Author's Note: Hello all! Boy, this was a tricky chapter to write…so many elements finally coming together. And it doesn't help that I have this horrible habit of rewriting and revising my chapters a million times before I post, haha. Seriously, I'm neurotic.

As always, I would like to take a quick moment and thank all my wonderful readers and those that reviewed, saichick, Lexicon, ArmoredSoul and Melissa. I would also like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. You guys are fantastic! Thank you all so much. I do hope you enjoy this installment.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Legion.

Chapter Twenty-One Worthy

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet

I see her walking now

Away from me so hurriedly

My reason must allow

That I had wooed not as I should

A creature made of clay

When the angel woos the clay

He'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.

-On Raglan Road by Patrick Kavanagh

It was a pleasant moment for Gabriel, sitting there with Max curled in his arms, her warm body pressed against the length of his torso. It was a time of softness, something that he thought she, with her broken heart, might need more than him. And Gabriel gave her what he could. He told her the things he knew she needed to hear. He whispered the words that would soothe her stirring, pained soul. He touched her, because he knew she needed to be touched.

It was a pleasant moment, but not perfect. Gabriel admitted the deficiency to himself, even as Max laid her head upon his chest, even when she was so blessedly happy. But he was not assuaged. He was not appeased or becalmed. There was a great rush within him, a stormy sigh that brewed in his heart and swelled up in his breast until he could only feel prickly worry. The world was beautiful that night, but dangerous. The muted colors of the desert blended into the flatlands, into the stones and gritty sand and the sharp-edged stars. And life itself seemed to race by, faster and faster, spinning, slipping, falling…

Gabriel tried to brace himself. He tried to steady his heart which was beating too quickly, and he tried to quiet his thoughts, which were merciless.

It was easy, his scholar's mind told him, to fall in love. And it was much too easy to be a fool about it.

Was he a fool?

Steadily, the moment began to lose some of its softness. Gabriel became aware of his discomfort, which stuck a sharp needle of unease into the scant peacefulness that remained. His wings were pushed against the aluminum siding of the house and his back ached and his arms were starting to go numb from the brash gusts of wind that came down from the mountains.

But he held Max. He let her brace her hand against his chest. He let her cry and talk. He let her press her forehead to his neck, her feverish flesh coming into contact with his bitterly cold iron collar.

True contentment was rare. Gabriel's mind was much too alert to be lulled into stupefying happiness. And there was something very deceptive about their reunion. Something sour. Something altered and incomplete.

Gabriel wondered what it was that they were missing and then he realized, with a painful jolt, that they still sat in the shadow of the grave.

Jack. They were missing Jack.

But Jack was at peace. He was in Paradise. Gabriel had seen the child for himself. Had witnessed the boy in the welcoming arms of his mother, experiencing the purest, most fervent joy a human heart could possibly know.

But the notion wasn't comforting. Nothing was. Not even the weight of Max's body in his arms.

He could only hear the tempest's rush of doubt in his veins. The unused, stale adrenalin that seemed to warn him of some danger although there was no danger to be seen.

Do not lie to yourself, Gabriel thought, recalling his previous warning. This is not over. It will not be over until…

Instinctively, Gabriel clenched his hand into a loose fist, his knuckles resting on Max's back.

This is not over.

It would not be over because he knew, he knew what Michael had only guessed at.

And the knowing itself was unusual, a quiet sensation that formed in the pit of his gut and in the back of his mind. He knew Max was a prophet not because he had been told, but because he had seen.

He had seen her come sliding down into that dried-out gully with her gun raised, pointed at his temple, ready to kill. He had seen her touch her nephew on the shoulder and make him smile and laugh when they used to play cards every night. He had seen her weep for the sister she had killed. He had seen the fear in her eyes when he had kissed her. He had seen her soul bared when she first saw that grave.

He had seen all those things and he knew. Gabriel could read the script of her life, which was not written on her flesh like Jeep, but hidden within. A sacred mystery. A divine understanding.

He knew. He knew what Michael did not, because he knew Max, he knew her.

Prophet. She was a prophet.

