Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews and encouragements on the first chapter.
She was not surprised when she heard the Chancellor's message on her answering machine. For several days now, Barbiel had expected the official reprimand. Striking an officer was a serious breach of conduct, even under the old corrupt government of Sevotharte; such an act in the new pious order ensured her an instant court martial—at the very least. The fact that Hardriel had been an officious little prick did not matter.
On the fifth morning, Barbiel woke up at the break of dawn. She showered, brushed her hair, and dressed herself in her best uniform.
Barbiel walked into Chancellor Tobias's office in her typical long, confident strides. The bow was low and meek enough, but the stiffness of her posture and the coolness of her gaze spoke louder than words.
"I take full responsibility for what happened: please punish me as you see fit." She announced.
The newly elected Chancellor sighed. "I didn't call you in to punish you, but to ask you once more to accept the promotion."
Barbiel began to shake her head, "no, sir, I couldn't—"
Tobias cut through her protest with one imperial wave of the hand. "From what I gather, there is no guarantee that Raphael will ever wake up from the deep sleep."
"I must respectfully disagree." Barbiel raised her hands in supplication. "I am sure that his lordship will recover. His physician says there's a 56 percent chance that Lord Raphael will regain consciousness within the next three to six months."
"Bah, physicians my foot. We cannot afford to wait any longer." At the young woman's stubborn expression, the Chancellor changed his hardliner tone. "For Heaven's sake, you will accept the position. Accept it. Pour all your energy into restoring the Ministry, and--" he paused for emphasis, "make your commander proud."
Her face softened perceptibly at the mention of Raphael. The wily old Chancellor kept his expression neutral, even though he was already congratulating himself for a successful recruitment.
"Then—you believe Lord Raphael will wake up?" She asked.
"I don't doubt it for a moment."
"Will you promise me to reinstate him as the Director, after he has recovered?"
"I promise."
"And my appointment is only to be temporary—"
"Of course."
She drew in a breath, and extended her hand towards the career politician, "very persuasively proposed. I accept." Then, she complimented him with a smile, "my bet would be on you, if you ever decide to take on Lucifer in a forum."
He snorted. "I'll take that as a compliment." The old man clasped her hand in a rigorous handshake, sealing the contract.
---
How many times had she carried reports into Raphael's office? How many times had she "accidentally" barged in here without knocking, and found him enwrapped in the arms of his newest paramour? Every corner of the office ought to have been as familiar to her as her own bedroom, but as she walked slowly around the room, she felt as if she was looking at the space for the first time. She was no longer entering as the secretary, but as the director of one of the most over-worked, under-staffed Institutions in Heaven.
Barbiel dumped her desktop items in an unceremonious heap on the smooth, metallic desk. Hesitantly, she walked to the large bay window that overlooked the busy street below. White-uniformed medical attendants hurried in and out of the building, each clutching a notepad or brief-case. Occasionally, one of them would slink into a shadowy corner, and light up a cigarette. Raphael had flaunted his vices openly. When he didn't have a new bimbo hanging on his arm, he had a cigarette hanging on his lip. She drew in a bracing breath, and to her shock, smelt the faint and familiar scent of cigarette smoke. It was a comforting reminder of him.
She blinked, hard, against tears. "Compose yourself," she muttered underneath her breath.
"Hey. You." A harsh masculine voice called to her back. Barbiel knew before turning to whom the voice belonged.
"Michael, how are you?" Her eyes were bright, and smiling as she walked to greet the unexpected visitor. To her eyes, Raphael's best friend looked both taller and older than she remembered. Gone were the scruffy clothes, the cut-off shorts. Instead, Michael wore the formal dark uniform of a military office--an Arial general, by the looks of the pips.
"Congratulations on your promotion."
They said in unison. Barbiel grinned; Michael clenched his hands.
After a moment, she gestured vaguely at the furniture. "You know—I—I keep expecting him to show up any second." That was a silly remark, she knew. Yet she always did have a difficult time speaking to Raphael's flame-haired friend. He was her superior officer several times over. He could smite her dead with one glare (if he so chose). And he had a way of dominating a room, despite his youthful appearance.
"That bastard had better wake up soon." Michael commented abruptly. Barbiel nodded, feeling a bit taken aback at hearing him call her commander by that coarse Earth expression.
Suddenly, Michael turned and made to leave. "See you around." He ordered.
"Mika, wait--"
He paused, and turned his face slightly in her direction. "What did you call me?"
Her heart twisted. "I'm sorry, I meant to say Lord Michael--"
"That's even worse," he retorted, "you can call me whatever you want. Mika, if you want. Barb."
Barb? No one had ever called her that, not even her own parents. "Err, thanks," she managed to say, more or less smoothly. "I was wondering if you wanted to pay a visit to the hospital with me, later today--if you have the time."
He shrugged again, apparently in acceptance.
"When do you close?"
Barbiel shook her head, unsure. "Maybe 18:00—at the latest 20:00."
"18:00 it is then."