Title: Tongues of Men and Angels
Rating: TA for implied?romance.
Summary: Glimpses of grace: the story of one brother and two sisters. Through the grace of God, all things are made new.A series of drabbles. Ish. Gabriel/OC. Ish.
Disclaimer: *obligatory insert*
Chapter XII: Lesson One
While I, Daniel, was watching the vision and trying to understand it, there before me stood one who looked like a man. And I heard a man's voice from the Ulai calling, "Gabriel, tell this man the meaning of the vision." As he came near the place where I was standing, I was terrified and fell prostrate. "Son of man," he said to me, "understand that the vision concerns the time of the end."
Daniel 8: 15-17
"—then I'll teach you," Bethany said from her perch. "Now tell me," and her voice turned almost shy, "what it is about us that—repulses you?"
A less-dignified creature might have shrugged. Only a twitch of his brow betrayed him; still, he was surprised at his own lack of control. "Every moment," he said, the words short and clipped, "I see you committing the same wasteful sins, again and again."
Her eyes didn't even flicker, though they were full of something wary and sad. They stared into him, searching for something, and he held her gaze readily, unable to stem the flow of his own rising ire.
"The few among you who do not actively court the fallen angels are rare, and even then, most are weak of heart, and easily swayed. You are ignorant to the fact that you were born into a world at war, romanced by God Himself, and you disdain Him instead. Father has given you a sacred gift, holy beyond all measure," he murmured fiercely at her, "and you have squandered it and debased it. Still, He has raised you up—again and again—in spite of how you continue to break His heart with every breath you draw."
And then, whatever it was she was looking for in him—she found it, and softened. A smile curved over her tattered mouth and he grew very still, disconcerted by the sight of it. It was a warm smile, as full of sunrise as her eyes, and tender.
"I think," she said softly, "it's our brevity." Her eyes ventured tentatively to his and her smile was not quite an admonishment, but an invitation. For a moment he was confused—he could not remember what had elicited her response.
"How old are you, Gabriel?" she said lightly, almost teasingly. Her hair swept lightly across his face, smelling of high altitudes and cold mountains, as she readjusted herself on the roof. Resolutely, he dropped his head to gaze out at the horizon on the field, though he knew she still watched over him. "You've a fair number of years on me, I'd wager."
There was a shifting sound, and her voice suddenly grew haunted and small. "We're over so quickly, you know. By the time we learn anything—it's done. We're ready to die. And our children, or our grandchildren—or our little sisters—have to go on without us, and make their own mistakes."
He glanced up at her sharply, jarred more than he'd like to admit at the allusion to Joy. She met his gaze quickly, a disarming grin on her face. Fleeting as it was, though, he saw through it: it was full of pain, and a poignant and strangely soft kind of bitterness.
He sucked in a breath at the starkness of it.
"You think we're purposeless," she said. "You think—what a horrible thing it is for you, to have to deal with this senseless, crushing mass. As a whole, we are sinning wretches; individually we are insignificant and meaningless."
He lifted his head in silent assent, his jaw clenched, his eyes stony. But she suddenly looked very tired, very broken, and she touched her own scar lingeringly, as though she could draw strength from the wound itself. The gesture—the way she brushed the ugliness marring her face—made something inside him loosen and tighten all at once, and he wanted to bind up her aches and bruises, just as she had once done for him.
"Then think," she said softly, "how much more horrible it is for us."
For a moment, her words did not make sense to him. He sat, still and silent, as they slowly penetrated, and suddenly he did feel it: the too-familiar ache of being cut adrift, of abandonment so bleak and lonesome it sucked the breath from his lungs. He groped for air, and her hands reached down to find him, touching his shoulders, somehow steadying him in spite of her frailty. And when he looked at her again, he found gentleness in her eyes, copper-penny-bright.
"The comma," she said with a dry, tender smile, "only knows it's in the middle of a sentence. If it's lucky, it might recognize that it's part of a page. But how could it ever be expected to see the whole story? Gabriel," she said, and hesitation filled her voice so heavily that it caught in her throat, stifling the words. "We—most of us—we long so deeply to be part of something bigger. To be something significant, and real. You—it would be difficult, and heartwrenching, I think, to see all of this human chaos and have to trust only in God's plan. But—you know your Father. You know you have a part to play in this, even if you don't know what it is." She met his eyes then, and he was amazed that she could do it, could hold his holy-fire gaze steadily with her own.
And he was amazed, too, at the entreaty etched on her face. He had seen that look in battle, or while herding lost souls into hell: a plea for mercy. Unvoiced, and silenced by something he couldn't comprehend—but she was begging nonetheless.
"Those of us who are lucky—we believe because we can feel it, something we can't name, deep in our guts and our bones. But for the rest of us—for all of us, at times, perhaps—" and her voice turned desperate, for a moment, pleading for some sort of reassurance he couldn't figure out how to give "—we just believe because the alternative, Gabriel, it's so unbearable."
Word Count: 945
Completed: April 24, 2011
The rough foundation for this particular scene was actually what started this whole fic. I loved it when I first wrote it and am unsure how I feel about it now.
In other news, I was blown away by all the extremely thoughtful and detailed reviews I received while I was gone. HOLY COW. Guys, you made my weekend even awesome and inspired me to get this double-chapter installment out tonight before bed instead of waiting till tomorrow. Thanks so much for your continued support…I only wish it were a more action-packed drabblish-thing for you. More up ahead, and to those of you curious: yes, you will find out about Bethany's scar, but it might be a bit. ;)