And that was what troubled him, sending shards of ice into his heart when he should have felt only warmth. Gabriel had had dealings with prophets before. He had descended from the Heavens and delivered onto them the very words of the Lord. He had been the Messenger and the holy herald and he had given to mankind great tidings and the fearsome signs of the end of the world. And he had seen what happened to those who listened, those who opened their minds and hearts and to whom the secrets of the divine were revealed.

He had seen such things…and he knew how terrible they were.

What Max was facing now was not beautiful or spiritual or even very holy. It was a trial. It was abundant hardship. It was a test of faith that might never be fulfilled…if she failed, if Max failed.

He did not want her to fail, but she was weak. She was all too human.

It is our place to guide them.

Those were Michael's words, words Gabriel had disregarded, had scorned, even. But now they reverberated with a hint of foresight, with a promise that was subtle but potent.

It is our place to guide them…to guide her.

Yes, Gabriel thought, accepting, once more, what duty was entrusted to him. Yes, I will.

He tightened his hold on Max, remaining cautious of all the aching, tender bruises on her body, her sore head and wounded wrist and the painful void in her heart. The void that he was meant to fill, although he did not know if he ever could.

"Max," he said, dropping his voice into a whisper so as not to disturb her if she might actually be sleeping.

She stirred. She looked up at the eager stars and smiled. "It's a nice night," she said, her tone easy.

Gabriel, however, did not trust in her nonchalance. "It is," he said carefully.

She stirred again, slipping her hand from his chest while she cradled her wounded arm against her stomach. "It reminds me of that other night," she continued. Her expression was suddenly wistful. "Remember…when we went for that walk on the old bridle path. Remember…when I felt like I couldn't stay inside the house any longer because we were waiting, just waiting for nothing and that was terrible."

"I do," Gabriel replied. Without thinking, he touched the flesh of her neck with the tip of his finger, feeling the taut, tense muscle beneath. Her pulse was throbbing. He could feel it.

"We were waiting," Max echoed. "What were we waiting for?"

He paused, wondering if she was testing him. But her words were honest and simple. The question was not a riddle, only a vague hope for understanding. "I do not know," he said at length, wishing he could giver her more…give her everything.

Max hunched her shoulders, her back rounding out like a cat's. "I don't think I want to wait anymore," she said.

She spoke quietly and Gabriel was lost to the sound of her voice, the fluting vibrato of her words, which to him, were meaningless. He listened only to her voice and not to her. He listened to her soul and not her mind.

Or else he would have known, he would have guessed…

Max looked over her shoulder at him, shivering slightly as he let his finger fall farther down her neck. "I'm tired," she said abruptly.

Gabriel glanced at her and saw the dark smudges underneath her eyes, saw the pale cast of her flesh. "Should I bring you inside?"

"No." Max chewed on her lip. "I think…well, if it's not too rude or obnoxious of me…I think I would like to be alone. Just for a little while. Not for long. Not like before, when I told you to leave me. I just want some time. A few hours, all right? Can I have that, Gabriel? Will you give that to me?"

And he knew, even then, that he was making a mistake by agreeing, but he could deny her nothing.

He was in love.

Max sat up fully, her stomach pressed against the protective wall of his arms. She seemed to be shaking off her apathy, the listlessness and languor that had made her weak and insipid. It was beautiful, almost, watching her come alive again. She was shedding the overwhelming, formless cloak of sorrow in favor something that was more defined. Holding her still, Gabriel could feel her limbs strengthening, her body bracing itself for the pain, the agony of revival.

And then Max stood, shakily, her knees hitting the side of the bench, her hands outstretched in order to catch herself should she fall. She stood before him and her hair was undone and her eyes were wild and he thought, more than ever, that she looked like a warrior.

A warrior.

The realization sent a delightful chill racing along his flesh, a chill that soon gave way to promised heat and a fire that ran wild. And that fire, he knew, came from within her.

Because she was going to fight….

Warrior.

And she was worthy of him. More than worthy

Max smiled up at the slowly descending moon, her arm still hanging from the sling.

"It's a nice night," she repeated. "Don't you think it's beautiful, Gabriel?"

