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Thank you.
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Chapter Twelve
Sacrament
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It was almost completely dark now. The room was lit only by the glow of the lanterns outside.
Aziraphale was sitting on his knees by the bed, leaning on the mattress, where Caphriel was sleeping peacefully, lying on his back, his breathing steady and even and deep.
He looked so relaxed.
So happy.
Aziraphale leaned forward, and placed a light kiss on Caphriel's temple, lingering a little to feel his angel's pulse against his lips. Then he straightened, and went back to staring hard at a spot between his clenched fists and Caphriel's head. Aziraphale's face was very pale, but absolutely calm.
Except that it wasn't, really. Aziraphale wasn't calm at all. He was iced over with shock.
It had started out so innocently. He'd wanted his angel to be as comfortable as possible, so he'd picked him up off the floor and carried him to the bed. Carrying him had been easy. Too easy.
Poor dear...
After he'd put him down, it had occurred to him to undress his angel, because it was never pleasant to have to sleep in one's clothes. Logically, he'd started with the gloves, all but cooing with delight at the thought of being able to cover those beautiful hands in tiny kisses, the backs, the palms, the knuckles, the fingers, the tips of those fingers, one by one. Because Caphriel had had lovely hands. Aziraphale remembered them well.
Then the first glove had come off.
Aziraphale took a deep breath, forced himself to look at those hands again, and bit back the urge to scream and scream and scream.
Two articulated masses of scorched and blackened flesh, with bright red cracks here and there. In one or two places, one could even see the whiteness of bone.
God...
Oh, God...
What had his angel done to himself?
Nor had this been all. Continuing on in a kind of near-mindless daze, Aziraphale had soon discovered the badly-healed wound on the side of Caphriel's neck, hidden under a scarf, and the great red welt across his chest.
Aziraphale had almost fainted then. No longer even vaguely aware of what he was doing, he'd covered his angel with a sheet, and staggered to the bathroom for a drink of water. He'd turned the handle, pushed open the door, flipped the light switch and...
...and...
Aziraphale took hold of Caphriel's right arm, lying on the sheet, and, very gently, turned it over. He leaned forward again, and left a trail of kisses along the ancient, still-red scar on his angel's pale skin. It ran from the elbow nearly all the way down to the wrist, neatly following the course of the vein.
Blood.
So much blood...
His angel's blood.
And all for love of him.
Caphriel...
Angel...
Why?
Why?
Oh, beloved...
Aziraphale's heart shattered into fragments.
With a single tearing sob, he dropped forward, took Caphriel's head between his hands, and covered it in kisses, as if he could never get enough, weeping all the while. And, in so doing, his heart was made whole again.
When he lifted his head, he didn't know how much later, he saw that Caphriel, still asleep, was smiling, the corners of his mouth quirked up just a little. And Aziraphale smiled back.
Slowly, he got up, began taking off his clothes. He would not cry anymore, not yet. He would do nothing further to trouble his angel's quiet sleep. When Caphriel woke, Aziraphale would be there by his side, would make him see how dear he was to him. And Aziraphale's angel would be healed.
Aziraphale slipped under the sheet beside Caphriel, lay looking at him, but did not touch him, not even to stroke his hair.
Because, when he did touch him, he wanted to see it in his angel's eyes.
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Caphriel was dreaming, and in his dream he was wandering through a beautifully formless landscape suffused with love, the kind of love one found in Heaven, but warmer, more vibrant, more alive. And all, all for him. He could have kissed every blade of grass in his path.
From these visions of hot sunlight, blue skies, verdant fields, and murmuring waters, Caphriel awoke, and found that his dreams paled in comparison to reality.
Because a golden voice whispered, "Good evening, my love," a tender, soft hand cupped his cheek, and the unforgotten scent of his beloved, all around him, struck up into his brain, opening the floodgates of his heart. He turned his head quickly, and looked right into smiling blue eyes, warm and bright as the day.
