Disclaimer: I do not own Dogma, don't sue. I'm not making any money.

Summary: Too many thoughts to keep locked in my head. Metatron/Bethany

AN: This is pretty much a very long rant, somewhat mingled with a story point. I couldn't remember what Metatron said to Bethany and I couldn't find the script with the scene how it was shown in the movie. I apologize for that :(

If Metatron is OOC, I'm sorry: I kind of wrote this on a whim. I also apologize for grammatical/perspective errors. Anywho, hope you enjoy.

There I Was

There I was, standing invisible on the clear surface of the water. And there was she, Bethany, screaming to the sky. Asking the only question that, in truth, she could ask. I envy her for that simple question and at the same time feel the pang of sadness that had afflicted me when I first saw Jesus as he asked the same question too.

Bethany had run haphazardly in her grief and trudged into the cold, dampness of the pond, which was filled with an assortment of life. Her arms flailed and thrashed the water's sleek surface, splashing it in anger as though wishing it to break and knowing it never would.

That is when I came into the visible spectrum and began my slow, intended pace towards her weeping form.

In so many ways she was still a child to me. She had lived such a brief amount of time and I so many years. I had lived her existence tenfold and more and yet at times beside her I felt as though one lifetime would be quite sufficient if it meant staying next to her until death and, even then, beyond such triviality.

I remember seeing the small ripples which had spawned from the origins of the sole of my shoe. Now thinking back it seems to remind me of existence in itself. The ripples of humanity, originating from the center, from the one creator, and moving out into the vast nothingness that surrounded that one point. Every single ripple swooping out in such a unique way and all of which connected due to their genesis and, yet, all separate and free to move their own desired way, none of this known to them. Some would say that they were predetermined, but even then the ripple doesn't know its path. That's where I came to somewhat envy the crying girl. I didn't have to ask "why". I, like all other celestial beings, have known our end since our beginning. We are ripples set on pause while all the others rush by. When the mortal ripples can rest, we can not because that sort of end is not for us. We are not to be lost and absorbed into the great nothingness, but to forever shine above it, knowing we can not be forgotten.

Now, back to the crying girl sitting on the bank. Bethany's deep gasps issued unsteadily. Her breathing was erratic, tired and forlorn as her body rocked back and forth from the force of her breath.

Here beside her is where I felt that sudden epiphany that changed my mind, but not my state. I was perfect and that was the biggest problem. To explain to myself what exactly I had come to understand in that moment, without making my image out to be the narcissist that many, including myself, had always believed I was, I put it in the only terms that I could decipher. Bethany, with all her imperfections, was perfect because it was those limitations which made her who she was. As an Angle, as the voice of God, I was perfect and because of that, amazingly imperfect. Trying to sort out these thoughts even more I was faced with this fact which, when considering, I did not feel I could deny. Mortals remembered one another not for their perfections, but for their faults. Couples remember the funny idiosyncrasies of their mates. How their husband was bad at lying and how their wife was good at spending, or how their wife always cleaned her nails while watching television. Maybe her husband could never hold anything without dropping it. Those were the small things which shaped an individuals memory of a cared one, and I had nothing to be remembered by.

Remembered, shinning in the darkness of nothing? I think not. Now looking back to the analogy of the ripple and life I realize that I was flawed. I won't be remembered. We all won't be remembered, because we aren't fucked up enough for any of us to make an impression on a mind. When all is said and done we will be just as lost, if not more so. And all of this "perfection" stuff coming from a man who orders two glasses with his tequila so he can spit. As far as I see it, that seems very far from perfect or at least I hope it is.

She sat on the bank shivering from the cold, starry night, air which was caressing her body. I placed my coat around her as best I could, trying to keep the cold from its persistent attack.

I would have made a comment, the usual witty, sarcastic kind which over the course of my own existence I had mastered. But this time, I couldn't. Her eyes betrayed my first inclination and instead of that incredibly miffed tone I usually used, I was left speechless. I can assure anyone that the irony of that situation was not lost on me. The voice of God left speechless, that was just fucking great. I always new she (God) had a messed up sense of paradoxical humor that she was so glad to use and not keen to flaunt. No, she was always very quiet about it until you happened to notice this inconsistency of hers and then she'd just smile.

I spoke to Bethany with the words that I felt appropriate, but, when words fail, the only thing I could do was comfort her a little more. Sometimes words are not as necessary, although at times they seemed to be the only things that had helped secure my fictitious walls. Words were the cement to hold my rocks that, in this moment, had suddenly become unable.

Would I give it all up for you? Angels, though ill-equipped, are definitely still capable of speaking to God on the matter of becoming mortal. A question I hadn't once thought to ask her until now. Would it be blasphemy to hold Bethany's hand? Would I be lead to pandemonium for wanting to care for her? Would I be lead to martyrdom for loving her? Somehow this feels like a giant bout of phantasmagoria, the idea that I would go against what I was, in essence, made for. But, for Bethany, I just would.

In the end I know what is to happen. I can't, so I won't. There is so much still at risk. So many things unsure and I here I am. Am I actually ready to screw the universe over? I think not. Maybe in the end, when all is said and done and I know my choice won't cause such harm. Maybe then, but not now.

Bethany's tears rolled, now silently, down her reddened cheeks. I couldn't help but watch their un-plotted course as they slipped from the shadows across her face, to the edge of her jaw where they gently fell, absorbing into the moist ground.

I can't tell you everything right now, Bethany, but soon, I may regain my voice just to tell you that maybe an egocentric, overbearing, sometimes quite annoyed man who spits his tequila like a camel and doesn't have a package, just loves you more than he has the words to explain and surely not enough to help you understand.