15. Calculations.

"Are you okay?" Cain's hand gently touched her forearm.

She inhaled before answering. "Sure, why?"

He gave her a mistrustful look: as far as he could see she wasn't okay, nowhere near; she was pale (and he was sure now that the headlamps' light had nothing to do with it), her fingers had been trembling slightly as she lit the cigarette, and he could definitely see dark shadows round her eyes.

"You don't look so well," he said carefully, well aware that she had never appreciated so-called 'sensitive moments'.

"I'm fine," she replied, sounding slightly annoyed, but then added in a softer voice, "I'm just cold."

That wasn't reassuring either, because she never complained about that kind of stuff - not that she ever complained about any kind of stuff at all. She hated the heat, though, which he knew and understood perfectly well; she always wore long sleeves and high collars when they were around strangers because she had to cover her prominent tattoos even when it was unbearably hot, and having a thing for cleanliness and neatness of appearance could easily turn one against the heat. He had picked those habits up from her, along with many other things – he didn't appreciate the heat, and tried to look decent no matter the circumstances.

But she had never complained about the cold. It wasn't even that cold tonight, and her clothes fitted her well enough. Although, he thought, no cold could make her shake like that, like she was freezing from within. He said nothing about it out loud, but nodded at the SUV instead. "I have a thermos of coffee in there." She gave him an unreadable look. "What? I made it while we were packing. I didn't know how long the ride would be, so… I figured you might need it."

"Coffee would be nice," she said after a long pause, looking at him with a strange expression. "Very farsighted of you, kiddo."

"I'm not a kid," he frowned. "Don't call me that. I grew up a long time ago, El."

"I know." She nodded in confirmation. "I made you do that. Much more quickly than you would've done naturally."

"You did the right thing, as you always do," he replied, and made his way towards the vehicle.

She watched his back silently.

xXx

The room would've been dark if it hadn't been for the moonlight falling through the open window right onto the narrow, unmade bunk-bed. The dim, mysterious light made the woman's pale naked skin glow; her loose hair, shot through with silver, waved, caressing her shoulders and her back as she moved her hips in a steady, almost lazy pace, making the man she was straddling moan impatiently.

"Faster. Please," he breathed out, his hands travelling all over her body, everywhere he could reach. She moved her left hand which had been lying on his sleek, well-muscled chest, her fingers finding an erect nipple and squeezing it, making him arch towards her and growl.

"Hush," she chuckled softly, starting to increase her pace slightly. "You agreed we'd be doing it my way. Are you going to start complaining now?"

"Oh, God, no… yes… more," he gasped and sank his digits into her thighs with a strength that would probably leave bruises later. His eyes rolled up as he gave himself over completely to this delicious torture she was putting him through all over again. It wouldn't be the first time she had drawn him right to the edge and then made it go away, delaying his now oh-so-wanted release. Never in his whole life had he felt anything like this, because never before had he been so little in control while having sex, or making love, or fucking, whatever; he didn't care about the terms at that moment.

"I'm taking that as a 'no, no complaints'," she said, as her right hand moved along his side, turned back and finally reached his groin, where her skilled fingers started to stroke him, provoking a long loud groan that quickly turned into a cry of pleasure as he started to come. Even then, she didn't change the pace, but instead moved her hips harshly, fiercely even, so that he came so hard he nearly fainted.

"That was fucking amazing," the man said, when he was finally able to speak again, although his voice was still breathless. "Though I'd've liked it better if you'd come as well. I'll make it work for you next time, when we do it my way. I promise."

He was hardly more than in his late twenties, despite the aura of self-reliance and authority he obviously possessed. Tall, noticeably so even when he was lying down, and powerfully built with the kind of muscles which years of daily gym would give to a man. His hair was dark and very short in a way reminiscent of the military or law enforcement; his eyes were bright green in daylight but at night looked almost gray. At that particular moment they were locked on his partner.

"Who said there'd be a next time?" She stretched lazily, got off him, and picked up her black shirt from the floor, neglecting her underwear. She didn't even bother to button the shirt. "That wasn't the deal."

"Oh, yeah, right. The deal," he muttered, watching her take his cigarette pack from the bedside table and settle on the windowsill. She didn't seem at all disturbed that anyone outside could've seen her sitting there, barely covered by the thigh-length shirt. All she cared about was covering her upper body, those unbelievable tattoos of hers. Strangely enough, that indifference to outside attention did bother him, or rather the thought that someone other than him would see her like that, and the very fact that that bothered him bothered him even more. He didn't want her to know that, though, so he shoved a pillow under his back, making himself comfortable, and added in a carefree voice, "Why would you need me to send this reconnaissance party anyway?"