Caphriel bit down on his lip, screwed his eyes shut, and pressed his face against Zirah's, so close to his, even as burning tears squeezed from his eyes. Yes, he was crying, because otherwise his heart would have stopped.
Zirah...
When, as he immediately did, Zirah shifted his hand to the back of Caphriel's dark head and started making little shushing sounds, Caphriel only cried harder.
And then another miracle happened, the second one that day.
Zirah turned his head slightly, and kissed Caphriel's lips.
It was a light, chaste kiss, like Zirah had never given him, and it sent an electric tingle through Caphriel's entire body, starting in his mouth. When the first shock had passed, Caphriel settled into the kiss, and the tingle swelled into an equatorial storm of the ages.
For the love that had already been enveloping Caphriel all around, was singing inside him now, vibrating along with his heart, coursing through his every vein, and Caphriel could have died from the sweetness of it. He'd wanted this so long... So long...
When Zirah drew back, all but glowing, Caphriel could only speak a single word. It said everything.
"Zirah..."
But Zirah shook his head. "No, my love. Not Zirah. My name," and he gave Caphriel another one of those priceless kisses, "is Aziraphale."
Aziraphale?
And Caphriel remembered. Far, far back, to a time beyond Time. That, that had been it, was it, his beloved's true name...
"Aziraphale," he said, slowly, savouring the word, letting it linger on his tongue like the melody it was. "Aziraphale... You... You are Aziraphale! Aziraphale! It's you!" He was almost shouting now, in uncontrollable excitement. All at once, its fever left him, and he quieted down, feeling delightfully weak and helpless. "Aziraphale..." he said again, barely above his breath.
Aziraphale's lip began to tremble. He raised himself on his elbow, leaned over, rested his forehead against Caphriel's, and let out a shuddering breath. "My angel..." he whispered. "Oh, my angel... I've missed you... Missed you... Love you so..." And Caphriel felt tears run over his face.
Not just his own.
"Aziraphale... Aziraphale..." he said, or rather, wanted to say. His throat was too tight to make any real sound.
But Aziraphale heard, all the same. He raised his head, took away the black sunglasses, and looked deep into Caphriel's uncovered, wonder-filled grey eyes, so light grey as to be almost colourless. Aziraphale's own, in that moment, were solemn and sad and endlessly soft, blue and deep and meaningful as the sky of a balmy spring morning after rain. He laid a finger on Caphriel's lips, and said, his voice like sacred water to Caphriel's ears, "Shhh, my love... Don't speak... Let me..."
And with that, it began.
"You're so tense..."
Gentle lips touched Caphriel's forehead. His eyes, which closed, even though he didn't want them to, he wanted to see...
His cheeks. His nose. His chin. His mouth, and it was wet and warm and indescribably sweet, and Caphriel lost all interest in seeing, he only wanted to feel... and to hear.
"There now, Caphriel, precious one, loved one, soul of my soul, there, shhh, don't move, relax, let me, oh, let me touch you..."
Oh, those hands, those tender, loving hands, and the kisses down his throat and chest...
"Beautiful angel, you're incredibly beautiful, do you know that, beloved, especially those poor, dear eyes, let me kiss them again... There now, dearest, don't cry..."
But Caphriel couldn't help it, any more than he could help the beatific smile on his face. He finally found speech again, said, "A... Aziraphale?"
"Shhh, my love... I am here, and I love you."
This was... Oh, God, this was...
Soft caresses and tender kisses, to all the most sensitive parts of Caphriel's body. Aziraphale knew exactly where to find them. He didn't even have to try. And that constant stream of whispered words, sweet nothings, curling around Caphriel like a lullaby tune...
"Caphriel, my angel, my bright, blessed angel, oh, if you knew how good it is, to finally be with you, back with you, together, Caphriel, dear..."
It was so perfect, so perfect...
