My sincere apologies to all for not having updated so long, especially to all Angell fans and lily moonlight for who this story still is. In addition I would like to dedicate this chapter to Montana Angell.
Many, many thanks for all the wonderful reviews I got so far, also to Lonnie and autumngold, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. Thanks to everyone who has this on alert or favorite, and thanks for the nominations of this story for Best Supernatural in this year's fanfiction awards. And thanks to afrozenheart412 for thoughts on an OC.
You guys rock! You keep me going and I couldn't do this without you.
A word of warning: some language ahead, I hope it's not too bad.
Black Moon Rising – What's in a name?
Somewhere in a corner of his vision Flack sees Mac hover, colorless. Motionless. Unable to move. A voice screaming in his head, do something! A desolate whisper, you should have done something.
But you can't even move, God, damn it. You can't even move …
Dark anger swirling inside of him, searching for a valve. He can't direct it at Mac because he feels the same. No, not the same – but he understands. He thinks he understands.
The color of the clothes of that man, who has disappeared from their sight as fast as he had come, seems to be folding around them. Trapping them, muffling all movement. Wrapping the anger into a tight ball of agony inside of him.
No. "NO!" It puffs into the air like the gasps of his breath.
He stumbles, ahead a step and stops again. What's the point in moving towards the window? What's the point in anything at all …?
He doesn't want to see it but he needs to, he needs to know. With an effort he turns and passes the shadow of Mac.
-o-
Stella brushes the back of her hand over her eyes. She opens them again and looks around quickly. Nobody seems to have seen the movement. Good. She doesn't want people to think she's not feeling well. She isn't.
There's this hovering presence again, a shadow in her mind. Mac? She whispers into the darkness she feels. What's going on? Are you okay? Because this is not about her, not like it was before. She's not feeling well because she senses his distress.
That damn dream. Darkness taking shape, she blinks … and it's gone.
She feels for her cell.
-o-
Somewhere in the darkness there is a sound, a sound he remembers, recognizes. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, only that she is the one singing. Enabling him to move. He feels his cell opening in his hand.
"It's happened, it really happened." is all he can say.
And he sinks back onto the bleak grey concrete.
-o-
He feels like it's taking an eternity to reach the door. He bursts through it, gates of hell. He blinks; dazzling, vivid sunlight.
A silhouette before him. He blinks again, slowly adapting to the brilliance. And she stands before him, a little bit tousled, like she has just fallen out of bed. This has got to be a dream. Reluctantly he closes his eyes, even if it is just a vision he doesn't want to lose it. He opens his eyes again, she's still there. Giving him a curious look.
Reaching out for him … the second he feels her touch his arms are around her. Solid. Feeling her breath pulsing against his neck. He loosens his grip a little so that she can breathe. Both drawing in lungfuls of relief, sparkling white around them.
"How …?" he manages to ask.
She points to the left where a truck stands, the driver outside, scratching his head as he inspects the tarpaulin and his load, mattresses. Then he looks at the couple, the woman who has just stopped him – by seemingly coming tumbling out of the sky. Or heaven, he thinks, or at least someone from there must have flown along.
-o-
She jerks her hands back from something that feels slimy. What the heck is this place? She strains her senses. No movement, if I'm in a car it's standing still. If I'm in a car it's in one heck of a need of a wash. Inside out. She wrinkles her nose, wishes her hands were free to hold her nose.
Somewhere in all of this mess there's got to be something to cut the bonds with. But the grease and grime that's most likely covered with …, no, not a particularly good idea. Escaping just to get an infection …
Come on, you're a CSI, think of a way to get out of here. But all she can think of is how she got into this mess. Getting out of the car, feeling the pavement under her feet. Looking in Danny's direction. The pigeon, and then … somebody must have come up behind her, somebody big enough to take her out with one blow. Big and fast, because otherwise Danny wouldn't have let them get away.
She wonders how he feels now, where he is, how close to finding her. Did he see anything more than her? Who got me, and where am I? What's my evidence? She strains her ears. It seems quiet around. No human sounds. Did they just leave me somewhere?
There's a faint dripping noise somewhere in the background. Rain? Could also be water pipes. Reluctantly she lets her fingers reach out a little, what other sense does she have to explore her surroundings?
The slick sensation makes her shrink back again. You guys are so going to be in trouble when I get out of here! Then there's another noise.
-o-
"Wait, what did you say the name of that company was?" Kendall bursts out, interrupting Flack's account of the events.
"It said Ramiel's on that truck," Flack replies, "why?"
"Because" she turns around and with a few clicks pulls up some of the information she had previously gathered on the screen, "he was one of the archangels."
"Also often referred to as guardian angels." Angell says, suppressing a shiver that's sneaking up on her. She's glad to still feel the warmth of Flack's arm around her. Glad that she can still feel it. Feel anything at all. Flack's fingers pressing into her arm. Because he feels the same. Wants to feel her.
But for a moment his eyes do leave her, and he looks at Danny hovering in the door. Hoping that if there's one, there may be more of those angels around.
"And Ramiel is also the one who presides over true visions." Stella says quietly after having read through Kendall's findings. She looks at Mac, relief glowing on his face too, but she sees the ashes smoldering behind it.
And she follows him when he leaves the room. So quietly he hardly knows she's there. Like she's his guardian angel. Still supporting him, when science fails.
"I know there's no use in trying to get you to go home," she begins once they reach his office, "but please, try to get some rest … try to take it easy."
It would make him snort if it didn't come from her. Take it easy, when he feels like they are caught in a primeval fight of good and evil. On the edge of reality. What's happening? It feels apocalyptic. What are we going to do?
