Exiles From Delight

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight to liberate us into life

~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel

Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.

A/N: Thank you to those who have read. Thank you to those who have reviewed. I appreciate every single one of you immensely!

Chapter Five

Her top priority, Devlin thought to herself as she dished up Pop's breakfast and tried very, very hard to keep her eyes to herself, was to find Gabriel something to wear.

Not that it looked to be all that high on his must-have list—in fact, he seemed supremely indifferent to the whole thing as he sat quietly at the counter, his full attention on the food in front of him; which, she supposed, made a certain sort of sense. It was her experience that the tendency to embarrass easily faded with age. If that was a general rule, then Gabriel was probably just about the most unflappable creature in existence. Because he wasn't just old; he was the kind of old that flew straight past antique, kept going way beyond ancient and ended up somewhere in the vicinity of primordial.

And she had to admit, blushing over a little partial nudity would have seemed downright silly coming from a guy who was there the day God created Adam.

She, on the other hand…

She wasn't old. She was young even by human standards. She might have seen a few unbelievable things because of what she was, but that didn't exactly make her worldly wise. She hated to call herself sheltered, because she'd never felt like she was; but she could count on one hand the number of times she'd been more than a hundred miles from the ranch, so she guessed she was just a bit on the sheltered side.

Which kinda explained all the blushing.

And the looking. Far too much looking.

But again—sheltered.

Her experience of the wonders of the universe was limited to the Rocky Mountains she'd grown up with and a high school trip to the Grand Canyon…but she was about two or three stolen glances away from adding The Archangel Gabriel's Chiseled Abs to her list and that was something that she really didn't want to do for a whole heaping helping of reasons, not least of which being the whole Left Hand of God thing that had been giving her such fits earlier.

So...yeah. Clothes. The sooner the better.

The question was…where the hell was she supposed to find any?

Gabriel had over a foot of height and about sixty pounds of solid muscle on Pops, so that meant there was no point raiding his closest. The Elk Horn was the closest store that carried clothing, but the trip would take several hours on horseback and she had no idea what she would find once she got there…so that was out too. She supposed she could piece a couple of Pops' old shirts together Frankenstein style on her grandmother's antique Singer that she mostly knew how to use—even in her head, it looked a right mess…but hey, something was better than nothing, right?

She mentioned this plan, sad as it was, to Pops when she delivered his breakfast to him in his room. "So I'm gonna need a couple of your shirts, if you don't mind sharing."

Pops, already tucked contentedly into his food, snorted out a laugh. "Last time you tried to use that old thing, you sewed your thumb to the pillowcase you were making."

"I got it done eventually," Dev defended without any real conviction. "And it didn't look half-bad aside from the blood stain, and even that wasn't all that big."

"Hmmm," was all Pops said as he bit off a good sized chunk of bacon. "You know, baby girl, before you go playing seamstress, might wanna check the basement. God only knows what's all down there, but I'm fairly certain there's about eight decades of clothes in those boxes."

She hadn't remembered that until just then—but now that she did, she still didn't know how much help all that junk would be. "I don't know," she said as she sat on the edge of his bed and watched him devour his food, "Gabriel is…he's a big man, Pops."

"How big's big?"

Dev shook her head. "Big big. Six-five, six-six...maybe taller. And built like a brick house."

Chewing thoughtfully, Pops chased a mouthful of eggs with a big swig of coffee. "Well now, my great-uncle Samuel was about the biggest man I ever saw. Stood six foot eight in his socks and had a chest as big around as a damn tree trunk. I think there might be some of his old duds down there."

She'd heard stories about Samuel Jacobs, though he'd been dead for a very long time by the time she arrived on the scene. Apparently, he'd been a real prick, which was kinda funny, given the circumstances. She snickered. "Takes one to clothe one, I guess."

Pops looked up at her, expression bland. "I hope I wasn't supposed to laugh at that."

"Too blasphemous?"

"No," Pops shook his head, stabbing up another bite of egg, "it was just a lousy joke."

Dev stuck her tongue out at him as she moved toward the door.

"I'm gonna remind you of that next time you accuse me of treatin' you like a child."

She leaned back into the room and blew him a raspberry, just for good measure.

Pops hadn't been kidding about the basement. It was only as old as the current house that sat above it, but it held relics from every generation to ever work the land. One of the advantages of having a family as self-sufficient as hers had always been was that very little ever got thrown away.

