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033. Too Much

Aziraphale slowly gained knowing of his surroundings. He now could tell that he was in his old room in Gabriel and Raphael's joined quarters. He still couldn't say anything, not having a body, but he managed to make out hazy figures and hear the voices of others. Little by little his sight returned, too, until his senses were just like they would have been had he still resided within his body.

Raphael couldn't do much for him before he had at least started regaining his body, but the archangels all visited him every now and then, keeping him company. Gabriel often even carried him along wherever he went, allowing him to see the Heaven and its inhabitants. Michael sometimes took him to watch the warriors' practices, much to his delight -- he had truly missed seeing it, even though he would have never admitted that to anyone.

Raphael didn't take him anywhere, just talked to him about everything and anything that came to his mind whenever he had the time. And Uriel -- well, Uriel just was there, like he had always been, not saying anything, not needing to say. Even though there was no vocal communication passing between them to either direction, it was Uriel who first realized that it made Aziraphale feel better if the angels around kept their halos visible. After all, Aziraphale himself was little but just essence at the moment and rather vulnerable as that; he felt much more at ease when others showed their essence as well.

And thus Uriel was now standing there, in his room, gazing out of the window to the Golden City. His aura, larger than that of any other angel Aziraphale knew, was bright and warm, comforting the younger angel in its steady, sure existence. It fascinated him that this person, this aura, was what kept together the connections to Presence for all of the almost infinite number of angels. Sometimes he wondered how Uriel didn't crack under all the pressure. It couldn't be easy, after all.

But no, Uriel was always calm and collected, always in control of the situation. He was very stern and sharp, never opening up to anybody but his closest friends, but every single angel respected him for his constant control. Aziraphale had seen him let go of his mask of absolute indifference, and he knew that Uriel was in the inside a warm, caring person who simply didn't show that part of himself to just anybody.

He sensed another aura in the room, and turned his bodiless sight to the direction of the doorway. It wasn't much of a surprise to see Michael standing there. The Warrior had also turned his aura visible, not as large as Uriel's -- how could it be? He wasn't the Angel of Presence, after all -- but just as comforting.

Michael crossed the room to Uriel's side. Although he kept his gaze on Aziraphale, he still managed to wrap an arm around the dark archangel's waist, pressing a kiss on the black curls. Uriel smiled silently, his eyes still looking outside.

Suddenly, however, Michael frowned. "Uriel?" he asked. "What is wrong with your aura? It seems -- it seems as though there is an opening of sorts on it."

"That might be because there is one," Uriel replied calmly. Finally turning around to face the room and its other occupants, he sighed. "Back in the First Fall... I had to Fell Carowiel, too. However, I couldn't bear the thought of him losing the Presence forever... And so, I gave him a bit of my own aura." A wry smile curled his lips. "Nobody ever thought to ask just why my eyes turned green. That is because of the loss of Presence in me. Just as well I could have turned a part of my wings black. Fortunately it was my eyes and not wings that chose to change -- something like that could have caused quite a commotion."

"But... but you are leaving yourself bare to enemies!" Michael exclaimed, shocked. "And you have had this opening, what? Since before the Creation?"

"Yes, I have. And as nothing has happened yet, I should think it is not that much of a risk. Not everything is about enemies and battles and fighting, Michael." Uriel lowered his gaze for a moment only to return it to Michael's face. "Sometimes, it's just about how much you care."

"But Uriel, what if this somehow manages to hurt you?" asked Michael. His expression was a mix of worry, seriousness, and fear. "I must tell Raphael -- surely he can fix it. You may have survived it for millennia, but that doesn't mean it won't get you hurt in the future! Your aura is your only protection against infernal powers!"

Uriel, however, simply gazed seriously at Michael. Taking a step away from the taller angel, he said quite calmly, "No, Michael. You will not tell anybody." Reaching out his hand, he added, "I will not give you the chance to."

Aziraphale watched in horror as Uriel's sword materialized in his hand. Michael's eyes widened, too. However, he wasn't the Warrior Prince of Heaven for nothing; a look of regret mixing with the horror on his face, he grasped on Uriel's wrist and twisted the other angel's arm. Uriel wasn't weak, but there was nobody in Heaven -- or, very possibly, anywhere else -- who could have matched Michael's sheer physical strength. With a small cry of pain, he let his sword drop.

However hardened he was in battle and war, Michael still couldn't bear hearing the voice of his beloved's being raised in pain. Even now, he faltered -- only for a second, but it was enough. Uriel again attacked him, knocking him over to the ground.

To his surprise Aziraphale could now see a thin thread leaving the aura of Presence around Michael, disappearing somewhere. Similar ones reached out from Uriel's aura, but those were too numerous to even start counting. Then most of them faded away, only one remaining -- and getting shorter. Suddenly Aziraphale realized that the thread connected Michael's aura to Uriel's. More accurately, it connected Michael to the Presence. And this thread was getting shorter and shorter all the time.

Michael didn't seem to notice this, too concentrated on his unwilled wrestling match with his lover. However, even he noticed as Uriel grasped on the now very short thread that had come within his reach with the obvious intent of tearing it. The Warrior's mouth opened in a yell, but no sound came out. His hand tried to push Uriel's away, to at least knock the thread away from his grasp, but it was no use. Nobody but Uriel could access those threads.

Aziraphale just watched, unable to do anything but scream helplessly in his mind.

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