They retraced their steps, and were silent. Raphael remained a pace behind the other angel, his step and his heart heavy. What had he almost done? Worse, what had he acknowledged? Deep in dark recriminations, he almost ran into the object of his thoughts, as Rociel had stopped outside the second door.

"What is it?" Raphael asked, dully. "You said this was an empty room."

But Rociel was staring at the closed door, a strange expression on his face. A lovely face, whispered Raphael's treacherous mind. Nothing like Alexiel's. He is nothing like Alexiel. He remembered Alexiel as she was, before their Creator had commanded her to remain for ever in the Garden of Eden, never to leave. Cold and beautiful, like a winter storm. Only when she had looked at her twin brother had Raphael ever seen anything warm in her eyes. You are cold, too. But there is something inside you... something in your eyes, that is... kind, and sad... and I... I...

Raphael realized that Rociel was saying something, softly under his breath. "Fear... and desire..." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. His shoulders were slumped in tiredness, or defeat. Raphael stepped closer, worry creasing his brow. The other angel had never before been so transparent in his emotions, and in spite of himself, Raphael felt concern.

He spoke his name softly and Rociel lifted his head. He gestured at the door. "Open it."

Raphael opened the door. It was, indeed, empty. He moved past Rociel to stand on the threshold. On the far wall, directly opposite the doorway, was a black veil.

He stood still, gazing at the veil. He was drawn to it. He felt that he could not look away. He took three steps into the empty room, and stopped. It was difficult to stop. He found himself asking, forcing the words past a mouth that did not want to move, "What is behind the veil?"

"An effigy," Rociel answered. Raphael did not realize that he had moved to stand so close behind him. "Of - God. Perhaps. Would you like to worship there?" Raphael could feel cool breath on the nape of his neck, stirring the strands of his hair. He shivered. Rociel's voice had sounded strange. He heard something almost like regret in it, but perhaps he was mistaken. He had never seen the face of God. He moved forward. It was the desire of every angel to gaze upon the Creator, to know if they had indeed been created in His image. He lifted his hand, reverently, to draw aside the veil.

"Raphael." Rociel's voice was soft, but Raphael stopped. His eyes were fixed on the blackness, and Rociel's soft, slow voice reached his ears like a caress, like tendrils winding around him. "Do you wish to fulfill your heart's desire? Our Father would not approve, you know... We are to adore One, and One only. Yet... He made us the way we are. Do you wish to fulfill your heart's desire?"

And Raphael turned. It was no longer unending black that filled his vision, but Rociel, standing in the middle of the room, arms hanging limply at his sides. And Raphael took a step forward, away from the veil, because he had thought that Rociel was more beautiful than the Serafita, he had thought Rociel more beautiful than the Creator's light.

A few slow steps and their bodies were almost touching, a hair's breadth away. Rociel murmured, "He would not approve," as Raphael's hands came up to frame his face. In sudden urgency, Raphael bent his head and kissed him. He had kissed a human once, just to know what it was like. This was nothing like kissing a human. This was cold and electric. He felt Rociel's smile against his mouth, and Rociel parted his lips. And then it was like kissing a human, hot and wet, and yet it was not. Raphael felt light-headed. He felt that he was falling.

They had moved, without knowing it, so that Rociel's back was against the wall. Raphael's entire body was pressed against his, as if he was trying to crawl into his skin, as if they were trying to become one being, and not two. Raphael's hand moved to the nape of his neck, and down his spine, caressing, desperate.

For once in his existence, Raphael needed to breathe. He felt as if he was drowning and he wanted to surface for a breath of air, only a breath. But he didn't want to sever the connection between them, he wanted, if it was possible, for the kiss to go on for ever. Rociel's mouth was warm, almost human, and he tasted of - of himself, something even stranger than angel, something inorganic and incomprehensible and pure. Raphael knew he was getting closer, he was getting closer to something, he knew it, if only he had a moment more, and a moment more, and a moment more...

Dimly he felt the other angel's hands on his shoulders, pushing him away, not ungently, but his thoughts were suddenly a whirlwind of panic and desperation. Wait, please, wait... He could not help a soft sound of regret as they separated, and he was, again, only himself. He was breathing heavily, and Rociel was looking at him, searching his face for something he did not know what.