"Yes," he said, seeing her hair caught in the breeze. "Yes, it is."

She dropped her eyes to the ground, her toes arched over the pebbly soil. "My feet are cold," she said. "I'm going to go inside and have a cup of coffee, okay?"

It was a mild rejection, her quiet, gentle way of telling him that she wanted to be alone. He tried not to let her brusqueness sting him, but the thought of solitude was unattractive. He wanted to be close to her now, to see her reclaim what she had lost, to see her cross the border into a life that was new and daunting, but their's. Their's together.

He wanted to be with her.

But Max shrugged him off. She moved away from him, testing their bond, testing him, until he thought that perhaps it was he and not her who had needed those solemn moments in the moonlight.

With some difficulty, Gabriel remembered his doctrine of detachment and he allowed stoicism to drop a mask over his face.

"I will leave you, then," he said in as even a voice as he could manage.

Max was hobbling around the back of the house when she turned, offering him a look that was surprisingly coy. "Don't go far," she said, a hint of brevity in her tone.

That struck Gabriel as odd. He turned on the bench, craning his neck as far as he could to get a better look at her. Max had her good hand braced on the side of the house, her fingers splayed against the aluminum siding. It was difficult for her to walk and she swayed every now and then, wincing when her toes skimmed over a particularly jagged rock. And yet her determination, her bold streak of independence somehow renewed his admiration.

And all his practiced instinct was numbed by the sight of her. He could not see. He could not realize. He could not understand.

This is a farewell, dulled reason told him. She is leaving you.

At the last moment, before she passed through the garage door, he reached for her, his arms extending in a final plea.

Max, he wanted to call for her, but she was already gone.

The night belonged to him alone, then. The empty stars, the unknowing moon and the wind that told him that this wasn't over, that it would never be over.

"Prophet," Gabriel said and he found that he hated the word.

He went back to the mountains, to the small vale with the picturesque stream and the perfumed grass that spoke of spring although it was only the dead of winter. From the height of the heavens the tiny house became a speck of enviable light on the flatlands, a sign of life that Gabriel was reluctant to leave behind. He flew amongst the thin, vaporous clouds and then wheeled back, searching for the lonely beacon through the black watches of the night. But all too soon, the yawning mountain vale opened before him and he landed, standing on the lip of the cliff with nothing but mist and air before his eyes and no sign of what he had left behind.

Gabriel threw himself down on the grass and pretended that he was back in Eden, in a place that had always been beautiful to him despite the great evil that had been wrought there. He laid on his back and looked at the peaks of the mountain, the smooth faces carved into the ancient rock, the cracks and crevices that had been eroded by vengeful storms and the rain.

He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of air rushing into his lungs. His heart was pounding in his ears, creating an uncomfortable staccato that made him feel flushed and feverish. In response, his stomach began to work itself into knots and Gabriel touched the healing wound on his abdomen, the place Max had stitched with her own nimble fingers when she had kept him as a prisoner in her garage.

He smiled, wondering how he had ever allowed himself to be captured….

"I am happy for you."

The voice was not loud, but it jerked Gabriel away from his memories and back to the cold mountainside. His eyes opened and his vision cleared and he saw Michael standing above him.

His brother was laughing and the sound was clear, an echo of the sun in the dark. Instinctively, Gabriel stretched his arm up and Michael reached down his hand, pulling the larger angel to his feet with a quiet grunt. They both stood on the lip of the vale, tiny streams of disturbed rock and soil cascading down the cliff-side into the valley below.

Michael had his face turned to the wind and he let the howling gusts rub his cheeks raw. "Welcome back," he said, with only a hint of self-satisfaction. "I knew you could not bear to be apart from her for too long."

"That is true," Gabriel admitted, "but I was not the first to relent. Max called to me. And I came."

"Then I should say you relented anyway," Michael replied, his lips turned up in a bright grin, "for I have never known you to be at the beck and call of a human before."

Gabriel grimaced. There still existed some contention between Michael and him, and he knew that he wasn't ready to appease his brother's gloating. It was too much for him to admit that Michael, as always, had been right.

Instead, he settled for a frown to drive away his companion's impertinent smile. "Did you follow me here?" he asked, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth.