"Because that was the deal." She gave him a stern 'you are not going to be dumb now, are you?' look. "You got what you wanted; I get what I need."

"Don't worry, I'm totally ready to fulfill my end of the bargain. A deal is a deal." He folded his hands over his chest. "It's just… I'm really curious. You could have asked for a lot of things for yourself, your family, but this… I never saw this coming. So, what's the point?"

"You surprise me, Cortez. Someone in your position should know the value of information. Wasn't that the first thing they taught you in the Agency?" She put the pack down, refraining from smoking, to his astonishment, and then returned to the bed and sat facing him, her long legs crossed in front of her.

"Well, what I have learned was that one should look for useful information," he observed, as his eyes travelled over the exposed curves of her body; he quite enjoyed the view. "And there is nothing useful out there."

"Any knowledge is valuable," she pointed out.

"Right, and to see the proof of that statement you just need to look outside," he replied bitterly.

She knew that he thought it was some experimental virus that had caused the Apocalypse; apparently something from his previous job gave him reason to do so. Knowing better, she didn't argue the point, but explained instead. "That's exactly what I'm asking you to do – to look outside. I need to know what's happening out there, and so do you. I would've done it myself, but I can't. I need to be here."

"Oh, what's outside? That I can tell you right now, babe." Now his voice was harsh and almost angry. "I've been there, remember? I don't know what you're looking for, but there is nothing good there. Oh, sure, there are other survivors somewhere out there. Some of them, perhaps, not doing so bad, like in those Free Zones of ours. The others… doing much worse, no, very much worse, living in a fucking post-Apocalyptic version of the Wild West worse. No-one's doing better. We have enough supplies for at least five years. We have electricity and fresh water; we did a good job of making this place as safe and as civilized as possible, but our human resources are limited. Twenty miles away we're already failing to control the situation. So tell me again, why should I risk my men just to confirm the fact that there is nothing out there but chaos?"

"Because that was the deal," she said simply, looking at him with that unreadable expression of hers. "And you're going to carry out your end of the bargain."

He sat up straight. His hands reached over to her legs and patted them, placing her feet on the bed as he stroked her ankles. "Is that 'I need to be here' of yours something to do with me?" he asked in a dangerously sweet, husky voice. "Anything?"

"Does it matter?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm here now, aren't I? Isn't that what you wanted?"

He suddenly jerked her ankles forwards so that the next moment her back hit the bed. He settled down immediately between her legs and started to place kisses on her inner thighs, stopping short only for a moment to mutter "Mm-hm."

"What are you doing?" There wasn't even the slightest hint of alarm in her voice, merely curiosity.

"Making sure that there will be a next time," he answered in a hot whisper.

And he did just that.

xXx

Michael had said "Get them ready, we're out of time", and El, knowing her kin better than anyone, understood that he had meant it, that there were pretty good reasons for doing what she'd been told, despite the fact that she'd been out of the habit of taking anyone's orders for a long time now. In fact, she was the one used to giving the orders. But then again, Michael had always been pretty reasonable and not exactly known for a love for dramatic effects. Everything he said, everything he did, he always has his reasons. Damn solid reasons.

"How dare you listen to His heart?"

"Because He made this one." Michael's hand lay on his own armored chest.

And she knew that she should've been there, making sure they were ready to listen to him and to… to comply with whatever he said needed to be done, because somehow she was sure that they wouldn't like it.

So why the fuck was she standing here, doing nothing but smoking and waiting for Cain's return, bringing a cup (well, not actually a cup but a camping mug) of lousy instant coffee? Meanwhile Charlie and Jeep were having a rather intense conversation – judging from their body language, anyway, although they had taken care to lower their voices. She smirked; as if that would keep the subject from her, as if she hadn't studied them for so many years that she could've told what it was all about even if she couldn't have read the conversation from their lips! In fact, she could do so perfectly; a rather useful skill, as she had found out.

So Jeep was still grumbling about her newly-announced identity and Charlie was obviously starting to lose her temper; this woman, the mother of the messiah, had the very convenient quality of embracing reality as it was without whining or complaining how unfair it was or how it was not the way it should be.

She hadn't been like that from the very beginning, El knew. She had come a long way from the freaked-out girl she had been when El, no, Gabriel, had met her for the very first time. On the other hand, Jeep hadn't changed that much; he was still rather idealistic, and… well, in spite of the fact that he really loved his wife and always treated Cain like his own son, it occurred to El that he hadn't completely comprehended how important the boy was. He knew, but to know and to embrace the knowledge fully weren't the same thing.

