A/N: I AM AN ANGEL-OBSESSED IDIOT.

See that? I admitted it in the first line – I am an idiot. You need not read the works of an idiot, and what an idiot says you need not pay attention to, because she is an idiot. So if you are offended, just stop reading, erase your memory of this offensive little piece of garbage and go happily on your way.

And if you come tearing after me, screaming that I'm desecrating the Bible or some such hogwash, I will, if I happen to be feeling particularly impatient, walk away with my fingers in my ears. If you claim that my purpose was to blaspheme against the Bible, I will tell you that the only reason I wrote this was because the plot bunny (You've heard of the sadistic little creatures before right?) was far too powerful to ignore

To quote Kristin Hersh: "I tried hard not to write it, but that just made it angry."

Duly warned? Good.

Now here is beginning of the story …

Prologue
Old Friends, Older Quarrels

– – – – –

"It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend."
William Blake (1757 - 1827)

– – – – –

Once upon a time, before the Time of Man, there were two Angels.
Both were among God's highest inner circle, part of both the order of Seraphim and the order of Archangels.
Both were among the most beloved of all the Heavenly Host, whom every Angel respected and loved.
Both were cheerful, laughing, fun-loving creatures, as every Angel had been at the beginning.
They were once all these – but no longer …

– – – – –

"Labbiel!" a voice called pleadingly. "Labbiel! I beg of you! LABBIEL!!"

The Hall of the Sun rang with the sound of that shouted name. Fluted columns, as wide at their bases as an angel's outstretched wings, crowded the Hall, placed in a seemingly random pattern, making it difficult to see if anyone else was there. Each column also stretched upward to a distant ceiling so far away that most ordinary angels, flying straight up as fast as they could, would take over an hour to reach it. It'd be nigh impossible to be sure if there was anyone in the maze of a place at all.

But Shamsiel knew. Shamsiel knew that Labbiel was somewhere in the Hall, probably nearer the ceiling than the floor – Labbiel loved flying infinitely more than plodding along on the ground.

"Labbiel, please!" Shamsiel shouted. Tears overflowed his normally fire-filled eyes – how can he still be able to cry after all these centuries of burning away the pain? How can his heart still be so torn? He should have become immune to the scorn and anger of others long ago, shouldn't he, Accuser and Opposition that he was?

"PLEASE!" he cried out one more time, before falling to his knees on the marble stone floor. His fists clenched against the cool stone and he bent his head to hide his tears, his long dark hair creating a curtain before his face. He whispered, knowing full well that the words, uttered in Labbiel's Place of Power, were sure to reach him, "Please, Labbiel. Please. Forgive me… I never meant it to happen like this …" The tears gathered in a puddle around his fists. Shamsiel dug his fingernails deeper into his palm. "Labbiel …" he moaned. "Please …"

– – – – –

Not far from where the weeping angel knelt, there was a column that was unlike any other column in the Hall. About halfway to the sky-high ceiling, someone had tunneled into the column and dug a small hollow in the center. The tunnel opening was invisible from the outside and one couldn't even find it by feel until a particular sign had been drawn over the place where the opening would be. The spherical hollow at the center of the column was about three feet wide and three feet high, surely not more, with sides that had been polished smooth over the eons since it had been made.

In this small claustrophobic chamber crouched another angel, an angel whose torn and tattered wings were wrapped tightly around his body, shielding him from the Outside like a security blanket. His golden-flecked blue eyes were squeezed shut, in much the same way many a child had closed his eyes, thinking that if he could not see the monsters in the night, then they could not see him. His teeth gritted and grinded long golden strands of his own hair, but he never really noticed. His hands he'd clapped over his ears long ago, when the one whose name had been Shamsiel had begun to call for him. He trembled slightly each time the voice was raised, each time the one whose name had been Shamsiel called out, each time his own old name echoed infinitely through the Hall.

Yes, his name had once been Labbiel, and that name had once been welcomed in many a circle of friends, and many a smile had been given to one who held that name – for that was how the one named Labbiel had been, once upon a time; friendly, laughing, bright, cheerful, far and beyond any other angel of the Host.

But that Labbiel had gone – gone like a handful of ashes scattered on the wind. The one named Labbiel had a different name now – a name more exalted than the one he once had, more illustrious, more distinguished. It was a name that everyone knew, that everyone praised, that everyone welcomed in their circle of friends – welcomed like a celebrity who, descending from the ranks of the High, graced the masses of the Low with his presence. It was a name to which a thousand duties were attached, a thousand responsibilities, a thousand thousand tasks. It was a name behind which hid the spirit that still clung to the name of Labbiel. It was a mask behind which the shattered soul of Labbiel still hid and wept and refused any and all friends passage to his broken heart.

"Labbiel, please!" cried the angel far below. "PLEASE!"

The angel inside the column trembled. Usually, this hidden place, this secret hideout, was where it was safe for the one named Labbiel to come out from behind his mask of a different name. But not now. Not with the one whose name had once been Shamsiel just outside the column. Not with the one who had once been Labbiel's best friend within the Hall of the Sun.

"Please, Labbiel. Please. Forgive me… I never meant it to happen like this …"

The angel within the column almost cried out to the weeping angel. He sounded so sorry, so frustrated, so hopeless.

But no. Never. Never could Labbiel forgive Shamsiel what had happened so long ago, what was still happening now.

"Labbiel …"

The angel who had once been Labbiel wrapped his wings tighter around himself and refused to ever let himself consider relenting.

"Please …"

Never. Ever. Ever.

A/N: Reviews would be nice … It doesn't really matter if they contain flames or criticism or praise, I'd be happy with anything …