Good times came and went and bad times were always lurking right around the corner; you never knew when something old was going to turn around and make itself useful once again.

On the other hand, that meant there was a lot to dig through, and it had taken her a good half an hour of searching before she'd finally found a box—marked in her Grams' neat hand—labeled Samuel John Jacobs, with what she assumed were his birth and death dates scrawled beneath.

Thank God for Grams and her meticulous housekeeping. Without them, she would have easily been at it for days.

She dropped the box on the floor of the living room, cheeks slightly pink from the exertion of hauling it up the stairs. Gabriel was perched on the edge of the couch and looked so far out of place amongst the threadbare furnishings that it was almost comical. He was silent as she knelt, tore the tape off the box and started pulling clothes from the depths of the cardboard container.

When she held up a garish red and green flannel shirt, eyeing both it and him measuringly, he found his tongue once more.

"You intend for me to wear that?"

Dev could hear the disapproval in his tone and lowered the shirt. "I intend for you to wear something, and this is all we've got." She paused, considered. "The wings are gonna be a problem."

"No, they will not be," Gabriel corrected, still frowning at the shirt.

"No?"

"No," he affirmed, and a moment later, those truly magnificent black wings simply…disappeared.

Dev blinked, staring at the sudden emptiness at his back and feeling oddly wrong-footed. "Well," she said at length, trying very hard to pretend that a suddenly far more normal looking Gabriel didn't send her world even more off-kilter than it already was, "that's a handy little trick."

"Indeed," Gabriel shifted his shoulders, radiating discomfort. "It allows us to move freely amongst your kind when we must."

Dev arched a brow at him. "And exactly how often must you? Because the look on your face right now doesn't exactly read 'I do this all the time'."

That earned her the shadow of a smile. "You are not wrong. It is a rare thing that I am called upon to walk the Earth in the guise of one of you. I confess I find this form…discomfiting." His expression turned sullen. "And I will find it all the more so were I to garb myself in that."

"Seriously? It's just a shirt, Gabriel."

"Be that as it may, I will not bend. Find something else."

Just what she didn't need right now—vanity flanked by ego and a whole lot of arrogance.

Son of a bitch.

"Well forgive me, Oh High Holy One," Dev snapped, "but in case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly overflowing with options at the moment. I don't have anything else, so you're just gonna have to suck it up and make do until I have the time and the opportunity to find something you'll find more acceptable."

"That garment is hideous, Navi. I will not wear it."

Dev took a moment at that, sucking in a deep breath to calm herself—she categorically refused to lose her patience over something as trivial as a shirt. "Last I checked, Gabriel," she commented as she very deliberately set the shirt in question on the floor and dug back into the box, "vanity falls under pride and pride is one of those Seven Deadlies that the Good Book warns about. Sounds like someone could do with a few Mea Culpa's."

She didn't mean anything by it, beyond being a smart ass. She certainly didn't intend for it to elicit the reaction that it did.

Gabriel's low, strangled chuckle sent a shiver down her spine and goose bumps chasing after it. Dev looked up in time to see his head drop into his hands, his elbows braced upon knees still encased in blood-stained leather. She dropped the clothes she was holding and plopped backwards, sitting on her heels.

He was muttering something into his hands, but too softly for her to hear.

And goddamn it, this was so not her thing.

"What's wrong now?"

Definitely not her thing.

She'd been aiming for concerned, but that hadn't sounded anything but annoyed.

Luckily, he appeared to be far too wrapped up in his own misery to either notice or care about how much she sucked at being comforting. He lifted his head and Dev was absolutely horrified to see tears running down his cheeks.

"I am a disgrace."

That statement was just ridiculous enough to snap her out of her shock. She gave a supremely undignified snort of disbelief. "Yeah...I really doubt that. How the hell could you ever be a disgrace?"

He was shaking his head before she had finished speaking.

"You do not understand, Navi," his head dropped back into his hands, his fingers digging hard into his scalp. "Blinded by arrogance. Blinded by wrath. Blinded by vainglorious pride. I have failed."

...the hell?

"It's just a shirt," she said in a small voice, out of her depth and sounding it. "You not wanting to wear the damn thing hardly means you've failed anyone, most especially me."

