A/N: Please take a moment to have a look at these:
lunissa. deviantart. com/ gallery/ #/ d4mhxox,
youtube. com/ watch?v=HafGSYaxz1g and
youtube. com/ watch?v=LXLxXTlKSc4
Thank you.
Also, soundtrack updated on profile page.
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Chapter Ten
Storm
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Aziraphale couldn't say anything, because Aziraphale was choking.
He lay there, curled up at the water's edge, facing the waves, shaking with noiseless sobs, and he wished he could die, for all his hope was gone.
He had screamed out his love, had screamed out for his love, and then he had heard the answer, as though it had come from right beside him.
Caphriel. Dear angel. Dear, beloved angel. Dearest, dearest Caphriel. Aziraphale's angel.
The sound of his voice, of Caphriel's voice, so familiar, so well-known, had torn Aziraphale's heart to shreds. His angel was suffering, was in so much pain, had cried out for Aziraphale, begged for him, calling him by his old, old name, but Aziraphale could not reach him. His arms ached with the desire, desperate and overwhelming, to wrap around Caphriel and hold him, take his pain away, cherish him forever, never let him go. Such was Aziraphale's love, and it burned him like no fire had ever done.
Caphriel... Oh, Caphriel...
"God," said Aziraphale, and his voice was so low that he could barely hear it himself, "he's suffering. I love him, and he's suffering. My angel... My angel is in torment, and he needs me. I need to find him, need to get to him, please. He's dying, I can feel it. He doesn't... That must not happen to him, it mustn't, I love him, love him so. Give me back to him, I beg you, I... I can't exist, don't exist, without him. He's mine, my angel, my love. I don't care anymore what happens to me, I'll bear anything, pay any price, no matter what it is, only, only give me back... Oh, Caphriel, dear!"
Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, and his tears trickled between his fingers, and ran away in tiny rivulets, to join with the vast expanse of grey.
Blindly, he stretched out a hand, and felt the waves touch it, oh so gently. The tide was coming in, the waters were rising, and a light rain still fell.
Soon, the flood would overflow him. He knew it, but he would not move, not even to hurry things along. He wanted to die like this, quietly, in Caphriel's embrace, along with him, truly together with him, for the first time and the last. And Aziraphale's last word would be his angel's name.
He smiled, closed his eyes. It wouldn't be much longer now. Already the water was at his wrist...
And then, suddenly, it was over. He could no longer feel the waves. Something was keeping them away.
Angry at the delay, Aziraphale half raised himself on his elbow, opened his eyes, and saw.
Another mirror. The last one. The frame was polished mahogany, Aziraphale noted without the slightest bit of interest. He glared at the thing, cursing it for getting in the way. Another lesson? What did he care for another lesson? Understanding, repentance, redemption, Aziraphale's fate, none of these things mattered to him, nothing mattered except...
And then the black, sandy veil swirled away, and Aziraphale saw what lay behind. At once, he shot up on his knees, and remained staring, open-mouthed, his heart beating so hard and so fast that his whole body shook with it.
It was a man who stood on the other side, looking out into the desert, looking at him.
Oh, my God... It's... That's... That's...
"Caphriel..." Aziraphale breathed. "Caphriel," he said. "Caphriel!" he cried out, still unable to move, the frozen mask that his face had become strained to the snapping point.
His angel let out a strange, broken sound, half-scream, half-sob, and sank slowly to his knees. It was then that Aziraphale realised that this was not another mere reflection. This was real.
But it was not this fact, inconceivable though it was, that sliced straight into and through him, cutting him apart. No. It was sharp, red-hot nails in his eyes, razor-keen knives flaying him to the bone, burning sleet in his bloodstream, and, worst and best of all, cruel, merciful hands, tearing into his chest, ripping out his heart, peeling away the thin remaining layer of madness, and crushing the pitiful, bloodied remains to a pulp.
Because Caphriel had taken off his sunglasses.
Oh, my... Caphriel... Oh, God!
Pain.
Agony.
Desolation.
Anguish.
Hopelessness.
Loneliness.
Guilt.
Heartache.
Heartbreak.
A chronicle of the worst suffering the world had ever known, etched, written and etched, in the clouded dark grey eyes of Aziraphale's dearest angel, of his beloved Caphriel. So old, those eyes, so ancient, so immeasurably sad, so hurt. More than anything he had ever wanted, Aziraphale wanted to press his lips to those eyes. But he knew that this was something he would never be able to do. Not anymore, not now.
Caphriel...
At the same time, mechanically, Aziraphale put out his left hand, Caphriel his right. Their fingertips stopped short when they were mere millimeters from meeting, remaining at the exact same distance from the screen of glass-water-sand.
They stayed kneeling like that for a long, long time, staring at each other like statues. Marble and granite could not have been more motionless. At last, drained, emptied, they sighed in final, irrevocable defeat, and sagged forward, tears running in silence down their faces.
Their fingertips touched.
Really touched.
Both their heads snapped up. They gaped. More impossible than ever to move, to act. Neither wanted to. Their heartbeats, their lives, their very souls, were concentrated in those few, tiny points of contact.
Slowly, tentatively, Aziraphale smiled, still weeping, and lifted his right hand, to try and touch Caphriel's face...
And then, on the desert side of the looking glass, all Hell broke loose.
The dark sky exploded into an inferno, the ocean began to boil, the black sands shot up in whirling columns, and a howling wind whipped against Aziraphale, snatching his breath away. He looked down, and saw a crevice open beneath him. In it lay nothing but darkness. The desert was dissolving, and Aziraphale was trapped in it. Nearly blinded by the wind and sand, he could still feel his angel's touch, but he could no longer see him, and it was horrible to die like this. Yet this was not the worst thing: the worst thing was having to die now, without having said to his angel's face...
But Aziraphale would try.
"Caphriel!" he screamed above the roar of the wind. "Caphriel, I -"
The sand got into his mouth then, and the last two words were never spoken. Aziraphale closed his burning, stinging eyes, and felt himself sliding down...
...when, at the very last second, a strong pair of arms seized him, and jerked him forward...
...and he tumbled over, and came to rest on a dusty, slightly mouldy carpet, the smell of old books all around him, together with the same pair of arms from before.
Coughing and hacking to get the sand out of his mouth and lungs, completely unable to see, he instinctively grasped hold of the warm body so close to him. Even in his state of acute physical panic, he knew perfectly well who it was.
The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Caphriel's voice, speaking one word, a terrible blend of endless joy and endless sorrow.
"Zirah?"