Michael, however, was in a playful mood. He lifted his hand and pawed at Gabriel's shoulder, knocking the other angel off balance until he teetered on the edge of the cliff. "It was I who brought you here first," he said, "You followed me."

"Childish," Gabriel growled, although there was no obvious malice in his voice. He beat his great wings once, steadying himself until he felt secure in his standing once more.

Michael was laughing at him, his mouth split open in a smile that was all too eager and alive with unabashed delight. It was one of those rare moments when he looked almost boyish, the lines of care falling from his face, giving his flesh the tone of youth and his manner the vibrancy of an innocent heart.

And despite himself, despite his stoic sensibilities, Gabriel wanted to join Michael in his careless laughter and wild spirit. He wished to play and carouse as they had when life was young and Adam and Eve still dwelled with their Father in Eden. He wished to love the world for what it was, despite its taint and sin and wickedness. He wished to be joyful and embrace the blessing he had granted, the blessing that existed within Max, that little human woman he had dared to love.

Michael knew all this. His own expression was a reflection of his brother's yearning and he dropped down onto the grass with all the grace of a drowsy beast, his long legs dangling over the cliff-side.

With no sign of reluctance, Gabriel joined him and together they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, while the stones of the mountain slumbered beneath them and the wind whispered wordless hymns as it swept past their bodies.

"I knew that you would love her," Michael said, his voice free from remonstrance, but open to admiration and respect as he glanced at his brother. "I knew from the moment I came upon you sitting in her garage-"

"Chained like a mongrel," Gabriel grunted.

"And you hated her then. You thought she was ugly, but you did not see-"

"Beauty," Gabriel replied, thinking of Max and how she had looked standing before him, her arm in the sling, her hair mussed, but her eyes burning with that potent fire. "Beautiful," he repeated to himself.

Michael did not hear him. "She was waiting a long time," he continued. "I think she was waiting for you."

Gabriel did not respond right away, but let Michael's words sink in. They warmed his heart, in a strange way. They made him feel…special. Loved.

But was he loved in return?

Gabriel tried to shake the treacherous doubt from his mind. He knew that he loved Max, but not in a manner that was carnal, no. Angels were beings of light, not physical matter and procreation itself was denied them. Gabriel affections were not base, were not founded in lust nor the earthly desires meant for humans alone. He loved Max in a way that transcended the flesh, in a way that was perhaps sacred for its innocence and purity.

But even so, Gabriel wrestled with the concept. He was a stranger in a foreign land, a creature unused to the gentle comforts of affection and it all made him feel very uncertain. And it was the uncertainty that troubled him the most, the constant questioning of himself and his ability to extend his heart to another. He was not sure that love could come naturally to him and to stand there now and discuss it so openly with Michael seemed almost blasphemous to him. It would be easy, he realized, to slip back into the safety of denial. Denial was secure. Denial was protective. He could be the stoic warrior, then. He could regain all that he had lost.

There was, he reasoned, no true happiness in love. Acceptance did nothing. He still felt desperate, he still felt lonely and he still wondered if perhaps he was making a mistake.

Max, after all, had not necessarily told him that she returned his affection. And there was the distinct possibility that he, the Left Hand of God, was a fool.

The splendor of the dying moon and the bright streak of Heaven's stars no longer attracted him. He rose and turned away from the edge of the cliff, drawing deeper into the moody shadows of the vale. The thin stream was all but frozen in its banks and Gabriel dug the toe of his boot into the soft soil, driving blades of young grass into the water.

Michael did not follow him at once. He remained by the edge of the cliff and when the wind rose, he opened his wings and let his feathers catch the air. For a moment, Gabriel thought he was going to pitch himself forward in flight

"You are angry with me," Michael said, bracing his body against every errant gust.

"Yes," Gabriel admitted. There could be no secrecy between them now. Only truth, only honesty, which itself came with a heavy cost. But Gabriel was willing to pay the price if only to unburden his mind. And there was a part of him, a large part of his heart, that truly missed his brother.

