Gabriel wiped the sweat from his forehead and surveyed the laboratory. For now, everyone was on alert. Yet life continued. The catacombs beneath the Vatican were still the center of activity, but it was restoration rather than creation which took place.
Gabriel moved to lean against the wall as he gazed at the progress. The debris had taken three days to clear away, and many of the Order had been forced to keep working through their companions' funerals to pull order out of the calculated destruction. Gabriel had spent his days covered in dust and filth, working almost tirelessly and trying to avoid the sidelong glances of concern and anxiety the assorted clergy were giving him. His condition had been well known, and many knew that he should be dead. While none would stoop to gossiping in front of him, more had the gumption to speak about him behind his back.
Gabriel rubbed his eyes tiredly, taking a deep breath as he slumped against the wall. There was a betrayer within the Order, but he could see no sense in it. There was no personal gain to be had by allying with Lucifer's minions. Either the traitor didn't know that, or didn't care about personal gain – in which case, they were dealing with a zealot whose devotion would lead to their destruction. Gabriel couldn't bring himself to use the word fanatic. He felt only pity for someone so maniacally driven – but pity had never stayed his hand, and would not now.
Pushing back his dark hair, slick and tangled with sweat, Gabriel opened his eyes. He noticed several men glance quickly away, and that same sense of sorrow he had felt when confronted by Jinette three days ago shot through him again. He knew, now, that his time with the Order was coming to a close. He would fight the creature, and that would be the end. Survive or not, he was leaving.
Strangely, the sorrow dissipated with his decision, and was replaced by resignation. It had a familiar feel to it, as if he had done this many times before.
Gabriel growled under his breath, pushing roughly off the supporting stone. He bent himself to the task of cleaning, and started clearing away broken fragments of a table. He hefted a slab of wood onto his shoulders. Hesitantly, some of the men – ones he had spoken to in passing, men who had worked with him for several years – came to help. He offered a tired smile of gratitude.
And his sharp ears caught a few words, muttered not far away – "unnatural. Inhuman."
The wood slipped slightly, and Van Helsing tightened his grip. He made eye contact across the underground chamber. He knew the man speaking only by reputation, which wouldn't lead him to believe the other was speaking about him. But he also knew that tension and grief were strong in the Order now, and the need to strike back – while rare for the gentle men who designed and created for the Order – was running strong.
So after three days of work with only short breaks for food and rest, Gabriel knew his presence was grating on the men working amid the devastation. He noted that there were only a few hours left until the shift change, and he resolved to take his turn then, as he had refused to do for over seventy-two hours.
He ignored the frequent looks and the growing murmurs as he counted the minutes down. With something akin to relief, he left the catacombs three hours later, and tiredly made his way to a small chapel which the clergy had little to do with on a regular basis. The small shrine was normally deserted, the only signs of life the candles that were lit by tradition, rather than through the belief that any actually went there.
The pews were dark wood, and the faint light from the candles was swallowed in the shadows of the deep-vaulted ceilings. Taking one candle, Gabriel slowly moved around the abandoned place of worship, and soon a welcoming glow warmed the beautiful room. This shrine was old, and while clean, it did not garner the attention of the clergy for it did not draw the faithful for mass.
Gabriel had never understood the general lack of interest in the room, but he welcomed the solitude. It embraced him, allowing him to do the one thing no one ever thought he could – pray. Sometimes, he shed tears in this small room, remembering the innocents he had failed, and the men twisted by evil that he had been forced to kill.
He knelt in quiet contemplation before the altar, clearing his mind. The room's gentle golden glow, emphasized by the cream-colored marble, made the chapel a serene retreat.
Gabriel thought over the past few weeks. His murdering of Anna Valerious, an innocent he had sworn to protect, and had loved. The appearance of the creature, and young Michael – another innocent he could not protect.
And the memories. The creature's arrival had shifted broken pieces of his past lying within him; pieces that he had strived to put into order, and been unable to even understand.
He was gazing at the cross, his mind serenely blank, when an image floated in front of his eyes.
He sighted the other man, whose dark eyes were filled with infinite wisdom and compassion, standing under a tree next to the path. "Gabriel." The greeting overflowed with warmth, and joy. The two men embraced.
Gabriel smiled in return, the simple happiness of seeing this man flooding his soul. "Little brother," he acknowledged softly.
At this the man laughed. "It is good to see you again."
"Indeed. You have grown." Gabriel turned a fond eye on the other, who was clothed in a simple robe, sandals on his feet. He was not as tall as Gabriel, yet he had clearly reached maturity.
His brother smiled. "I was barely a youth when you saw me last," he smiled, and Gabriel laughed to see a rare tinge of mischief in his eye. "I should hope that I have grown, in your eyes at least!"
Gabriel's answering smile was gentle, as he looked over the man whom he cherished as a younger brother.
The other man – for he was a man, now, at thirty-three – had a pure soul and sober demeanor, with a forgiving heart and gentle strength of dignity rivaled only by the strength of his faith.
