," Uriel said.
Koe's eyes widened, he squeaked, and then slammed the door shut in Uriel's face.
Uriel sighed and knocked again. "Koe."
"Go AWAY," the Metatron said, his tone desperate and close, probably just on the other side of the door. "Just go away. There's nothing left to say. You've made it clear how you feel."
"Open the door, Koe. Please. We need to talk."
"No, we don't," the Metatron retorted quietly. "I'm done with this, Uriel. No more. Go away."
Uriel sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "I've been thinking."
"I very much doubt that. Go think someplace else."
"Who's the coward now, Koe? I just want to talk to you."
Silence, and then a resigned sigh. "So talk." He could hear cloth rasping against the door and heard Koe settle with a quiet thunk on the other side.
Uriel sat down too, curling up next to the door and laying his cheek against it, as if he could somehow get closer to the room's occupant. "I'm not very proud of what I said to you in the Baths, Koe."
A disdainful snort. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"
"I'm getting there," Uriel rebuked him. "I was beyond angry. It's been a long time since I told anyone about my time among the Getae. The last people were Miniel and Cassiel. I just..." he picked at his tunic, searching for the words. "I just wanted to forget it."
The Metatron made a soft noise on the other side of the door.
"And I wanted to forget you. Because you didn't just want to share my bed - you wanted to guard my back, too. I guess you know how I felt about that."
"Frightened," Koe said in a bare whisper.
Uriel tugged on one of his forelocks. "Yeah. Terrified. But you know what scared me even more than that?"
Silence.
Uriel pushed forward, certain if he didn't say the words now, they'd never be said. "You. Up here. Locked away from everyone. I don't think you should be alone." His throat felt tight. "It's not right. Because people miss you, you know. Your brother misses you. Raphael misses you. Suri and Az and Ari and all the teachers. I think even Gabriel misses you."
Tears finally burned their way down his cheeks. "And most of all, I miss you."
A sob from the other side of the door.
"Won't you open the door, Koe?" he asked, his voice cracking.
The door slowly creaked open. And there was the Metatron, his Koe, reddened eyes full of tears. They reached for each other at once, and suddenly he could and couldn't breathe, and they were twinned around each other, crying and holding each other so close.
"We can try, can't we?" he murmured into soft stormy-colored hair. "I've never...but I'd try, for you."
The Metatron pulled back, his expression miserable. "We did try, Uriel. I can't...I can't do it again. I want all of you, or I don't want you at all. Do you understand? I love you and it hurts so fucking much. I just...I need you, and I just can't stand this almost-ness again, Uriel."
Uriel touched his lips to Koe's temples. "Do me a favor."
Koe hiccupped. "What?"
"Help me take off my shirt," Uriel requested quietly.
Koe looked puzzled, but obediently helped Uriel out of the soft cotton. And then Uriel pulled him into an embrace. "Move your hands up to my wings," he instructed, and Koe's so-pretty hands slid up to where the wings joined Uriel's flesh.
"That's my back," Uriel whispered into Koe's ear. "It's yours to watch from now on."
Koe started to cry again and clutched him tight. "I will, I swear to Most Holy, I'll take care of you, I love you..." Sobs wracked the slender body in his arms.
"Shhh," Uriel soothed. "It works both ways. I watch out for you." He pulled back a bit so he could look in the other angel's eyes. And knew that he had to say it, had to say it now.
"I love you," he whispered, and held Koe's eyes with his own, trying to make him believe. When he felt tears well up once again, he buried his face in the Metatron's hair, holding the Voice of Most Holy tight, and whispered again, "I love you."
Koe was quiet in his arms, almost eerily so. And then, muffled against Uriel's shoulder, Koe muttered, "No comments from the peanut gallery, thank You very much."
Uriel couldn't help it. His body shook with laughter, and soon the Metatron was laughing too, and they had to hold each other so tight to keep themselves from falling over. When they caught their breath, Koe led him over to a window and patted the sill.
"Have a seat?"
Uriel looked over the edge and gulped, because it was somehow scarier to look out the window than to fly above the Tower itself. "I...well..I don't..."
The Metatron sat on the ledge and held out his arms, smiling. "Come here, Uriel. I won't let you fall."
Cassiel was doing his level best to ignore the chaos of the teachers' lounge. He had found that not dropping in periodically made people accuse him of being antisocial, and really, it was easy to stop in for short lengths of time than to put up with all the heckling that occurred if he made himself too scarce.
Hence, he was engaged in being what he referred to as "co-social" - being in the same room, but not necessarily paying one bit of attention to the general proceedings.
"That's not what the Guardians say. Can you imagine doing it on the sills of those windows?"
"There's a reason I call it Too Bloody High, you know. With my luck, I'd fall, miss the updraft, and whack my head on the Tower. Then Gabriel would be appointing a new Professor, and your lives would suck."
"No, tell us how you really feel, Raphael."
Cassiel thought about investing in some ear plugs.
"Really, though, they don't seem a whole lot different."
"How the fuck could you tell?"
"Really. The only words out of their mouths in the past month have been, 'Don't stop' and the perennial favorite, 'Harder, yes, give it to me!'"
"Raphael-sama!"
"Oh, wait. That's us."
General laughter. Cassiel tried to burrow deeper into his chair, still reverently holding the ancient volume in his lap. He turned the page, sparing a moment to admire the elegant handwriting. Really, the author had done a fine job as far as aesthetics went.
As far as the content, Cassiel was hard-pressed to keep a smile off his face.
And a big triangular pile of bricks is all very well and good, but Cheops really has the most dreadful taste in jewelry...