Chapter Thirteen
"You heard about what Michael almost did?"
"I have been informed by Jeremiah."
"And?"
"And I've heard Beelzebub had a part to play as well."
"But he's mine. Michael's under your holier than thou thumb. So…?"
"So what?"
"Are you going to do anything about him?"
"I have no need to."
"…You blew Sodom and Gomorrah off the face of the puny planet for being a tiny bit promiscuous, and yet your head archangel disobeys direct orders and gets nada?"
"I do not treat my angels like you treat your demons. How is Beelzebub?"
"Still being drained from my carpet. It's Persian too. Pity. At least he learned. He'll think twice about…about…actually, I didn't give him any clear orders. I may have to apologize the next time I see him."
"Will you, now?"
"No, but it's the thought that counts. At least Beelzebub learned something. Sort of."
"Michael has already learned his lesson."
"How? By you patting him on the back and giving him a lollipop?"
"Azrael was highly angered by Michael's intrusion."
"…I assumed, but what-" There was sudden realization, followed by glee. "Michael's been wing clamped, hasn't he? Ooh, that's a blow to the ego! Michael the high and mighty Archangel, Heaven's fiercest warrior, unable to leave Nirvana! I'd sell my soul," The voice cackled at its own joke. "To be able to see my Brother grounded right now. He must be furious!"
"He acknowledges that he disobeyed orders, so he knows not to come to me to request that I break Azrael's lock. He's busy sulking in his favorite heaven."
"That's beautiful. I'm glad I got a good laugh before it all ends." A pause. "There's no stopping it." Not a question. A statement. Definite. The end.
Silence.
"Well, you're chatty today."
Silence.
"It's too bad that Michael and I never got to have at it one last time." A long pause. "We are still brothers."
A sigh.
Waiting silence.
"I'm…kind of sad to see all this go."
Answering silence. Two immortal beings watched galaxies spin, stars wink and tick across space, embroidered upon the endless black velvet. The Earth spun centrally in their vision, a shining, twisting, changing orb, billions of lives beginning and ending, barely blips on their radar.
"As am I."
o-o
The click of a cell phone shutting.
Tony paces
Opening again.
Shutting.
An angry huff of breath. Opening. A number dialed.
"Hey, Dad."
Hesitant, attempting to be carefree. Fake. Sad.
"Yeah, I know it's late. No, that's great. No, Dad, leave that waitress alone. Yeah, I'm sure. Your wiles dried up a long time ago."
A hand grips a chair back.
"Everything's fine, I'm fine. Why would you think something's wrong?"
Fingernails imprint half-moon shapes on the polished wood.
"Can't a son call his father on normal…father/son things? No, you're not the suspect in a murder again."
Teeth grit.
"Dad, listen, please. I don't think I can say this again. You've done some shitty stuff over the years, but so have I. So have a lot of good people, 'cause that's what people do."
Words spill out in a fearful pace, before courage is lost.
"But even after everything we've done, we're family. That still matters, I think, even after…mom. And Dad, I, uh…I-I love you."
Quick breaths. Then, a laugh. Broken and gently relieved.
"No, I'm not dying. No, no one's dying! Christ, does someone have to be dying for me to tell you things?"
We're all going to die. Tonight. I wish I could tell you. But I can't tell anyone.
"I'll…I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I want to get together next time you're in town."
The words, 'Next time' shake even with the added supports. Even with the extra care, the reinforced walls, the spackle and fresh coat of paint. Next time. He wished this wasn't a lie.
"Bye, Dad. Yeah…I love you too. Listen, we're not turning that into a thing now, okay? Too chick-flick, Sleepless in Seattle, for me. Sure. Bye."
A sigh. Scratch of chair legs on floor and the creak as weight slumps onto the framework.
He sits, heart heavy, and he waits for the cancellation notice to come.
Soon.
o-o
Gibbs looks out the small window in his basement at the choking darkness, and knows something is wrong.
This darkness is anthropomorphic. It claws itself by weary fingers through the cracks in the windows, the sliver under his door, and writhes helplessly at his feet. One could almost hear the groans as it presses against the glass, the anguish on a normally unreadable face. The diamond stars drown in its embrace, and the moon fights endlessly to break free.
Something is very wrong.
Gibbs sips his alcohol, and stares it down. Unlike anything else, the darkness refuses to cower. It continues oozing painfully against the window, black hands pushing pleadingly on the glass.
Gibbs has lived through more than most, (More than a lot who are older than him too) but this…this is beyond everything he's ever experienced.
This…fear in the air. The feeling of imminent destruction sprayed like blood across a wall. The inevitable. Duct tape right across the eyes, stuck so tight he doesn't know left from right, right from wrong, and one answer from the next. But what is the answer?
What the hell is this?
The darkness clings desperately to shoelaces, pant legs, but he brushes it aside. He begins working on his boat again.
Something is very wrong, Gibbs has weathered a hundred storms before this, but he isn't entirely sure he'll make it through this one.
And he waits for some kind of finality, under naked light bulbs that shiver in the storm.
o-o
Ziva is glad her apartment building is being fumigated. She grips the black sheets with the intricate lace edging tighter, and shifts on the couch for the umpteenth time that evening. She sits upright, stiffly, on guard against…something. There has to be something. She listens and there's a distinct lack of natural sound from the inside of the apartment. Abby must be as awake as she is.
There is a sense of wrongness that has infused into her bones, and a sort of hush outside. She can hear the building creaking from the wind, it must be pretty strong going off this, but there's only a faint moan from outside the glazed glass. It's an indrawn breath. It's an expectation that will soon be met.
She recognizes this hush. It's the kind of quiet she's heard before bombings, the waiting, like every single set of eyes has turned skyward, every chest stilled, every heart beat muffled. Waiting. But it feels worse now. So much worse.
Ziva fingers the knife sitting snug in the palm of her hand. She isn't surprised as she feels the cushions next to her compress slightly and the sheets rise and then gently fall.
"Something doesn't feel right." Abby's voice emerges from the darkness. Her voice is stilted, stiff and uncertain. Large eyes reflect lost rays of light.
"No, it does not."
A pause. "Do you mind if I stay here, Ziva?"
"I must warn you, I doubt I will be sleeping much tonight."
A tinkling laugh, like breaking glass. "Ditto. Slumber party then?"
"Tony would be thrilled."
A very long pause. Words have lost all meaning. The shiver of shifting sheets. The muted cry of dead men in the wind.
Ziva feels a hand slip into her unoccupied hand, and she takes it immediately.
She never truly has been into holding hands. She's made exceptions for a select few, but overall, it isn't something that she does. But sometimes, she needs it. Needs it like she needs oxegen. Like she needs NCIS. Like she needs her team. She grips Abby's hand tightly.
Right now? She needs it.
There's an answering squeeze. She's not the only one that needs it apparently.
They wait for an answer in the darkness.
o-o
Ducky sits with a book and a glass of wine.
All three gather dust as they wait for the end together. Ducky knows.
"Oh, Timothy."
The words curl translucently in the air like smoke from a pipe.
"I'm so sorry."
Eyes that are almost too wise, too old, too sad, stare through the darkness. Almost.
They wait for the end in silence.
o-o
He lifts the scythe, but cannot swing down. Can't reap what he must. Can't fulfill what he has always done, and should always do.
The scales have tipped.
And balance has been lost.
Hands that shift from flesh to bone, never either one or the other, begin to shake. The scythe bends, writhes, and then falls apart with a sigh.
"Forgive me, Father."