That was one of the human qualities El had found very confusing at first; it wasn't enough for them to have some things just known in order to actfrom the knowledge. No, they actually seemed to need to adjust to that knowledge, in a way. At first she just saw them as slow, not to mention weak. They also could also do whatever they chose, even if it was wrong and they knew so; something that her kind could not even think of. Even in the First War, both sides had been sure they were doing the right thing. So, dealing with humans was so much harder than her kin.

Well, truth be told, that was how things used to be, but how they'd turned out now was a whole new level of complication, as inter-angelic relationships went.

Lucifer.

Gabriel's lost and long-gone brother; the part of Gabriel's soul from which one of his soul-mates had been abruptly ripped was still empty, hollow, leaving the archangel puzzled and incomplete. He had had eons to control this feeling and yet it still hurt.

El didn't think much about it, didn't have enough time, and, frankly speaking, no desire to go down that route; her mind completely blocked everything that could have affected her performance on the mission. Not to feel but to act. Do what must be done, nothing more; she tried so hard to follow this path. She remembered him, sure, but it had been impersonal,sort of, until now; more like a story she had heard that had happened to someone else. In a way, that's exactly how it had been.

But that had changed. The bond they had once shared had come up to the surface and it scared the hell out of her – its intensity, its power, its rightness.

Cold, he had felt so cold, even via a vessel; it was his coldness that made her fingers tremble and her body shake, as if when they kissed he took away a significant part of her own warmth. When their lips had met, she had felt like she was starting to fall somewhere deep and dark, into a place where no light was allowed to exist. There was no room for anything good there either - no peace, no hope. Loneliness and despair ruled that place.

Anger, rage, revenge… craving.

And the strangest and most inconvenient thing was that what she had really wanted to do back then was not to exile him back to that horrible place, but to bring him some alleviation, to comfort him… to have him back with her.

Idiot.

She had said nothing of it to Michael, of course. How could she, when he always seemed to take what had happened back then much more easily? Though he was clearly sad and distressed at Lucifer's fate, he wasn't, he didn't seem devastated, while Gabriel felt completely crushed. Michael was certainly angry with their oldest brother for the ruination he had caused and for the sufferings he had brought to their entire kind, and seemed willing to forget about Lucifer's very existence.

El sighed. Taking all that into consideration, talking with him about such things probably wouldn't be the best idea, at least for now. She tilted her head, watching the white smoke streaming from the cigarette into the night sky.

Michael.

Gabriel's solid ground; it was he who had given to the empty shell that had remained of the once naïve and innocent young archangel strength to live through the losses, to follow their path undeviatingly. He had tried so hard to ease his youngest brother's pain, to be a substitute for everything that was gone. He had been so very reliable an example, so dependable and trustworthy.

And then he had disobeyed their Father's will just as Lucifer had - ironically, for the same object - and Gabriel's world had broken into pieces again. Maybe that was the main reason why he had been able to make the final blow. He had felt betrayed, again.

El knew that what Gabriel had done to Michael was wrong, not only because he was his kin (they had had plenty of that particular experience, thanks to Lucifer), not only because he was rebirthed by Him (which was the best proof that Gabriel was the one who had made the wrong choice), but because after so many years spent amongst mortals she had learned that everything was not always what it seemed, that the time that humans needed to process, to adjust – sometimes that was the only way to get things straight. She had had the time to realize how blind her alter ego had been back then.

Arrogant.

And now, after all these years, Michael was here… and that threw El's feelings into complete disarray; joy at having him back and anger that he hadn't come earlier, hope that they might finally resolve all their issues and misgiving that they might not, the two of them blissfully reunited and the three of them forced to stand against each other again.

Fucking disaster, I'd call it.

None of this showed on her face as she watched Michael approach her, the bandage on his forearm hidden by an unfastened jacket of dark leather. He stopped in front of her and spoke in a calm voice full of disapproval, eyes peering at her cigarette.

"You shouldn't be doing that."

She quirked her eyebrow and inhaled before replying. "And that's because…?"

"It's beneath you, Gabriel."

El barked out a short humorless laugh; considering everything else that was occupying her mind, Michael lecturing her about the proper behavior of an ex-angel was hardly relevant, and certainly the least of the troubles they had at hand. She dropped the butt. "If I recall correctly, you said we have no time, so let's not waste it. I sure as hell have no need to be lectured, and besides… you always can do it later, Michael, after you've told them," and her head tilted towards the vehicle, "that we have the Apocalypse vol.2 at hand."

He studied her posture intently and then stepped forward; his hands clasped her forearms, dragging her very close to him. He lowered his head, eyes locked on hers, and said very quietly, "Whom have you been speaking to, and when?"

"No-one." A very wry smile appeared on her lips. "It's just… you and me and him, here, now, altogether. Do the math, Michael. Apocalypse it is. "