Fic: Rogue (Gabriel/M, Gabriel/F, PG-13) 11/36
For full notes and other chapters, please see the Masterpost.
Notes: This is the third part of the Missing an Angel series. It is recommended that you read the first two before reading this one.
James Innes was the Reverend of Canisbay Parish from 1667 until 1705. Gavin was named after him.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 1,404
Chapter Summary: Gabriel won’t say “told you so,” but there is trouble in paradise for Fergus and his wife.
CHAPTER 11:
Gavin James MacLeod
It took Gabrielle longer to realize she was pregnant, but as soon as the truth was out, she and Fergus were wed in a quiet ceremony in the village church. Bride and groom both cut stunning figures in traditional tartans: Fergus in a kilt and Gabrielle in a long dress gifted to her by Brody. Gabriel stood at Fergus’ right hand, the groom’s witness to the marriage, wearing a kilt of his own, but one he had snapped into existence. He wasn’t going to wear anything Brody had made. Father Innes presided over the ceremony, but the entire time he was stoic and cold, clearly unhappy with the husband his daughter had acquired.
After the wedding, Gabrielle refused to move into the MacLeods’ small cottage. Father Innes refused to allow Fergus to join him in the manse. Brody added the final straw to the argument, pointing out that a village the size of Canisbay could barely afford one tailor, much less two. Fergus would need to leave to find employment to support his new family.
That was how Fergus and Gabrielle ended up in Dundee, several hundred miles almost directly due south of Canisbay as the angel flew. Fergus and Gabrielle rented a room in a much larger building, living as frugally as they could while Fergus attempted to establish himself as a tailor in this city. Gabriel knew it was the largest collection of people Fergus had ever seen in one place (not counting the illusionary battles Gabriel would conjure up when Fergus was a boy). The crush of humanity could be overwhelming in a city like this, with a seaport and international trade bringing in strangers speaking hundreds of languages, but Fergus refused to be intimidated.
Gabriel himself followed the young couple to Dundee, though he had to lie low. Gabrielle had informed him in no uncertain terms that he would not be welcome to share her home. She had enough trouble on her plate without taking in simple-minded cousins as well. He could remain in Canisbay with Brody and Issobell and Fergus’ mongrel dog, also banned from her home.
Gabriel agreed to Gabrielle’s face and stood guard on the rooftop behind her back. As much as he detested the girl, Fergus was still his. He visited the man in his shop as frequently as he dared, walking the fine line between spending time with Fergus and keeping the missus happy. Fergus was having enough problems with his entitled wife as it was. Gabriel didn’t have it in him to make things any worse.
On a cold February morning in 1679, Gabrielle went into labor. Gabriel stood silently in the corner, invisible, threading his grace through his fingers and watching. If any complications arose, Gabriel was on hand to save the child.
He wasn’t about to risk revealing his grace for the mother.
Ultimately, his presence wasn’t needed. Gavin James MacLeod was born just as the city bells rang midday. Gabrielle named the boy. Fergus protested the name of his childhood bully, but Gabrielle narrowed her pretty blue eyes and informed him that if she was forced to bear his child, she would at least name it something she cared about. Even Gabriel recognized the venom in her words and winced in sympathy for Fergus.
Time, it would seem, did not heal all wounds. The rift between Fergus and his wife only grew deeper as the years blurred together. Gabrielle loathed Fergus for taking her away from her home where she was the village’s princess and entrenching her in this congested, filthy city where she was just another peasant woman in the crowd. Fergus hated Gabrielle for her self-absorbedness, for how quickly she spent whatever money he could save, and her constant scolding. Both had unbearably short tempers with their son, a constant reminder of how they were forced to be together. For his part, Gavin was a wretched child himself. Shunned by both his parents, he endeavored to play them off each other, encouraging their hatred as he struggled for scraps of their attention.
Gabriel tried to step in when the boy was young. Gavin was no Fergus, no fallen angel and ancient friend, but he was still one of Gabriel’s vessels and still in desperate need of something positive in his life.
Gavin wanted nothing to do with the angel. Any MacLeod was an evil influence, he had declared at the tender young age of four, his chubby arms crossed and his lower lip pouted out just like his father used to. Luke MacLeod could go to Hell. That was what his mother always said, and it was what the boy repeated.
Even as he bristled at the boy’s words (his mother’s words, spoken through his mouth), Gabriel still watched over him invisibly. That was why he was standing over Gavin at his lessons when the arrow came.
At eight years old, Gavin was completely oblivious to the grace-threaded bolt that flew toward his heart. Gabriel reacted without thinking, snatching the weapon from the air before it hit its target. A second arrow streaked through the air toward a girl sitting across the aisle, and Gabriel grabbed that one too. Cherubic grace fizzed in his hands. His own grace swelled around it, greedily drinking at the touch of a genuine brother, even one so distant. Gabriel stared at the arrows in mute horror.
