A/N: Merry Christmas, Amy! (meet me under the mistletoe) I love you and I hope that you'll have a wonderful Christmas, and that you'll like this! And many, many thanks to my beta mew-tsubaki.
It's Snowing Fallen Angels
You take one small step closer, because it's freezing outside and maybe you just want to stand closer to her, to see the snowflakes gather on her eyelashes. But she inhales deeply and blows cigarette smoke in your face and you cough but maybe she doesn't mean something by it, because the next second her eyes are glittering and she grabs you around your arm and pulls you to her.
She whispers into your ear, "I don't want to go back in there," and you understand what she means and you nod instead of shaking your head and bringing her in with you, as you were supposed to do.
She pushes her lower lip out and you stare at it because you know she will say something reckless, something crazy now, and you also know that you shouldn't listen to her, but you can't help it.
"Let's take a walk," she says and you grin to yourself, because, hey, it wasn't that crazy.
But grinning takes time so you have no time to argue with her, and you find yourself dragged with her, already out on the white pavement with footsteps muffled in the soft snow and her cheeks burning with life and coldness.
And she has her arm in yours and you wonder if this is how it would've been if you weren't caught in a war and working all your waking hours and risking your lives and never daring to have fun. Would there always have been so much glitter in her eyes as there is now? You have, in fact, not seen her looking this daring in ages, you realize, and you must be staring at her again, because she flicks at your nose with her free hand and shakes her head.
"What?" you ask, and it doesn't matter that you already know what she's thinking, because maybe you just need to hear her voice again.
"What is it?" she retorts and it feels almost as if she, too, knows what you're thinking.
So you shrug and grab a little tighter around her arm so that she's pulled closer to you. You raise your eyebrows, and so does she, and then you both laugh.
You haven't felt this carefree in ages, walking down the street and simply talking, for Merlin knows how long. It's when the darkness is beginning to fall, and the streetlights' beams are glittering like a thousand diamonds in the snow that you realize that maybe you have been out too long now, maybe you should go back.
But you don't want to go back. And she seems not to want that, either, judging from the firm grip she has on your arm, the decided look in her eyes that tells you that you aren't going to turn back for a long while.
So you keep walking.
She suddenly stops, and you stand beneath a tree in which hundreds of lights have been put up, and for a second she looks as though she's shining, too, like an angel just fallen down from heaven.
(And that's the catch, isn't it? A fallen angel.)
"Hey," she whispers, and she puts a hand on your cheek. It's cold and she has no gloves on, and you wonder why you did not lend her yours before. "I think it'd be appropriate if you kissed me now." Her eyes are glinting again, but still she isn't as cheeky as she used to be. Instead her eyes are solemn and maybe that's why you give in to her.
And your lips meet and you're reminded of how it isn't different, even though you first thought it would be. You don't want to kiss her anymore, you know what it will lead to, and you know that this is just as it always is.
And, yes, she suddenly breaks free, pushes you away. She lights up a cigarette with trembling hands, and you're looking down and she doesn't look at you either, and everything's shaking and you regret it, you regret it, you regret it. So much it hurts.
Why can you never remember? She sighs deeply, and you decide to look up. Your hands are shoved deep into your pockets, and she's still not facing you. Her hair is hanging across her face like a curtain, and it's as if she's been called back by someone. As usual, yes.
"Sorry," she says at last, and she pulls a hand through her locks.
"Don't be," you answer quietly, but she just shakes her head and leaves you there. The lights in the tree resemble spotlights, or maybe stars and maybe she's too non-angelic to ever do something right.
You hate her and walk home.
:::::
There was one time that you loved her. It was a time that you remember in the darkest hours of the night, when everything's too black for you, when you need a pillow to hug to stop yourself from crying and breaking. It's a time that you'll always cherish, and it's a time that you have vowed to never forget.
If you did, everything would be too much for you and you wouldn't be Gideon anymore. You would be a monster and you wouldn't remember on which side you should be fighting.
It keeps you sane and you know it's only showing your weakness, to depend on something that's so tiny and making you so vulnerable. Because it's too small to be the only thing that makes you want to stay in the light, those times that everything's too bad and too horrible and you just want to be left alone.
Fighting for her is not enough. You should be fighting for what everyone else is fighting for, a better place, a better world, a lighter world. But, no, you can only do it when that little memory pops up, and it's so wrong, because it's so small and you hate her for that, as well.
(And it makes you ashamed of yourself.)
::::
She dies one afternoon and you do not believe it until Fabian screams, "You're a fucking asshole, Gideon, get a grip on yourself," and punches you in your face so hard that your nose begins to bleed.
And you look at him with widely opened eyes and he groans and sinks down to the floor and suddenly it is you comforting him and it doesn't matter that you can't hold yourself together. It might even be so that hugging him and watching his tears and feeling like brothers again which you haven't done for months is what makes you not fall apart, or at least not all of you.
But there is one part of you that is forever lost in the depths of yourself, a piece of you that never will be mended again. And you can't feel it now, but it will hurt like hell later, and it will make you unable to fall asleep and it will mock you with unheard laughter and non-smelling cigarette smoke and insensible touches.
::::
It's the last time you fight and you know it even before you have cast the first spell. You aren't going to stay here anymore, and you don't even care what will happen if you go. And you know it's cowardly of you, because not even now are you fighting for something good—you are only fighting to be able to tell her that you did so, and you are only fighting because you have forced yourself to do so.
But in Fabian's eyes something burns and he looks at you and shakes his head, but you couldn't care more even if you love him, even if he's the only one for whom you have considered staying alive, because your decision has been made and this is going to end right now.
And you fire your spell and he purses his lips and you know that he will never leave you and you wish you were as brave as him…but you are not, and you miss her and there is nothing more to keep trying to live for in this world.
And everyone will say you died fighting as a lion but no one will know that you were the one who had grown so tired of everything that they themselves didn't matter to you any longer.
You can't wait to see where fallen angels end up after their death.