"You chose this," Rociel said, in that soft voice, and Raphael whispered yes and he wanted to say that he would choose this, again and again. Rociel gazed past him, and Raphael knew that he was looking at the black veil. Raphael touched his hair, reverently. He did not care about the blackness of the veil now. He ran his fingers through the silver strands, thinking that there was nothing dark about it, it was like touching light, nothing but light. "This is free will," Rociel whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them he was looking at Raphael. "I am sorry," he said, placing a cool hand on Raphael's forehead. Raphael felt unreasonably warm, and his eyes fluttered close. "Listen to me," Rociel whispered, in his ear, and there was something furtive about it, something almost fearful. But the hand that remained on his forehead was steady and strangely reassuring. "Our Father is a wrathful God. He cannot bear His children to have strange desires for each other..." Raphael struggled to remain aware against a wave of lethargy that seemed to be wrapping around him in a cocoon. He was dimly cognizant of the fact that Rociel was responsible for this, Rociel had done something to him, and Rociel was saying, "... But you will remember that you are free."

What have you done! Raphael wanted to demand, but for a strange, terrible moment, he knew that he had no mouth, no arms or legs or face, and there was nothing of him except a tiny consciousness floating in a sea of white. And then sensation came back and he sucked in a desperate breath.

"You're awake."

Raphael opened his eyes. Zaphikiel was looking down at him, a clipboard in his hand and impersonal curiosity in his expression. Raphael did not need to look around to know that he was in heaven. There was something in the air that was - distinctly heavenly. He couldn't quite put a finger on it.

"Are you all right?" Zaphikiel continued.

"Yes." Raphael sat up. He felt fine. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us. Rociel-sama said that you lost consciousness a few moments after you went into the house on Assiah. He brought you back to Beriah and ordered that the house be destroyed. Mikael is probably carrying that out as we speak. What do you remember?"

"I..." Raphael suddenly wanted to bring his hand to his forehead, but he controlled the gesture. What did he remember? "Nothing," he said, slowly. As he spoke, he breathed in the clean and sterile air and found himself relaxing at the safe familiarity of it. "I remember nothing."

------

1999

Honestly, you never thought that it would come to this.

Heaven was a mess of political strife and backstabbing and sheer violence, and you thought, with a steady faith, that he would be able to put things right again. After all, everything degenerated after the war, after he'd gone and the seat of power was left empty and tempting.

And so you woke him up.

The thing is... the thing is, you missed him. You had gone on century after century without him, and that was a kind of torture that you had no words to describe. Heaven was empty without him, and you were empty too, and in your heart of hearts, wasn't that why you searched for him and woke him from his long sleep?

And is it so terrible of you, even after everything that has happened, that you can't regret your decision? That you can't regret that single act of waking him, even though he is clearly not the Rociel-sama you remember, even though he has set things in motion that will only lead to destruction?

You know that the other angels are afraid of him. You hear what they call him - the Insane Angel - in furtive whispers when they think you are not aware.

You know that you are selfish. You know that you are a monster, even more so than the one he made of you. You are reconciled to that. You've made your choice when you realized that you could not have left with Tiara. You could never have left Rociel-sama alone.

And so you stand aside and watch as he takes heaven apart piece by piece. He manipulates people and events around him as a child would play with shiny new toys. You watch as he plays mind games with Sevotharte, self-appointed dictator of heaven, and slowly drives him mad. Or drives him to the truth of what he is. Truth often equals madness, and you know that Rociel-sama knows this. When he releases Sandalphon, you want to shout, "No! That's a monster! Do you know what you're doing?" But you don't, because it's not your place.

You are all monstrous, anyway, you and Sevotharte and Sandalphon and everything in heaven, but to Rociel-sama, you are just puppets. He has said as much to you, once. We are all puppets, Katan, but who controls my strings?

You find it much harder to forgive yourself when he takes himself apart, piece by piece, and you can do nothing but watch, either. You want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he looks at you, you, not Mudou Setsuna. But you know it isn't Setsuna that he sees, it's Alexiel, and your conscience whispers to you that Alexiel imprisoned him in the earth; you woke him to this nightmare.

And when he clutches at you with hands clawed and shaking, and asks you, "Katan, am I beautiful?", you tell him what he needs to hear, and all the while you are drowning, drowning in his pain and in yours because you can never find the words to say all the things you want to say to him, everything that has been inside you ever since you first met him all those millennia ago.

You know that you and Sandalphon and the Creator and everything else in heaven are monstrous, but when you look at Rociel-sama, you still see nothing but light.

-the end-

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Note - I read Angel Sanctuary a few years ago, so if there are any odd or anachronistic elements in this fic, that's the reason. Um, just suspend your disbelief?