Turntables
With one last look at the couple, he returned to his bright, titian-skinned Seraphim, who lifted him back up to his balcony where he disappeared into the shade of the hollow tree, before they soared across to the smaller balcony of the one to the right and retired themselves. The Cherubim spread their sandy wings one by one, flying in single-file towards the tree to the left of Iehovah’s, and some of the darker-winged angels headed for the one next to that. The rest vacated the building via the arches, leaving only the newly-reunited Archangels standing in the dying glow of the sun through the leaves above.
Gabriel remained with his face turned away towards the back wall, stock still and deathly quiet. He maintained his hold on her even when Lucifer approached.
“I get to sleep in my own bed tonight,” he smiled slightly at Audrey, seemingly unsure whether to be happy or sad, “thanks to you.” He reached up and brushed her errant hair off her face with his fingertips, and she smiled back.
“I only got the ball rolling,” she replied modestly, rubbing soothing circles over Gabriel’s back; “It was all you.” Lucifer shook his head with a grin.
“Thank you, for believing in me.”
She watched him use his new, vermillion-tinged wings to launch himself into the air and disappear into the last tree. Raphael followed close behind after a sympathetic smile in her direction, and Uriel took off after him as Michael padded across the mossy floor of the arena to rest a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.
“It’s an incredibly brave and noble thing to do, Audrey, but you must think this through.” His brother lifted his head at his words, but Michael couldn’t look at his terrified, tear-tracked face. “There’s more than just your life riding on your decision.”
With that, he stepped back and kicked off towards the tree’s opening as the sun’s last rays finally disappeared, leaving Gabriel and Audrey alone in the dim glow of the hundreds of candles around the arena.
Long minutes passed in the near-darkness, and the small of Audrey’s back began to ache from the angle it was forced into by Gabriel’s herculean grip. She reached behind her, pushing gently on his arm to try to persuade him to release her. When he never moved, she sighed and pushed against his chest in an attempt to straighten her posture.
“Gabriel,” she murmured softly.
The only warning she had was the bending of his knees, and her fingers grasped at the high collar of his black tunic as the arm around the back of her waist slid down to create a seat for her, before he pulled her, somewhat angrily, into the air with his powerful, raven wings. Soaring backwards facing up at him, her heart raced but she felt no fear. She watched an ivy-adorned archway pass overhead and they were free.
The inky, purple sky held more stars than she’d ever seen, but she closed her eyes against them and pressed her mouth to Gabriel’s shoulder as they sailed, silently, over Heaven. There were two beats of his great wings to every breath she took, Audrey noted, and the cotton of his tunic smelled vaguely metallic, like blood.
She thought back to when she’d awoken in the motel room to find a giant, intimidating archangel sobbing on the edge of her bed; how he’d removed his frightening, bloodstained armour, just because it made her uncomfortable. He’d been her saviour, and she’d been his.
Audrey felt their descent and opened her eyes to see willow trees passing by, and they landed on the grass with a slight jolt. Gabriel’s wings folded behind him and her view was obscured by the high arc of the joint; she lifted her head and twisted in his arms to see he was climbing the steps of a dark-wooden, wisteria-entwined pergola. It was fairly small, but bigger than the marble gazebo, and the floor was covered by a thick layer of padding. It was bordered by cushions, propped up against the low, panelled railing, which bore holes along the top, where tall, metal torch-bearers were slotted securely into place, allowing the flickering flames to light the grass and the plush, plum upholstery.
“Where are we now?” Audrey asked gently, trying to hide her exasperation; so far, she’d only managed two nights in any one place since all the chaos had begun.
He gestured with a nod towards an inscription in the railing at the back of the arbour, which read, ‘Concilio Matra Divina’.
“Council of the Divine Mother,” he replied hoarsely. “She used to hold meetings here.”
Setting her down on the boards of the walkway surrounding the pergola, he kept her fixed to him but wouldn’t meet her gaze. Audrey reached up and tilted his face down towards her; his eyes looked all the more oceanic for the shelves of tears they held.
“Are you angry with me?” She asked, tracing the contours of his face. He closed his eyes tightly, telling her he wanted to say yes, but couldn’t quite truthfully feel it.
“You have no idea what you’ve agreed to do,” he whispered, opening his eyes to glare down at her.
“Her life is far more important than-”
“Do not presume your worth is any less!” He cut across her sharply, his anger surfacing. As he took her face roughly in his hands, Audrey caught a glimpse of the danger she knew him to be capable of. “Four billion years, I’ve existed, and never have I felt anything like this. I love you, Audrey,” he whispered, “as much as I love Them. You’ve presented me with an impossible choice.”
“I’m not asking you to choose, Gabriel. If it works, you can have both of us.”
“That’s a very big ‘If’.”
“You seem to think I’m taking this lightly,” Audrey argued, taking a step back to look at him properly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve sacrificed myself, remember?” Gabriel winced at the memory of her prone form staring up at him from the asphalt, covered in blood and dying in the pouring rain. “Last time, I had nothing left to live for. I didn’t really care whether I survived, but now...” an ironic laugh fizzed through her words; “Now I’m in love, and I’m loved in return, and for the first time in my life, I trust in God. I have everything to live for, and I still know I’m making the right choice.”
Gabriel’s head was tilted to the side in consideration, but his face was a mask of agony. A salty droplet adorned his cheek, catching the dancing, orange light of the flames. He recalled his original reason for swearing to stay with her: To restore her faith in God, he reminded himself. It’s done, and it’s only caused me more grief. She has faith now where I have not.
I've started on the intimate bit but I literally just cannot function any longer, I'm so tired, work was manic. I'll continue it in the morning when my head's clearer. My shift doesn't start till 1 tomorrow so I can have a nice lie in and still have time to work on A&A. :)
Night!