As the Goddess watched. . .
Zophiel sipped her latte, reclining in the cushy chair in The Coffe House. Not any coffe house mind you, THE Coffee House, The One All The Others Were But Shadows Of.
She stared at the Cleric, waiting. . .
"I just. . ." he started, paused, re-started. "I just feel like we don't talk anymore. . . "
Zophiel pushed down the snort that would have otherwise disturbed the foam.
"Really."
He shifted, avoiding her eyes.
"I'm not sure. . . I feel like we don't connect anymore. . ."
The angel shifted her wings irritably, half inclined the groom them and let the Cleric stew. He kinda deserved it. But no, damn her compassion, she felt herself speaking anyway.
"And just who's fault do you suppose that is?" Well, not so much compassion as long held pain, frustration, and. . . yeah, pain and frustration.
He shifted again, as though he could dodge the answers looming over his back like smug demons.
More silnce as they sontinued with their respective beverages.
He tried again. "The Godess--"
This time the snort would not be contained, and the angel quickly put the latte down as she scowled at the table.
"The Goddess tied you up with apron strings to make sure you didn't wander too far," she growled. "All I saw was you, walking away. And when I tried to call out to you, you smiled, ignored me, and kept going."
He stilled, eyes wide as her words kept spilling forth.
"It hurt, damnit. It still does. And everytime you said you'd come back, everytime you swore you were still my friend, and you kept going away, farther and farther, and I couldn't help but think it was because you didn't want my friendship anymore. . . And even though the Goddess assured me you still cared . . . it didn't matter. You went away. You shut me out. And now, you complain that we don't talk like we used to."
"Zophiel. . . I. . . I never--"
"You know what? The problem, as I see it, is you don't even know how much you hurt people when you get so wrapped up in your own supposed 'unworthy-ness'. You don't realize how very dear you are to some people, so when you start trying to not be 'a burden', to not 'trouble' them, what you end up doing is rejecting them.
"Like you did me." She said it with the sort of bitter finality used by divorsed women when discussing children with an ex-husband.
"I never rejected you." he pleaded.
The grin was twisted, and the Cleric was reminded for a moment of her other father. The one he didn't like to think about.
"No, you never said the words. But when I reached out, you ever so politely turned me away. You were so . . . nice and gentle about it, I didn't realize what you were doing until. . .well, until it was too late, as it turned out. . .
"But even before I realized. . . it hurt. Bad."
The Cleric looked wretched, at a complete loss for words.
"But," the angel continued again. "You're still breathing, I haven't gone home yet."
The Cleric frowned in puzzlement.
"Meaning" Zophiel ttok on the tone she used with certain students, "meaning it is not an eternal state. It can be fixed, the rift healed. But I can't do it."
Crestfalled didn't begin to describe his face. "You can't--?"
"Oh come on!" she scowled again, faintly worring that her face would one day freeze in that expression. "I'm not a healer. I never have been. But you. . . if you want to, I mean, really want to. . .you can fix this. It will be hard, because you've a lot of things to fix with yourself first. Like that whole 'unworthy' thing, for example.
". . . but it is doable. If you want it."
The cleric looked into his now empty mug with regret, vaguely willing it to fill again.
"I do want it." It was little more than a whisper, but he meant it.
Zophiel banished her mug with a wave of her hand.
"Good. So do I. Now enough moping, and start telling me about this new man in your life . . ."
* * *