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 XXVIII: Calvary
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor:
if either of them falls down, one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.
Ecclesiastes 4: 9-10
He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
Psalm 91: 4
Bethany drove longer hours than he thought might be entirely healthy for a human, stopping to sleep only rarely. When she'd first found the car—its keys sprawled longingly on the pavement beside the door, a clear artifact of the apocalypse—she had stared so long and grown so still that he thought perhaps they wouldn't leave after all, and that he would have to carry her, mute, back to the house he'd found.
But then, swiftly, all her broken pieces coalesced in some haphazard semblance of strength—at least the façade of it—and she scooped up the keys and slid silently into the driver's seat.
Before they'd left entirely, he'd shown her Joy's grave: it had seemed important, though he wasn't sure whether she viewed it as gift or a condemnation. Still, she had wept silently, and tugged on his arm until he had leaned close, expecting her to whisper something: a thank you, perhaps, or an accusation.
Instead, she'd pressed her tear-salted lips to his cheek, and he'd been flooded with an inconsolable ache ever since.
Now he fanned his wings to catch a billowing draft, banking right in the sky to turn toward her as, far below, Bethany suddenly threw the little car into park. He watched as she tore open the door, slammed it shut with so much force her small body half-spun in a circle, kicked it fiercely, stalked twelve paces away, and turned and let loose a bone-chilling warcry.
He dropped like an arrow and landed lightly atop the hood of the car, bracing himself on one knee, one foot, and the blunt calloused fingertips of one hand.
"Bethany."
"I can't drive like this."
"I know."
"The car feels all wrong."
"I know."
"My God, it's too quiet."
"I know."
Her shoulders sagged, and he remembered once, weeks earlier, finding her crouched in a bathroom with her forehead pressed against the porcelain rim of the sink. Always to slow to catch her, she had whispered in the dark. Always too slow to hold on. She'd been clutching onto her pain with both hands and hadn't even known it, and he'd startled her in the darkness. He'd been startled himself, to be honest. Back then—distant, and removed from her seemingly-petty human existence—he had thought her a curious but irritating blend of foolishness and weakness.
Now he didn't know what to make of her at all, except that there was an open space in his heart for her. Open, but not empty: it felt like an embrace waiting to happen.
"Gabriel," she said brokenly. "They took the box."
It took him a moment to understand. Though neither sister had seemed to talk about it—before or after that initial sharing on a bright, too-brief morning after his prayers—he had only heard them call it a treasure chest.
"It had all of our memories in it," she whispered. "Everything I might have had left of her. Of them."
I could survive many things, she'd confided to him once, her words hushed and—he realized now—pleading in the darkness. Perhaps she had still feared him, even then. Not one of them includes losing her.
"Bethany," he coaxed. "You will overcome this. You will."
She did not acknowledge his words—not out loud. But he saw her soften around the edges, and it filled him with awe that she would allow him into her most vulnerable moments, her crippling pain.
"There is a small domicile over the next ridge," he cajoled. "I saw it from my zenith. Will you come?"
She was so weary. He could see it in her bones, in the way her hair shadowed her face, in the stark contrast of her scar. She wanted to be occupying herself with something, but it hurt her to move.
"Yes," she said at last, he watched her trudge back toward the small vehicle as though it were a prison cell, and everything in him ached for her.
Word Count: 664
Completed: May 20th, 2011
I imagine that the updates will be coming fairly quickly now (more quickly?) as we wind down to a close. I generally like to post them in clusters of one-to-three-chapter installments, whatever seems most cohesive (certain things I don't want to break up, like "the revelation" of the possession, or Joy's death). Here's the breakdown for upcoming chapters, though I have yet to decide how I will cluster them:
XXIX: Agape. A display of unconditional love and consolation.
XXX: Babel. Gabriel tells Bethany exactly what he thinks of her. As "exactly" as a cryptic messenger of God can ever say anything, anyway.
XXXI: Forsaken. Gabriel mourns.
XXXII: Whisper. A still, small voice pierces the storm.
XXXIII: Revelations. Gabriel finds God in the wilderness.
Interlude IX: Hemmed. "You are searching for a reason for the apocalypse." "Among other things."
XXXIV: Metatron. Gabriel is called home.
XXXV: Psalmist. Gabriel tells a story.
XXXVI: St. Peter at the Gates. Reuniting with a brother.
XXXVII: Prodigal. God speaks.
XXXVIII: Joseph, Reuben. Another reunion.
XXXIX: The Stone is Rolled Away. Gabriel comes home.
Epilogue: Seventh Day. A couple enjoys each others' company in a Garden.
****Calvary is the Anglicized name for the hill where Jesus was crucified and possibly entombed. It is also known as Gol' Goatha. [c. John 19]