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 all those who reviewed/followed/favorite! I always appreciate it!

Chapter 8

Three days later, they were still waiting for the arrival of their guests.

The preparations were pretty much as finished as they could get under the circumstances. The day before, Devlin and Gabriel had even driven into Jackson—or what was left of it—to see what they could scrounge up from the larger stores there.

It had been a disheartening trip for her. What had been a fairly bustling city by Wyoming standards was now a virtual ghost town. The few people they had seen had bolted at the sight of the old Ford truck rumbling down the roads. Driving through town had proved a challenge in itself and Dev had been forced to make her own path over curbs and through medians to avoid abandoned vehicles and far, far too many dead bodies.

She'd held herself together admirably…until they'd pulled into the parking lot of the Kmart off 89.

A Subaru Forester sat parked in the middle of one of aisles with the driver's side door hanging wide open. Dev had made the mistake of looking inside as they drove past and had damn near lost her hard won composure.

Still seated in the driver's seat was the body of a young woman, her arms wrapped tight around a bundle of blankets. There was no doubt what lay within those blankets and Dev's heart had cracked open at the sight. She had jerked her head away, eyes filled with tears to find Gabriel's steady gaze focused directly at her. He hadn't said a word—but he hadn't needed to. She'd been able to see the regret in his eyes, the sadness.

It hadn't made it any better—nothing could, really—but it had given her the strength she needed to see the trip through. They'd managed to scavenge a small hoard of supplies from the abandoned store, including clothes that came much closer to fitting Gabriel than what they'd had and a veritable smorgasbord of baby gear.

On the trip back, Dev had kept her eyes very firmly on the road in front of her and refused to look too closely at anyone or anything that they passed.

Once home, Gabriel had helped unload their stockpile and had immediately disappeared into the barn—Devlin didn't know why and she didn't ask. She figured if he'd needed to talk, he knew where to find her, but she rather suspected he just needed some time to himself. She was hardly an expert on his innermost workings, but she knew he'd been sorely affected by the devastation they'd seen. He was a hell of a lot more sensitive than he let on.

So while he'd been off doing whatever it was that brooding Archangel's did, she'd spent the rest of the afternoon washing bottles, stacking boxes of diapers and baby wipes and putting together—with Pops' nimble aid—a bouncy chair, a changing table, a diaper genie, a crib and something called a Pack N Play. That last, well, she'd decided that it must have been the work of the devil when they hit thirty minutes in and she and Pops still hadn't managed to figure out how the damn thing went together. The instructions hadn't been particularly instructional and she'd loudly and colorfully wished death upon the bastard who'd written them. When Pops had tried to cheer her up by pointing out that whoever it was likely was dead now, she'd felt like the world's biggest bitch and hadn't said another word until they were done.

Gabriel had wandered back inside by then, and neither Devlin nor Pops asked about his lengthy absence. Instead, they struck up as light-hearted a conversation as they could manage under the circumstances and all three had migrated into the kitchen for dinner.

They'd gone to bed early; tired from what had proven to be a very long day. After that first day, Gabriel had insisted on sleeping on the couch, though Devlin had offered him her room for the duration of his stay. He had very politely, but firmly, refused. It was almost comical, watching him fold his body onto a couch that was several inches too short for him, but he hadn't once complained.

The story of his existence, really, Devlin guessed. He was Gabriel, Chief among the Archangel's and the Left Hand of the Father…and he did not complain.

Devlin, a cup of coffee cradled between her palms, was still musing on that the next morning as she leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, eyes tracing over every line of the still slumbering giant making their couch look like dollhouse furniture. He was on his side facing her, back tucked up against the cushions when he shivered in his sleep, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around his midsection. Dev's eyes narrowed at the sight. He'd refused a blanket, repeating again that he hardly felt the cold and so needed nothing.

"Big idiot," she muttered, setting her coffee down on the console table just inside the living room. She padded down the hallway, socked feet silent on the hand-hewn floors and rummaged around in the linen closet beside the bathroom. A few moments later, she was gently laying a thick, oversized red fleece blanket over her too-stubborn-for-his-own-good houseguest.