"Don't be afraid, dear one, I'll be very, very careful... I wouldn't hurt you for the world."
And he took Caphriel's pitiful, ruined bare hands in his, fondled them with lips and fingers, so lightly, like butterfly wings, like balm, and Caphriel melted and dissolved, utterly unable to hold back the long, low groan, from sheer excess of bliss, that broke from his throat. Felt so good... So good...
If someone had told him, in that moment, that he'd been translated back up to Heaven, he'd have believed it without question. Or no. He wouldn't have. This was better.
He felt a warm body press against him, opened his eyes, and saw.
Aziraphale was once more lying beside him, now, one hand still upon Caphriel's wrecked ones, the other sliding under his neck, kneading gently, and Caphriel let out a long, heavy sigh, like a breathy, drawn-out "Ohhh" of complete relaxation, as the final vestiges of tension ran out and were lost. He looked at his beloved. "Aziraphale..."
Aziraphale smiled, and Caphriel thought that his face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, more magnificent than any sight Heaven could ever hope to produce.
"Look at you," Aziraphale said warmly, tenderly. "You look like you've been - Ah! Dearest, what is it? What's come over you?"
The perfection had shattered. With a strangled scream, Caphriel wrenched himself away from his dearly loved, dearly loving tormentor, and curled up on the very edge of the bed. He barely noticed Aziraphale sit up quickly, could barely even hear his voice anymore, hardly felt the warm touches that sought to comfort him.
'Look at you...'
And Caphriel had been instantly thrown back to that one, hellish day, so long ago, the memories of it cutting right into him, again and again and again, just as they had done in his nightmares for centuries.
Oh, Zi- Aziraphale...
"Aziraphale..." Caphriel choked out, nearly suffocating. "Aziraphale..."
"Dearest, I'm here! I'm right here with you! Tell me what's wrong, I beg you!"
And Caphriel answered. Spoke three short words that summed up a whole millennium of unspeakable agony.
"I killed you."
Silence, dead silence, and Caphriel covered his face with his hands.
But then Aziraphale took his shoulder, turned him round, and, lying down again, pulled him close against his warm, soft body.
"No, beloved," he said, looking straight into Caphriel's eyes. "You didn't kill me. You saved me from myself."
Caphriel's eyes grew wide. "But... But I..."
"Let it go. Let it all go. It's all right, Caphriel. It's all right. You are my angel, my love, from here," and he kissed him, held him tight, "to eternity."
For the first time in seven thousand years, Caphriel smiled through his tears.
–––
Aziraphale sighed, and pressed his lips to the back of Caphriel's head, loving the feel of the fine, black hair. There were no words, no thoughts, possible for how good this felt.
It had been raining, and the warm, wet summer night air breathed in through the wide-open window, smelling of the night, of streets washed clean, and of the linden trees in the park nearby.
It was very quiet. The few sounds that could be heard, the distant hum of traffic, the song of a nightingale far away, only served to deepen the essential stillness.
The bed was very nice, too. Low, soft, not too wide, not too narrow, and with plenty of pillows, that hadn't been there before. The covers had been thrown off. They were not needed.
Yet all this, however pleasant, was nothing, to Aziraphale, when compared to the man in his arms.
The smell of his skin, his hair. The sound, aching and precious, of his breath, precious because it was there, aching because it was light and quick and broken by the occasional sob. Anyone else would have thought that Caphriel longed to get away. But Aziraphale knew that, if he were to let go of his angel now, if he so much as loosened his hold, Caphriel would, in all likelihood, lose his mind. And the same could be said for Aziraphale, himself. This could not be allowed to happen, not again. And for a few seconds, he squeezed Caphriel so tight that the latter was forced to gasp for breath afterwards.
Abandoning these thoughts, Aziraphale focused on the moment, the scent, the sound, and the consciousness of their warm, living, naked bodies, so close together, so real, as he lay spooned around Caphriel, arms around his chest, comforting him, soothing him, loving him.