Cupids. Cupids’ arrows. Eroniel’s. This was one of his Cherubim, the Cupids who played matchmaker to the mortals. Most of their work was spent maintaining the lines of the angels’ vessels. One of them was looking in this room, right now. Looking at him.
Gabriel yanked his grace in tighter, closing his veil as much as he could, trying to hide. He had to run. He had to leave. He had…
He had Gavin’s arrows in his hands. One meant for the boy, one meant for his future wife. This was a chance to intervene, to change the direction of his bloodline. Gavin was hardly a suitable vessel, with his heart so bitter so young. The girl he had been meant for had a soul just as much of a mess as Gavin’s-was that a demonic taint in her soul? Already!? Those two together would not make strong, innocent children capable of holding an Archangel.
“Raphael,” Gabriel growled under his breath. This had to be his twin’s order. His bloodline was being weakened, with corruption and taint being folded in more and more securely with each generation. Issobell and Brody. Gabrielle. Now Gavin and this demon-girl.
No. Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t… and he had a small chance to change it. The angel cast his gaze around the classroom, scanning each soul. He needed one that was good, from its core to its very edges. One that was strong. One that came from a solid family. He needed an overwhelmingly angelic influence to counteract Gavin’s darkness.
There. Back row. The girl was two years younger than Gavin, but her soul shone bright and steady. Her dress was clean, her hair neatly plaited, and she had a pleasant smile on her face as she worked on her sewing. She would have to do.
Gabriel jabbed one of the arrows into Gavin’s heart, shoving the compulsion deep within him before leaping across the room to the girl’s side. He pierced her heart with the other arrow, working it into the very center of her soul. She looked up just as Gavin looked back, and their eyes met across the room.
Gabriel heard the girl’s gasp even as he saw Gavin smile, for once looking like the little boy he was, but that was all he dared to watch. Eroniel had to be scrutinizing this room for whatever went wrong with his arrows. He might even be calling for his Dominion now, for his Seraph, for Raphael. Gabriel spread his wings and took off, flying as hard and as fast as he dared. He shot through the streets of Dundee and dove into the North Sea, streaking through the waves. Raphael was smart, but he wasn’t clever. He knew Gabriel hated water and would avoid it at all costs. Surely water would be the last place he would look for Gabriel’s escape. Gabriel was counting on his brother’s predictability to give him a chance to escape.
He never should have grabbed that arrow.
Next...
Notes: This is the third part of the Missing an Angel series. It is recommended that you read the first two before reading this one.
James Innes was the Reverend of Canisbay Parish from 1667 until 1705. Gavin was named after him.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 1,404
Chapter Summary: Gabriel won’t say “told you so,” but there is trouble in paradise for Fergus and his wife.
CHAPTER 11:
Gavin James MacLeod
It took Gabrielle longer to realize she was pregnant, but as soon as the truth was out, she and Fergus were wed in a quiet ceremony in the village church. Bride and groom both cut stunning figures in traditional tartans: Fergus in a kilt and Gabrielle in a long dress gifted to her by Brody. Gabriel stood at Fergus’ right hand, the groom’s witness to the marriage, wearing a kilt of his own, but one he had snapped into existence. He wasn’t going to wear anything Brody had made. Father Innes presided over the ceremony, but the entire time he was stoic and cold, clearly unhappy with the husband his daughter had acquired.
After the wedding, Gabrielle refused to move into the MacLeods’ small cottage. Father Innes refused to allow Fergus to join him in the manse. Brody added the final straw to the argument, pointing out that a village the size of Canisbay could barely afford one tailor, much less two. Fergus would need to leave to find employment to support his new family.
That was how Fergus and Gabrielle ended up in Dundee, several hundred miles almost directly due south of Canisbay as the angel flew. Fergus and Gabrielle rented a room in a much larger building, living as frugally as they could while Fergus attempted to establish himself as a tailor in this city. Gabriel knew it was the largest collection of people Fergus had ever seen in one place (not counting the illusionary battles Gabriel would conjure up when Fergus was a boy). The crush of humanity could be overwhelming in a city like this, with a seaport and international trade bringing in strangers speaking hundreds of languages, but Fergus refused to be intimidated.
Gabriel himself followed the young couple to Dundee, though he had to lie low. Gabrielle had informed him in no uncertain terms that he would not be welcome to share her home. She had enough trouble on her plate without taking in simple-minded cousins as well. He could remain in Canisbay with Brody and Issobell and Fergus’ mongrel dog, also banned from her home.
Gabriel agreed to Gabrielle’s face and stood guard on the rooftop behind her back. As much as he detested the girl, Fergus was still his. He visited the man in his shop as frequently as he dared, walking the fine line between spending time with Fergus and keeping the missus happy. Fergus was having enough problems with his entitled wife as it was. Gabriel didn’t have it in him to make things any worse.