He wasn't hearing her, too wrapped up in his own private miseries to pay her the least bit of mind and it suddenly occurred to her that this had nothing at all to do with her and everything to do with whatever had happened between him and Michael. It was a realization that she was actually quite proud of herself for making; she usually wasn't that intuitive.

And swift on the heels of that realization came the thought that she really should just stay out of it. Those were some dangerously deep and seriously murky waters to dive into for anyone, let alone someone as ill-equipped to handle it as she was.

But the sight of him, hunched over like he was, despairing and utterly defeated, set off every protective instinct she had…as well as some she hadn't even known were there. Suddenly, it no longer mattered that she was probably getting in way over her head, or that she sucked royally at empathy.

This wasn't some random stranger going to pieces in front of her eyes. It wasn't even an almighty Archangel who could smite her for her insolence.

It was just…Gabriel.

At some point over the past couple of hours, that had started to mean something very different than it had before. As silly as it sounded, they'd bonded in a weird and indefinable way, and while she still wouldn't go so far as to call them friends…they were more than the vague acquaintances they had been before.

And that meant that she couldn't just sit there and watch him fall apart.

Pushing up onto her knees, she shuffled forward until she was directly in front of him. Reaching out, she placed a hand on top of his lowered head, fingers resting lightly atop his ink-black hair. "I know there's a lot that's happened that I don't know about," she said, pitching her voice low and—she hoped—consoling. "But I can't believe you've failed anyone, Gabriel. I won't believe it."

For several very long moments, he was quiet, though she could feel him tense beneath her touch. Eventually, he lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, the usual steel gray of his reduced to pale ash. "The child has been born, Navi."

That seemed an odd subject change, but she decided to go with it. "I know." Her hand had shifted when he lifted his head; dropping down to rest on the spot where shoulder became neck, just below the iron band that Michael had once explained symbolized their eternal devotion to the Father. It occurred to her that she should move it, but since he wasn't complaining, she let it stay there. "Or at least, I figured. Michael told me it was supposed to happen yesterday."

"You know then that He did not intend for the child to be born."

She didn't have to ask who He was. Not when she could hear the capital on the pronoun. She nodded. "Again, Michael told me. He said that was why he was going to do what he obviously did—protect the mother until the child arrived and stop the extermination."

"He disobeyed."

Dev cocked a brow at that. "Yeah, I guess he did. Can't say I'm not thankful. I sorta like being alive."

"I did not disobey, Navi."

There was an entire world of meaning packed into that one little sentence. Things she hadn't understood suddenly started to make sense. "He sent you to do what Michael wouldn't, didn't He?"

"And to deal with Michael, yes. As ever, I obeyed Him. As ever, I did so unquestioningly."

Her fingers, which had absently begun to play with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, stilled, rested unmoving against the warmth of his skin. "That's when you and Michael fought."

Gabriel gave a short, sharp nod. "We fought. I killed him. And then I pursued the mother and child. Before I could carry out my orders, Michael descended, whole once more and carrying the message that Our Father had renewed His faith in man. That the child was safe...and that I, in my blind obedience, had failed Him."

Dev's hand dropped away then, falling into her lap as she frowned, suddenly angry on his behalf. "That's about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You failed because you followed orders? If the orders were wrong, seems to me that the one who failed is the one who gave them in the first place!"

Drawing backwards, Gabriel's expression was entirely outraged. "You dare to blame Him?"

"He tried to wipe me out of existence yesterday, Gabriel, so forgive me if I'm not feeling particularly generous toward Him at the moment," she said flatly and without a hint of apology. "And finding out that He's the sort of God that would condemn his most faithful servant just to save a little face just reinforces that. Honestly, if anyone failed anyone here, He failed you."

"You speak blasphemy, Navi."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she acknowledged with a shrug, "probably won't be the last. The point is that you can't blame yourself for following orders when they come from God himself. You believe in Him, so you believed in them. There's no shame in that."

Something cracked open in his eyes then; cracked open and bled. He looked more real, more human, than she'd ever imagined that he could.

"And if I did not believe in the orders? If I despaired of His decision as wholeheartedly as Michael and still obeyed? If I abhorred the task I was given and still did all within my power to see it done? What then?"