They had been at odds for so long, quarreling over matters that should have gladly been settled with a warm embrace and an apology. But he was stubborn and Michael was stubborn and they had both dug in their heels and refused to admit that neither of them had been right.

Gabriel wondered if he could swallow his pride now…if it meant that he could have his brother back when he needed him the most.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he was too far gone already, like Lucifer, when he fell.

"Do you still believe I had something to do with Jack's death?" Michael asked suddenly.

Gabriel almost winced, fresh pain searing through his chest. He jammed his heel deeper into the moist soil, grinding his foot until the dirt nearly covered the sole of his boot. Yes, this is honesty, he thought. The brutality of it almost made him wish to withdraw and face the world alone.

But Michael was still sitting there, still watching him sadly and Gabriel remembered how much he had loved their brotherhood.

Breathing slowly so as to steady his nerves, he shook his head. "I am sorry," he said in a voice that was more strained than he would have liked it to be. "That was very wrong of me. That was…cruel of me."

"Senseless, perhaps," Michael commented, "but your malice was obscured. I do not think you believed your own accusations. You loved that boy, Gabriel. It was terrible for you to see him die."

"Terrible," Gabriel echoed. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Yes, yes it was terrible. I try to numb my grief with petty comforts."

"I understand."

"I tell myself that the boy is at peace and yet, the wild sorrow lingers."

Michael had risen ad drawn closer to him as they were speaking and now his brother stood by his shoulder and they both looked into the stream, watching their cold, pale reflections stare back at them. "Now," he said softly, his voice a careful whisper, "now you see what it is to be human."

Gabriel did not reply, but he touched his chest. He laid his fingers across the spot where Max had pressed her own hand and he tried to feel his heartbeat. The metal of his breastplate was chilled.

Michael stirred by his side and Gabriel watched his fitful reflection in the stream. He saw his brother frown.

"There is something else between us," he said with an unusual amount of hesitance. "Something-"

"Deeper," Gabriel supplied. If Michael could be honest, than so could he.

"I hate your anger," his brother said.

Gabriel heard Michael move uneasily, his footsteps stirring the tender grass. The tiny sliver of sky visible from between the rocky walls of the vale had been stained a dark blue, with the black of the night ebbing away in favor of the rising dawn. Gabriel felt a sense of urgency rush over him. He looked at Michael and saw his brother standing nearby. His shoulders were stooped, his bearing distant.

Not much time, he thought vaguely. We do not have much time.

"You are right," he said, although the admission was terribly painful. Gabriel felt the words scrape against his throat, pulling at his vocal chords as though they were jagged pieces of stone. "My anger is…false. It is wrong. Unwarranted. I am not angry with you, Michael, I am jealous."

"Jealous?" Michael's whole body moved as he spoke. His long feathers rustled, the tips trailing against the ground, poking holes into the soil. "Have I given you cause to be jealous?" he asked, his tone touched not with spite, but pure curiosity.

Gabriel raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Yes, although I know it was unintentional. You are too good, Michael, to ever purposefully hurt me. I, on the other hand…I am wretched."

"Do not say that." Michael started forward. He reached out a hand and touched the leather vambrace strapped over Gabriel's right wrist. "You are not wretched. It wounds me to see how little you think of yourself, especially when I can only love you. Do you not see, Gabriel, how truly worthy you are? How worthy you have always been?"

"I am not," Gabriel was surprised when he choked on a sob. "I am not worthy, Michael and I know this because I have seen you with them, with humans, with her…. If she loved you, if you were the one Max loved, you would accept her blindly. Happily. I cannot. Even now, oh God, even now I cannot!"

"Gabriel, Gabriel." Michael raised his hand and folded his fingers over his brother's shoulder. They stood close together, Michael's embrace steadying the larger angel as the wind shrieked through the crevices in the rock and the stream stirred in its banks and the whole world seemed to be slipping, slipping, falling…

"You are ashamed," Michael said gently. "And you should not be. You deal too much in pride, in restraint."

"I have opened with you," Gabriel protested, hating, all the while, how weak his voice sounded when marked with tears. "I have told you what burdens my heart only to face your reproach. Do not mock me, Michael-"

"I would never mock you."