"Of all our Father's sons, Gabriel, I find you the most enigmatic." The comment was made softly, and Gabriel realized that his younger brother was looking him over in turn.
He made no reply, simply inclining his head. He was immensely older than the man at his side, though none would know to look at him. He had seen the creation of the stars and the earth, yet the simple power of this man's kind soul was a wonder to him.
The two began walking towards the village a scant mile away. "I have spoken with many of the people," Gabriel said softly.
His younger brother gazed at him with wise eyes. "You know that soon my mission for our Father will be fulfilled."
"Yes." The word was laden with sadness. Gabriel knew the suffering the man beside him faced, and his brother knew as well. He gazed at the young man.
"We will never abandon you," he said suddenly.
The other man, startled, missed his step slightly. He did not even have the time to stagger before Gabriel steadied him, gently grasping his arm.
A look of surprise crossed his younger brother's features. "Of course not," he said. Understanding flashed across his expressive face.
Gabriel closed his eyes momentarily, and concern radiated from him.
"You fear for me," his little brother acknowledged.
"No," Gabriel returned just as quietly. "I fear you will believe yourself twice betrayed, and in that moment – lose hope."
The sun shone brightly on them, and in that moment, they were more alike than they had ever been. Physically, with their tanned skin and dark hair, they were similar, but the concern each felt for the other at that moment was what truly showed their filial bond.
"Our Father would never abandon me," his younger brother stated with quiet confidence. "Neither would you."
"I do not speak of myself."
In his younger brother's eyes was gentle comprehension. "No. You speak of Judas."
Gabriel nodded, unsurprised that the younger man understood with perfect clarity.
"I fear you will not leave until you see my destiny fulfilled," Jesus said quietly.
"No." There was implacable resolve in the one word, yet it conveyed between the two a depth of emotion few ever knew. Gabriel would not leave his little brother alone, to meet his harsh fate without the knowledge that someone who loved and understood him would be there to watch over him, to comfort in some small way those he left behind.
The man beside him breathed in slowly. "And yours?"
Gabriel smiled, but it was not a kind expression. "I am the Left Hand," he said simply. "I am what our Father has made me, and cannot be less. I will remain."
The other man looked saddened. "For how long?"
Gabriel closed his eyes once more, pictures and sounds whirling in his head. His voice was so low it was nearly a whisper. "Until it is finished."
Gabriel drifted out of his reverie with the calm certainty that danger was present. He slowly rose, turning toward the threat. His mind lingered on the memory which remained poignantly clear, his eyes searching out the peril primed to attack.
The man creeping down the aisle turned, and Gabriel could see that he was preparing to flee.
"Stop."
One quiet word should not have frozen the traitor, but it did. Implacable authority refused to allow the man to leave, the mere tone of the word forbidding him to take another step.
Calmly, much too calmly, Gabriel moved toward the betrayer. He did not know this man, whose shiny chestnut locks were sprinkled with grey. But the pale eyes were full of hatred, and Gabriel did not feel anger or disgust – only pity, only sadness, only weariness. And the eyes, sparking with rage, were familiar to him.
"What is your name?"
The other man looked at his expressionless face, and the knife fell from suddenly trembling fingers. Gabriel noted the sound, but kept his eyes fixed on the lined face turned up to him in fear.
"Piotr," he responded lowly.
"Why did you think to kill me, Piotr?" Van Helsing's voice held a compassion that was nevertheless as hard and strong as steel.
The other man did not look away. "You stand in the way," was all he said.
Unfortunately, that statement explained everything.
"You will come with me."
The man nodded, seemingly having given up. Gabriel walked slightly behind the traitor as he escorted the man back to the underground laboratory. The work groups paused as they passed, for Van Helsing had a knife in clear evidence, pointed toward Piotr.
They made their way through the pockets of destruction and laboring men, until they reached the one relatively untouched work area, where Jinette was overseeing the repairs.
"Van Helsing! What's going on?"
"Not now, Carl," Gabriel replied, his senses fixed on the traitor but his eyes focused on Jinette. He heard the friar come up behind him, and could feel Carl's inquiring glance.
"Van Helsing?" Jinette raised his brows questioningly.
"Piotr has betrayed us to the creature."
His quiet words once again had an effect beyond their seemingly miniscule power. There was utter silence in the workroom, which quickly spread to encompass the entire catacombs complex.
Jinette's gaze descended to fix on the man, and the traitor looked quickly away. "Piotr?" Jinette's voice was unaccountably soft.
The betrayer winced, and tears began to slide down his face. He began to speak, and the workers moved closer to hear the softly whispered words. "Not long ago, a pale man approached me. He spoke to me of many things. Of religion, and God - " here, a soft sob. Gabriel had no doubt about the power of the serpent's oily tongue. "I – I began to doubt my faith," Piotr confessed. "The man said he could help me, and give me proof to believe in. All I had to do was open the way for him."