"Keep fighting." Gently she places her fingers on his temple, where his concern is throbbing. "That's what we'll do. I can't tell what the future holds, but I can tell you we'll put up a fight … and we'll be fighting on the good side, I'm sure."
He places his hand on hers and guides it down over his cheek to his lips. "I have no doubt about that."
It feels like a promise, they seal it with a smile. And he releases her hand.
-o-
"Hey, what's bothering you?"
Hawkes looks up in surprise, not sure what is more unusual, to come across someone on the streets of New York who asks such a thing, or to bump into someone on the same streets whose voice is familiar.
"Hey Michelle." he greets the doctor, happy about the encounter, but "Sorry, I can't talk about it, ongoing investigation."
She nods, understanding. She had never doubted the good sense of those rules. Although they do not take into account one important thing: what about the need of a doctor or a CSI to talk about things when a case hits hard? Who can they turn to?
But you don't always need to talk about the actual problem to find comfort. "Have you always been a CSI?" she asks.
"No." He smiles, "Actually, before, I was a doctor too." So I changed one world of life and death, and not being able to talk about it, for another.
"And what made you change your mind? It can't have been one being a hard and sometimes lonely job, because they both are." She studies him with her dark and thoughtful eyes. "Do you feel you can make more of a difference as a CSI?"
He smiles again. It warms him how she seems to be able to understand. "Maybe … but that doesn't mean that you can't also make a lot of a difference as a doctor."
It's her turn to smile. "I know, we all do what we can."
-o-
Danny stares at the screen. Adam has really given his best, already having filtered the search results for car stickers according to Danny's admittedly rather broad description. So many still to go through, and he feels like there are just colors and shapes whizzing past him. He closes his eyes, afterimages flicker.
No, it's no use. Shut up, damn it! She wouldn't give up on you … she didn't give up on you! Though I would have deserved it.
He forces his eyes open again and starts another round. But soon other images get in the way again, of Ruben, Rikki, … Lindsay. He groans. Lindsay!
He squeezes his eyes shut. Afterimages again. Wait! The same afterimages again. His eyes pop open. Quickly he takes a pen and starts drawing. Doesn't let Stella's voice stop him.
"I've processed all the evidence we could connect to Lindsay's kidnapping." she says carefully, "I don't see what else I could do here at the moment … and … I'd like to take another look at that alley. I hope you don't mind …. It doesn't mean I …"
"Don't worry." he says without looking up, but she hears that he means it.
-o-
She's just entered the elevator when a hand stops the doors from closing. "Adam? What do you want?"
"Come along?" He wishes it wouldn't sound like a question. He doesn't want her to go into that alley alone. Into an alley where somehow someone has disappeared. On a day like this, with Lindsay missing, Angell being knocked out of a window, Mac kind of beside himself … a dead pigeon (or was it a dove?) vampires … yeah, like hell am I going to be able to protect her, more likely she's going to have to protect me.
But she smiles and signals for him to enter quickly.
On the way down the doors open again. "Hey, how's Mac doing?" Sid asks, looking at Stella.
She's not really sure what to reply to that. "It's hard to say something is not a fact when you have seen it with your own eyes. But he's trying to hold on to his science."
"Yeah, I can imagine. I mean, that case is weirding me out, and I'm weird myself." he gives them one of his lopsided smiles for proof.
They leave the elevator together and Sid meets his wife at the reception. "I asked her to bring some cake, I thought that might do us good now." he explains and gives them a slice each. The cake is still warm.
-o-
"Boom." Danny says. He feels like he's going to blow up.
Kendall turns to him wide-eyed. "That" she points to the screen, "is what you saw on the back of the van?"
"Yes."
"Bloody hell." she dips her head into her hands, muttering through her fingers, "An archangel on a truck, the logo of a game called 'Fallen Angels' on the back of a van … what have we gotten ourselves into?"
"Yes." Danny says again, only vaguely aware that the answer is not really fitting. Is that really what I saw on the back of the van? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? Is this a sign?
-o-
Stella snaps on her gloves. "Still sure you want to come along?" she asks Adam, both gazing into the dark hole at their feet.
"Yeah." He doesn't give himself time to think about it. "I mean, what is the worst that could happen? Rats …"
"… and foul smells." Stella adds with a smirk.
Adam cringes a little, but he's not going to back out. There is worse. They climb down into the darkness. Even with their flashlights they can't quite drive the gloom away. Adam tries to shake off the feeling of climbing down into Hades.
Black, grey and green shimmers in the small circles of light as they slowly walk ahead. Shadows everywhere, and then the passageway branches. No way to decide which way to go.
"Maybe we should split up." Stella suggests. "Walk one minute either way, and we should still be within earshot."
The only thing they had heard so far was their own steps, so Adam thinks it safe, and Stella wouldn't suggest it if she didn't think it safe, so he agrees.
He turns left and walks along. He can't walk very fast so one minute isn't going to separate them much.
There's a scratching noise before him. He stands still, the noise doesn't stop. It wasn't me or my echo. He takes another step, the noise becomes more intense. Rats … scraping, scratching and shuffling … but that would have to be huge rats!
But no, they can't be monsters. Trouble is, I'm just as doomed if they turn out to be the bad guys. He looks at the circle of white on the ground just before him and realizes that it might be a good idea to shield his flashlight.
But before he can do so something slips between his legs and yanks him downwards. He yelps, pain hitting him in the face. And blackness.
Well, you could say I haven't had a cliff in a long time …
Many thanks for taking the time to read, I hope this was okay, and that I still have some reviewers left … I'll try to update faster again but I have a lot of real life to deal with, and recurring fits of writer's paranoia ('this is all crap'). Anyway, all feedback is greatly appreciated, and I'll reply to all logged reviews.
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