It occurred to her that she should be more upset by this conversation than she was. Here he was, admitting openly that he had fought like hell to kill an innocent baby yesterday, and the only thing she cared about was that he was hurting. But she understood far more than most what it meant to be a servant of God, even now, when her faith had been so thoroughly shaken.

And she simply could not condemn him for his submission.

She leaned in closer to him, her face inches from his. "Answer me this, Gabriel, since you've served him longer than any other creature in existence. When has disobedience ever been an option?"

They both more than knew the answer to that. So much so that it may as well have been a rhetorical question.

"Michael..."

"...is damn lucky," she cut in, the words harsh. "He defied God, Gabriel, no matter how right or how wrong he was to do it. I can't recall anyone else who did that who isn't rotting in Hell right now, can you?"

His silence was answer enough. She watched as he processed her words

"I do not know what to do, Navi."

He was looking at her with such despair, such desperate pleading that she felt her heart contract. Before she could stop herself, her hands were on his cheeks, cradling his face between her palms.

"First thing you need to do is stop blaming yourself," she ran her thumb gently over the nearly-healed split along his cheekbone. "Beyond that, all I can tell you is to just take things one step at a time. Sounds too simple, I know...but it's the best I can do for you."

When he lifted his right hand and rested it atop her left, pressing her touch harder against his cheek, she had the fleeting thought that this was bad, bad, bad, bad. But when he tilted his head, angling further into her touch, thought of any kind ceased all together.

"And I thank you for it, Navi," he murmured, voice low and deep. "You have shown me far more kindness than I expected, given the circumstances. And for that, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid."

"You don't owe me anything," Dev whispered, disliking the idea of him feeling beholden to her in any way.

She felt his smile, felt the way his lips thinned and curved against the palm of her hand. It made her shiver in all the right—wrongwrongwrong—ways.

"Will you accept my gratitude, at the very least?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He turned his face back to hers, his eyes once more a dark, steel gray and full of a heat that she understood, but couldn't even begin to believe. "As I have learned well this day…there is always a choice, Navi."

She licked her lips nervously and when his eyes flicked down to follow the movement, she just about died.

This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, you're going to hell, this is bad, you can't do this, this is bad...

...and she was doing it anyway.

He leaned, she leaned, drawn to him like a moth to a flame and the inches between them shrank to centimeters...millimeters...

And then there came the sound of wings. Large wings. A thunderclap landing.

They fell away from each other; he against the cushions of the couch, she straight backwards onto her jean-clad rear. Staring at him, shocked yet gratified to see that he was staring back at her with the same disbelief that she knew was all over her face, Dev didn't know whether to be thankful for the interruption...or furious about it.

"Devlin!"

Michael's voice cut through the silence like the crack of a whip. Gabriel stiffened, all softness retreating at the sound of his brother's voice until he was once again the cold and distant creature she'd always known. It was jarring and it set her teeth on edge in an entirely different way than it would have in the past. But things were so very different now than they had been in the past—they were so very different from what they had been even ten minutes ago.

Decided, Dev narrowed her eyes at him, considering. "Is it safe to say you don't wanna talk to him right now?"

"Perfectly so."

"Right. Easy enough then." She jumped to her feet, pinned Gabriel with a stern, uncompromising look. "You don't move from that spot, you hear me? You don't say a word and you certainly don't come outside. I'll handle this and get rid of him as soon as I can."

Gabriel was frowning now, clearly confused. "But..."

"No buts," she interrupted. "I already told you that you're staying here until you're all healed up. I mean it even more now. So do us both a favor and just sit there and shut up, got it?"

He was almost smiling again—a ghost of a thing that was barely a smile at all. "As you command, Navi, so I obey."

Devlin snorted as she hurried into the mudroom. "You should fully expect to be reminded of that the next time you start arguing with me."

"I shall consider myself duly warned."

"See that you do." Dev yanked her coat from its hook, turning to look back at him again as she tugged it on. "While I'm gone, look through that box and try to find something not-hideous to wear. Hopefully there's at least one shirt in there that won't trigger a nervous breakdown."

Gabriel shot her a glare, but it lacked the conviction of true ire. "Are you always so rude?"

Dev grinned at him. "Not at all," she replied, sweet as spun sugar, after she'd zipped herself up, "sometimes, I'm asleep."

Without giving him an opportunity to answer, she slid out the door, shutting it firmly behind her, the image of his answering grin burned bright into her minds eye.