Title: One night at a time
Summary: After the events of Ouroboros, Michael arrives back at the spire to calm down. But he's not alone and whoever's there is only there for one thing - him. Michael Ewhump (emotional whump). Michael/Becca *Not as exciting as it sounds*
Rating: PG13
Ship: Hints of Michael/Becca but nothing too explicit
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Dominion or its characters. I am merely exploiting the characters' pains and possibly rewriting episodes or history to create opportunities for some h/c.
Author's Note: Hello! Me again :) I got the idea for this fic while watching episode 7 and it burrowed into my skull until I got it down on paper. I hope you enjoy it.
He hurt.
Although Michael wouldn't admit it to anyone, seeing other angels being murdered, being hung upside down as a message - no doubt to him - had hurt him. Hurt him still. He'd easily hidden it inside his anger as he found anger easier to express, using it as fuel to discover who had killed his brethren and saving it for the moment when he found said person. Then he would unleash his rage and hope that such a display would serve as a reminder if anyone should cross him.
Not only that but not long after coming to the humans' aid, Michael learned that they expected him to show anger more so than pain. Indeed, it appeared that they believed he couldn't feel pain at all. While that was true to a degree, it wasn't the absolute truth. Michael, like all beings, felt pain, it just varied in degrees and he rarely showed it.
Now that night had once again fallen and the citizens of Vega felt more secure, Michael had retired to his sanctuary. In spite of what had happened in there just 24 hours ago, he felt safe here. Here he felt he could release all that he'd been holding on to. Here he could be in peace.
He shed his coat, the black leather spiraling through the air as though an unseen wind had swept it away and haphazardly landing on the bed before it slowly slid to the floor as its final resting place. Michael barely spared it a glance, trusting that it would be fine until he picked it up. He rolled his shoulders, his wings releasing as he did so, and stretched his neck. The stress of the past day had formed knots in his muscles - something he hadn't had to deal with before he'd come to Earth - and he felt the need to work them out.
His mind instantly went to Becca. Her hands had often done wonders for him far beyond the physical pleasures that fornication brought. There had been many a night where she had simply massaged the tension out of him. Other nights she used her body, and the body of many others, to help him. Throughout all, there was one constant - she was doing it to help him. He knew she loved him but as he wasn't able to love as most humans did, he didn't attempt to return her love or show any in turn. Still, that didn't stop him from wishing for her hands right now. He hoped that this whole mess would prove to her that he wasn't right for her. Somehow he doubted that it would.
After shrugging his wings away, Michael peeled off his shirt, leaving his torso completely bare so that he could sit and be.
The night air blew in through the opened window, brushing against his skin, cooling it to a much more tolerable level. The change allowed his mind to focus on it, to focus on something other than the sight of all the dead angels which he feared was permanently burned into his memory like a brand. He let the breeze pull him into it, he let his spirit soar around with it, exploring everything in and outside of Vega.
Many believed him to be meditating whenever he sat and closed his eyes and focused. To a degree they were right but the way he chose to think of it was prayer. Although Father had left him and his siblings, Michael knew he would return and found comfort in talking to him still. He didn't even have to open his mouth, all he had to do was just sit and block out the rest of the world.
Tonight he let go of all that he had been keeping in. He released his doubts and reservations, knowing that he could trust Father to lead him, even though he wasn't around. He relinquished hold of his worries and hurt, praying for the angels that had died and hoping that he would find guidance on how to proceed. As expected, he found none, but it didn't matter. The only one he knew he could trust was Father, no matter if he was here or not.
"Michael?"
Becca's voice broke his focus and brought him back to the present. Almost immediately he felt the weight of all that had happened and he struggled not to let it drown him entirely.
"Becca," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Wearing a thin dress which loosely clung to her thin form, the redhead slowly walked - barefoot - in and sat down opposite him, with her back to the open window. She had too much faith in him - they all did - to believe that he'd randomly push her out of it so she didn't appear to care that he could do just that should he wish.
"I wanted to see if you were alright," she answered, her blue eyes searching his. The earnest look in them did nothing to diminish their color or the clearness within them. Even though she was concerned about him, she was no longer deluded as to who he was. At least, as far as she was aware. Michael knew that she was in a fair way still blind about his true character but there wasn't a need to tell her that; she'd learn the rest on her own, no doubt.
She reached out a hand and gently caressed his cheek, smiling gently when he seemed to lean into the touch.
Coming back to himself, Michael pulled away from her and stood up. "I'm fine," he told her in the same voice he'd used the night of the reactor attack, if a little less convincing.
It was now that he realized that he was pushing her away as much for himself as it was for her. There was no doubt in his mind that he could not return her love in the way that she wanted him to. But that didn't mean that he didn't love or care about her. And he knew that the moment she found out about his true nature - the one that haunted his dreams as his past played out before his eyes - that she would look at him the way that Alex now saw him. Michael knew that it would hurt far too much for him to let that happen and so he pushed her away.
A hand caught his arm and he allowed her to stop him. The comfort she was offering was tempting and he was beginning to let it sway him.
"No you're not," she countered. Again, she caressed his face, her thumb rubbing tantalizingly over his lips.
In the span of another heartbeat, she stepped up and kissed him. Her body flew at him like she was being suctioned and he were the vacuum. His arms wrapped around her as he returned his kiss and pulled her even further to him.
Soon having Becca was all he could think about. She filled his senses and his desires. He lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapping around him, and carried her to the bed where the night descended into oblivion.
Later, after Michael had fallen asleep, Becca slid out of the bed. She took one last look at Michael's smooth face, happy that she could have that effect on him. She took his cares away one night at a time.
And for now, that would be enough
Fin