"Why has this happened?"

"You are not being punished."

"She cannot love me."

"She does." Michael put his hands on either side of Gabriel's neck, his finger's splayed against his jaw.

There was a moment of silence. Gabriel knew he should have felt at peace, but his heart was racing and his skin was colored with a dangerous flush and he felt, almost, as if he could throw himself back off the cliff and into the reaching mist below. He wanted to escape, to indulge his fears until he could be free from them, from Max…

For she had not said that she loved him. She had never…

But it was Michael who held him there, the brother he had scorned, the companion he had dared to hate. Gabriel was bewildered feeling the hot kisses of the tears on his cheeks, which ran so readily down his face and dripped over Michael's fingers.

It was awful. The cold mountain air filled his lungs with daggers and he could not breathe and he felt sick and ashamed for all that had done. For Michael, lying on the floor in that diner with the hot spray of blood around his head like some blasphemous halo. For Jack and Max's sister and the young girl Audrey, who's body had been so cruelly crushed beneath his when they were thrown from the car. For the world, which was now dead, a Garden of Eden scorched not by hell fire, but the very light of Heaven. For men, who were lost. And for himself, he who was lost with them.

Gabriel looked at his brother, he found his eyes through his tears and he knew what he should say, the one thing that had burned in his soul and numbed his heart and had kept him bound to the dying earth when all he wanted was to fly again.

He wanted to say it and he needed to say it and the words, the bitter words of absolution, were on his lips, but he could not speak.

It was Michael, however, who spoke for him.

"Forgive me," his brother said. "Forgive me."

And that was all. It was finished.

Gabriel swallowed away his tears, his repressed sobs forming a thick lump in the back of his throat. Raising his hand, he pressed his knuckles against Michael's chest, on the place where his heart beat and where the true essence of life existed, the life that he had been so wrong to take.

Gabriel didn't say anything. He kept his hand on Michael's heart and was comforted by its measured beating, by all that it promised him and all the blessings he had already been granted.

"You are forgiven," he said at length and the words were a vow, not only to Michael, but to Max, the human who had sinned. The human he loved.

And Michael smiled.

A sudden light pierced the narrow mountain vale, a creeping warmth that sent away the lingering shadows and put diamonds into the ice-strewn stream and the dewy grass. The world was reborn.

Gabriel turned to the east and Michael with him and together, the brothers watched the sun rise.

He gave Max a few hours. He waited until the mountain vale was flooded with light and the sun high enough to cast a shadow before he thought of returning to the ranch. Michael went with him and their flight back over the flatlands soon turned into a game, with each brother joyfully trying to outrace the other.

In the end, it was Gabriel was won.

As soon as he landed outside the house, he felt the burden of reality descend upon him. He had been too long amongst the hazy reaches of the uncertain heavens to appreciate the solid beauty of the earth. As he looked about himself, he saw all the little things that had become dear to him in so short a time; the shadowed outline of the barn, the wooden fences, the tack shed, with its cracked leather saddles and empty feed bins and tarnished bits. And then there was the grave, the small mound of soil and sand that sat by the far side of the old shed.

Gabriel glanced at the crooked cross with a sad sort of understanding. There would always be, he realized, that tender place in his heart, that flaw in his happiness. It was a wound he knew wouldn't heal. And he didn't want a scar to form over the pain until it was smooth and unnoticeable, a simple mark of something lost but ultimately forgotten. Jack deserved more than that. He deserved to be remembered, to be mourned and Gabriel had loved that boy, had loved him enough to honor him the only way he could ever properly be honored.

The memory of the child would remain with him, unaltered, undying, alive again in shadows and thoughts and remembrances that he would always hold as sacred. There would be no comfort, no end to Gabriel's grief, but an understanding of what Jack had given him, the great joy and the desperate sorrow. And in that joy and in that sorrow, he found something of release.

It was, he decided, his final penance.

Standing a few feet from the grave, Gabriel realized that he was finally at peace with himself. He felt full and he felt whole and he felt loved…

Loved, yes. He could allow himself to feel loved.