"Dear..." he whispered. And "Dear... God, I love you so much..."
Caphriel sobbed again, louder. "Oh... Aziraphale..." was all he said. Yet it was enough to finally push the golden knife all the way up to the hilt into Aziraphale's heart. He looked at his angel's helplessly trembling body, and it seemed to him that that smooth pale skin, flawless though it was, and so delightful under Aziraphale's fingertips, was in reality a mass of raw, red scars, rents and tears, leaking out centuries' worth of infected blood.
Pain.
So much pain.
Aziraphale kissed Caphriel's cheek, laid his own against it. Lightly trailing his fingers over his lover's warm skin, causing violent shivers, he asked softly, "What can I do, beloved, to make you see that the nightmare is over?"
Caphriel spasmed, clutched at Aziraphale's gentle, caressing hands with his own leathery ones, and whispered frantically, "I love you, Aziraphale. I love you. Say... Only tell me... Tell me you love me, too."
In answer, Aziraphale held his angel tighter, and half whispered, voice running over with tears, though he shed none, for fear of upsetting the other even more, "Caphriel... Beloved... I can't even begin to express what you mean to me. You are all I want, all I need. I know that..." and he almost choked as his feelings overcame him, "that nothing I can say or do could ever make up for all the pain I've caused you, all your life. I could hold you like this and cry over you for years, with all my heart and soul, but it could never take away all those ages of suffering... Oh... My angel..." And he began to cry anyway.
Caphriel could bear it no longer. He twisted in Aziraphale's arms, and clasped him to his heart. As their tears mingled and they kissed each other again and again, he said, melting with love, "Aziraphale... Aziraphale, don't you see? You're here, you're you, and you love me. As long as that's true -"
"Forever, my love."
"Then this is my Heaven. What do I care for what happened in the past, for any of it? You... This... You are my reward. It was all worth it, all of it, because... because..."
"...because you are my Heaven, dear."
Words were lost, now. No matter: they were no longer required.
Aziraphale and Caphriel clung to one another, limbs sweetly tangling together in a sublime, sweaty embrace. The few feeble barriers that had still stood between them crumbled and vanished for good, swept away by the tides of a silent ecstasy that shot through and beyond the flesh to the very confines of the spirit, fusing the two of them in one.
And that's when it happened.
The universe exploded in a million dazzling lights, and Heaven and Hell shook, as something that defied all the tenets of creation was taking place, there, right there in the little bedroom of the old bookshop.
Both of them shot up and apart with the cosmic force of it, and screamed, and their wings burst forth from their backs, entirely of their own accord.
Still reeling from the spiritual shockwave, they looked at each other, and each cried out again at the vision that met his eyes.
Two pearly-grey pairs of wings, like those of a dove, shimmering softly with their own light, breathtaking like those of a bird of Paradise.
They stared at each other for what felt like hours.
Caphriel was the first to find his voice. "Aziraphale?" It sounded like a caress.
"Beloved?" Like an embrace of sound.
"I can... We're not touching, but I can..."
"...feel you..."
"Yes..."
"We are..."
"We are..."
"One..." Aziraphale finished breathlessly.
All at once, the two of them began to laugh, laugh for pure joy, their voices dovetailing, like sweet music. They flopped down on the bed, revelling in their laughter, in the overwhelming feeling of their souls interwoven, like their bodies had been, just now, twisting and coiling together as though they'd never done otherwise.
Finally, as the breeze from outside began to turn chilly, they once again moved together for warmth, covering each other with their wings. A few more softly spoken words, no matter what they were, and the two of them, smiling serenely, drifted off to sleep.
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The tall, hooded skeleton who had been watching them, invisible, all this time, looked from the two intertwined beings to the two intertwined grey strings - impossibly, with no beginning and no end - in his hand, nodded, and quitted the room, unseen.
His Lord and Lady would be overjoyed with what he had to tell them.