On a cold February morning in 1679, Gabrielle went into labor. Gabriel stood silently in the corner, invisible, threading his grace through his fingers and watching. If any complications arose, Gabriel was on hand to save the child.
He wasn’t about to risk revealing his grace for the mother.
Ultimately, his presence wasn’t needed. Gavin James MacLeod was born just as the city bells rang midday. Gabrielle named the boy. Fergus protested the name of his childhood bully, but Gabrielle narrowed her pretty blue eyes and informed him that if she was forced to bear his child, she would at least name it something she cared about. Even Gabriel recognized the venom in her words and winced in sympathy for Fergus.
Time, it would seem, did not heal all wounds. The rift between Fergus and his wife only grew deeper as the years blurred together. Gabrielle loathed Fergus for taking her away from her home where she was the village’s princess and entrenching her in this congested, filthy city where she was just another peasant woman in the crowd. Fergus hated Gabrielle for her self-absorbedness, for how quickly she spent whatever money he could save, and her constant scolding. Both had unbearably short tempers with their son, a constant reminder of how they were forced to be together. For his part, Gavin was a wretched child himself. Shunned by both his parents, he endeavored to play them off each other, encouraging their hatred as he struggled for scraps of their attention.
Gabriel tried to step in when the boy was young. Gavin was no Fergus, no fallen angel and ancient friend, but he was still one of Gabriel’s vessels and still in desperate need of something positive in his life.
Gavin wanted nothing to do with the angel. Any MacLeod was an evil influence, he had declared at the tender young age of four, his chubby arms crossed and his lower lip pouted out just like his father used to. Luke MacLeod could go to Hell. That was what his mother always said, and it was what the boy repeated.
Even as he bristled at the boy’s words (his mother’s words, spoken through his mouth), Gabriel still watched over him invisibly. That was why he was standing over Gavin at his lessons when the arrow came.
At eight years old, Gavin was completely oblivious to the grace-threaded bolt that flew toward his heart. Gabriel reacted without thinking, snatching the weapon from the air before it hit its target. A second arrow streaked through the air toward a girl sitting across the aisle, and Gabriel grabbed that one too. Cherubic grace fizzed in his hands. His own grace swelled around it, greedily drinking at the touch of a genuine brother, even one so distant. Gabriel stared at the arrows in mute horror.
Cupids. Cupids’ arrows. Eroniel’s. This was one of his Cherubim, the Cupids who played matchmaker to the mortals. Most of their work was spent maintaining the lines of the angels’ vessels. One of them was looking in this room, right now. Looking at him.
Gabriel yanked his grace in tighter, closing his veil as much as he could, trying to hide. He had to run. He had to leave. He had…
He had Gavin’s arrows in his hands. One meant for the boy, one meant for his future wife. This was a chance to intervene, to change the direction of his bloodline. Gavin was hardly a suitable vessel, with his heart so bitter so young. The girl he had been meant for had a soul just as much of a mess as Gavin’s-was that a demonic taint in her soul? Already!? Those two together would not make strong, innocent children capable of holding an Archangel.
“Raphael,” Gabriel growled under his breath. This had to be his twin’s order. His bloodline was being weakened, with corruption and taint being folded in more and more securely with each generation. Issobell and Brody. Gabrielle. Now Gavin and this demon-girl.
No. Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t… and he had a small chance to change it. The angel cast his gaze around the classroom, scanning each soul. He needed one that was good, from its core to its very edges. One that was strong. One that came from a solid family. He needed an overwhelmingly angelic influence to counteract Gavin’s darkness.
There. Back row. The girl was two years younger than Gavin, but her soul shone bright and steady. Her dress was clean, her hair neatly plaited, and she had a pleasant smile on her face as she worked on her sewing. She would have to do.
Gabriel jabbed one of the arrows into Gavin’s heart, shoving the compulsion deep within him before leaping across the room to the girl’s side. He pierced her heart with the other arrow, working it into the very center of her soul. She looked up just as Gavin looked back, and their eyes met across the room.
Gabriel heard the girl’s gasp even as he saw Gavin smile, for once looking like the little boy he was, but that was all he dared to watch. Eroniel had to be scrutinizing this room for whatever went wrong with his arrows. He might even be calling for his Dominion now, for his Seraph, for Raphael. Gabriel spread his wings and took off, flying as hard and as fast as he dared. He shot through the streets of Dundee and dove into the North Sea, streaking through the waves. Raphael was smart, but he wasn’t clever. He knew Gabriel hated water and would avoid it at all costs. Surely water would be the last place he would look for Gabriel’s escape. Gabriel was counting on his brother’s predictability to give him a chance to escape.
He never should have grabbed that arrow.
Next...