Looking towards the small ranch house with its unwashed windows and faded aluminum siding and the garage, which almost seemed too bulky to fit the narrow building, Gabriel thought of Max. She would probably be sitting in the kitchen because she was too stubborn to go back to bed, sipping her cup of coffee as she waited for him to come back. And he had promised her, he had promised to return.

Don't go far.

Michael landed on the ground next to him, his impact light, his body straightening as he folded up his wings and shook the cold from his feathers.

"You will stay?" his brother asked him, nodding in the direction of the house, unable to keep the boyish smile from his ageless face.

"I will," Gabriel said. "She has asked it of me-" But he stopped. His voice died when he heard it.

The baby was crying. Wailing. Screaming. The sound ruptured the sleepy stillness of the dawn, sending out a warning that was both shrill and terrible. Gabriel's mind revolted against the noise, his blood freezing as the cry broke off into tiny, breathless sobs.

The brothers looked at each other. At once, Michael's expression hardened, changing from carefree to concerned. Gabriel instinctively clenched his hands into fists, the true inelegance and ungainliness of his great body wretchedly clear to him. As the child cried, he began to realize how utterly helpless he was in the face of such human misery. How utterly powerless and weak.

And that shamed him.

Michael, on the other hand, had always been sure of himself.

Without a moment's delay, he strode purposefully towards the house, calling out "Charlie! Jeep!" in a voice that was strong despite the small tremor at the corner of his mouth.

Max, Gabriel thought, but said nothing. He followed his brother silently as they rounded the back of the house, passing the picnic bench on which he had sat with Max only a few short hours ago. But the bench was empty now, nothing but bare wooden planks and chipped varnish and stale memories that were already falling to forgotten dust…

Max, Max…this is a farewell.

"Charlie! Jeep!" Michael called again. He had broken into a hurried trot. "Charlie! Jeep!"

This time, someone answered him.

"In here, Michael," Charlie replied, her tired voice obscured by the crying baby. "We're in the garage here."

Gabriel saw Michael round the corner, saw him pause when he came to the open door of the garage. And he knew, he just knew.

Max…

She wouldn't be waiting for him.

Gabriel joined his brother by the door and his heart sank when saw how bare the place looked, the concrete floor stretching out before him, the old power tools pushed against the walls, the pile of blankets and rags still lying in the corner where Max had left them. The air was cold and smelled of motor oil and exhaust.

"I can't believe it," Jeep said, sounding truly angry for the first time. He was standing next to Charlie in the center of that wide open space where the pick-up had been parked. "She took our truck, Michael. She stole it from us."

"Jeep," Charlie scolded. She was rocking her baby fitfully in her arms, her movements quick and tense and not the least bit soothing. "Hush now, Robbie, hush," she muttered. "You just hush."

"What's happened?" Michael asked, although Gabriel thought it was rather obvious.

Suddenly weak-kneed, he took a step back, his hand coming to rest on a rusty lawn mower. The pain sloughed off beneath his palm and he glanced at the name emblazoned on the green side. It read John Deere.

Jeep was adamant. He paced. He threw up his hands and stretched out his arms as if he meant to touch the walls on either side of him.

"She took our truck," he said incredulously. "She just took it, Michael. I swear to God I didn't hear anything or I would have stopped her. Charlie was sleeping. I was sleeping. I woke up this morning and the house was empty and then I come out here and see this. What…why would Max do this to us?"

"She thought she had to," Charlie amended, still struggling with her squalling baby. "Jeep, she wasn't being mean about it-"

"After all we've done for her, trying to be nice, helping out around here," Jeep ranted. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the floor. "You told us to come here, Michael, I don't know what the hell for. We're in deeper shit now than we were to begin with-"

"Stop!" Charlie interrupted him sharply. She narrowed her pretty blue eyes until she looked quite fierce. "Jeep, it's all right. She didn't mean any harm. Here." Balancing the infant in one arm, she fished around in the pocket of her wrinkled jeans and pulled out what looked to be a crumpled napkin. "I found this on the kitchen table."

"Give it to me," Michael instructed. He reached forward.