"Yes," Gabriel murmured. "And once the door was open, the creature spilt innocent blood to ensure that he could return at leisure." Michael's blood had ascertained that the creature would be able to return and wreak havoc on them all. Piotr winced.
"The man told me that my duty to him would be done, and there would be proof of my faith, if I could do one last task. I – I planned to kill Van Helsing."
"Well, you're certainly not the first," Carl muttered.
Gabriel shot him an irritated glare.
"What?" Carl asked, surprised. "It's true."
Van Helsing rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"Needless to say, you have failed," Jinette said, cutting off the banter between the two. Poitr's blue eyes were filled with fear. Jinette said harshly, "For your crimes, you shall be -"
Piotr knew his fate – knew that death was imminent. And Gabriel could see the knowledge dawn in his eyes, just as he could see that the betrayer would never submit. To come so far, he had been a talented actor indeed, but his eyes were filled with an unholy rage, one that would not be tamed by words or threats.
Gabriel could see the rage bubbling, and knew the instant it boiled over. He lunged at nearly the same time Piotr did, knocking the crazed man away from his intended target – Jinette. The Head of the Order.
The two tumbled over the floor, and the small crowd which had gathered quickly made space, the clergy pressing themselves against the walls. They were unwilling to fight now, but should Van Helsing fall, they would besiege the traitor.
Van Helsing rolled away from Piotr and to his feet. The other man produced a knife from inside his robes, and the two circled warily. With a shout, the other man rushed Gabriel.
It was over.
Gabriel twisted swiftly to the side, slashing lightly with his blade, and Piotr cried out in surprise as he landed a swift blow. The knife flew from Piotr's hand, and within moments, he was kneeling at Gabriel's feet, with Van Helsing's blade at his throat.
Van Helsing caught sight of Jinette, who nodded at him. Eyes fierce, he glared at Piotr. "The Cardinal is telling me that I should kill you." His voice rang out strongly in the silence. "But I think that to shed your blood would cement the creature's access to our stronghold. You will tell me how you granted the creature access to the Vatican."
Piotr would not meet Gabriel's burning gaze. He swallowed, Adam's apple trembling against the keen edge pressing against his throat. "Piotr!" The command snapped through the air.
"I – I preformed a Black Mass," he whispered. The silence still reigned, but now it was a quietude that bespoke horror.
"And you never intended to kill me," Gabriel returned. "Your goal was to get to the Head of the Order, was it not? To gain from him the location of the Holy Lance?"
Piotr's gaze widened in shock.
Gabriel sneered – he didn't need any other signals to tell him that he was correct. "You will tell Beelzebul that Gabriel remembers him." He spat the soft words with enough venom to make the traitor flinch. "You tell him that the Left Hand remembers, and this time, I will finish it!"
He lifted the knife slightly from Piotr's throat. "Do you understand?"
The betrayer nodded, eyes wide. His entire body was shaking in fear. Gabriel glanced quickly at Carl. The friar was carefully inspecting the scene before him, and Gabriel knew his quick mind was treading onto dangerous ground. "Carl. Rope," he instructed.
"You will not kill him?" Jinette came slightly forward, once again proving his fortitude to Van Helsing.
Gabriel shook his head. "He is a minion of Beelzebul. His life is tied to the creature, now. Killing him would do no good – it would simply let the creature know that we have discovered the traitor." Gabriel's lip curled in disgust. "We will release him in the city after midnight, and let him run back to his master."
"You would grant him mercy for these crimes?" Jinette was shocked. Carl glanced at Van Helsing and was taken aback by a flash of ancient wisdom that passed through the hunter's eyes before it was concealed.
"The Christ forgave Judas Iscariot. Can we do less?"
Jinette only shook his head. After a moment, he spoke. "I fear no good will come of this."
Gabriel shrugged, tightening the knots around Piotr's wrists and arms. A path was made through the members of the Order lining the outer edges of the room, and Piotr was led to the few containment cells in the catacombs.
Gabriel returned swiftly, to find the members of the Order back at work, a thoughtful silence dominating the subterranean complex.
Carl advanced toward him, and Gabriel gave an inward groan, anticipating his question. If he did not handle this carefully, the hunter would be forced to leave before confronting the creature, and that was unacceptable.
He regarded his best friend with dread as the other finally halted in front of him. "Van Helsing, what did you mean by what you said to Piotr?"
- - - - - - - - - - -
Heh. So, the plot gets gloopier. (grin). Thanks for all those who are conscientiously prodding me to get this done. All reviews make me go faster, and in a very fluffy, pink, Energizer-Bunny sorta way. So, please review! (all my thanks to those who decided to play Muse last chap, this story is flying!)
Oh, and PS – I'm reiterating my disclaimer here, and am NOT trying to make any comments on religion (tough though it might be in this case). If you're offended in any way by my portrayal of Christ, I sincerely apologize.