But Gabriel suddenly came alive. A sense of painful desperation stole over him, bringing an unwelcome ache to his heart, which he had dared to open to her, to Max, to that woman…

And she was gone. She had lied to him. She had…

She had tried to tell him, but he hadn't listened.

I don't think I want to wait anymore.

Charlie recoiled slightly when Gabriel tried to take the note, but he snatched it from her limp hand anyway, the soft tissue paper ripping in his hand. The pen strokes on the napkin were small and tight, he noticed, the cramped writing exuding distinct embarrassment.

He held the paper in his hand and read it quietly to himself once, then twice, his brow furrowing as a new knot of worry settled into his stomach.

Jeep and Charlie,

I don't usually steal things, but I jacked your truck. Sorry. I'm not taking it far, only to the blockade on the highway so I can pick up my squad car. I'll leave the keys in glove compartment. You can stay in my house as long as you want. I don't care.

Max

And that was it. Gabriel was surprised at how angry he felt.

He looked at Michael, hating his brother then, hating him for his soft words and assurances. You are not being punished.

"It's over," he said. He thrust the napkin at Michael, unable to hold it any longer. "You were wrong. It doesn't matter to her. She's human. She's-"

Michael smoothed the note out in his palm, his expression blank. "Did you read the back?" he asked. He paused, then added. "You have no faith in her, Gabriel."

That stung him. Bitterly. Gabriel had been close to regaining his pride, to closing himself up again as he eschewed Max's thoughtlessness, her utter and obvious lack of love.

She was a human, after all. He should have expected it.

But his reasoning could not be reconciled with his experiences. There was still too much of Max that he could love and his remembrances of her folded eagerly in his embrace were strong enough to dispel his renewed doubt.

Gabriel reluctantly edged his way over to Michael, peering over his brother's shoulder at the heavily creased napkin. There had been a second note, he realized, written on the other side of paper. The writing was still tiny and some words had been crossed out, as if Max didn't know exactly what she wanted to say. But what she had left for him, what was there, gave him hope.

Gabriel,

I'm sorry, but we both knew I wasn't really worth you. Not yet, anyway.

Max

Gabriel took the note from Michael. He ran his finger over the last few words.

Not yet, anyway.

That meant, it meant…

He wanted to tell her then that she was worthy, but he knew it wouldn't matter. Not until Max had settled the matter for herself. Not until she understood.

"Prophet," his brother muttered gently.

Gabriel looked at Michael. He understood. And he was happy enough to admit that his brother was right.

"Thank you," he said.

Michael only nodded.

"Look." Jeep said, turning away from Charlie as he crossed the empty garage. "If she's that crazy, if she's that unstable, then maybe we should just let her go. And wherever she went, she won't get far with her head cracked open and her arm all wrapped up in that sling. Maybe she'll be smart and come back. Maybe she'll-"

"She's not unstable," Michael replied. He folded the note neatly. "And she isn't coming back." He paused and smiled to himself. "Not yet, anyway."

"Well, when?" Jeep asked bluntly.

But Charlie silenced him. She reached put her hand on his arm. "It doesn't matter," she said, looking for an instant like the Madonna, her expression kind and soft and knowing.

Mother, Gabriel thought when he glanced at her and saw the now dozing babe in her arms as she stood with her Joseph.

He had hope.

"Here it is, then," Michael said, looking at his brother. His tone was slightly foreboding and yet there was a pleasant undercurrent to it, a challenge that hearkened to Gabriel, making him feel wondrously alive. "You have a choice to make," he told him. "What will you do?"

And Gabriel knew this was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment when he would be called to stand up for the one thing he had never imagined to possess.

Love. And Max.

He could abandon her. He could return home. He could ignore and try to forget. But he couldn't, God, dear Father, he couldn't.

It is our place to guide them, Gabriel thought. He still felt the weight of Max's body in his arms. A smile awoke in his heart. "I am going to find her."

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! If you happen to have some free time, please do leave a review. Feedback really means the world to me and I truly appreciate any comments I receive.

In chapter twenty-two, Max finally returns to the ruined city of L.A. and makes a shocking discovery at her sister's apartment. The next installment is in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Until then, take care and be well, everyone!