She was bent over, ever so carefully draping it over his shoulder when suddenly his entire body went stiff with tension and a large hand shot out lightning quick and fastened around her neck. Devlin let out a squeak of shock, hands shooting up to lock around his, nails digging into his skin. Mouth hanging open wide as she silently and ineffectually fought to suck in a breath, Devlin fought against the panic that was so desperately trying to claw its way up from her belly. Compounding the situation, she felt the sudden jolt that always came before her particular brand of Heavenly ability reared its head and suddenly she was drowning in a sea of turmoil like none she had ever felt before.

It hit her like a Mack truck, the hideous, sucking weight of somanytoomanycenturiesageseons and between that and the lack of oxygen, her vision started to darken round the edges.

And then, just as suddenly as it had all started, it was over. Her neck was free, her mind was again her own…but her chest still felt like it had been filled with lead.

She collapsed to the floor beside the couch in a heap, gasping in great gulps of air. Vaguely, she heard someone calling her name, felt a hand touch her shoulder. Acting on pure, raw instinct, she flinched away, dragging herself across the floor on unsteady hands and trembling knees and crawling half into the big chair by the fireplace. Legs tucked up under her on the floor and head pillowed on her arms on the seat of the chair, she fought desperately to regain both her breath and her composure.

When she finally—finally—felt like herself again, Devlin lifted her head to find Gabriel kneeling on the floor beside the chair, his eyes ash gray and his face pale as milk. He looked utterly shattered and it twisted her heart in her chest.

"Forgive me," he choked out, his voice thin with grief. "Forgive me, Navi." His hand extended toward her slowly, as if he feared she would pull away, his bent fingers achingly gentle as they brushed away a tear from her cheek. "I did not…I would never…"

Devlin reached up and wrapped her fingers around his hand once again, only softly this time, comfortingly. "I know you wouldn't," she said, voice rasping slightly, which made Gabriel flinch and attempt to pull away from her grasp. "Hey," she admonished, holding tight to his hand, "stop that. This was my fault…"

"No," Gabriel said, expression colored now with something very much like self-loathing. "The fault was mine alone."

"You were asleep," Dev argued, voice hitching as fresh tears began to flow from her eyes, frustrating her because she knew it was giving him the wrong idea, but she couldn't stop because it was still there, in the center of her chest, that great, paralyzing weight. "You were asleep and I startled you. I should have been more careful…I should have…I don't know…I should have…Dear God, is this how you feel all the time?" she gasped the words, her free hand coming up to claw at her chest and she looked up at him with a mixture of pity and horror. "Every day, this, this…weight…this...how? How do you stand it? How the fuck do you get through every day feeling like this?"

Gabriel's jerked away from her, his expression flattening to that hideous blankness between one heart beat and the next. "You read me," and the words were absolutely brimming with accusation.

"No, I didn't. You projected," Devlin was quick to correct, not wanting this to turn into a lecture. Not when she still felt like this and not when she knew that the only reason she did was because he did. "Which is probably still against the rules but Christ, Gabriel…I really don't give a damn about the rules right now. I feel like there's a black hole in my gut, sucking up everything good and happy and just…"

Her voice trailed off, watching as that mask of his slipped once more, revealing so much pain in his eyes that it made her chest ache even more. Without another thought, she flung herself forward, arms wrapping tight around his neck and nearly knocking him over with the sudden force of her movement. There was nothing untoward about this, nothing awkward…not like that first day.

This was comfort, pure and painfully simple.

Devlin just latched on and hugged him, this enormous, brooding Archangel who had spent several eternities in perfect submission and had received so little in return for all his sacrifices. She knew her thoughts were blasphemous, but at that moment, she really couldn't have cared less. So she just kept on hugging him.

And then, wonder of wonders, she felt his arms—still taut with tension—lift and then bend around her, wrapping around her back as he hesitantly returned her embrace. Devlin hugged him all the tighter for it.

"You don't deserve to feel like this," she murmured. "After all you've done…you deserve so much better than this."

He pulled back, reaching up to disentangle her arms from about his neck. "That is not for you to decide, Navi," he clasped her hands in his and held them up between them, giving them a gentle squeeze as he offered her a wan smile, "though your concern is…appreciated."

There was the sort of finality in his tone that even she couldn't miss—this conversation was closed. At least, for now. Taking her cue from him though she would have liked nothing more than to keep arguing the point, Dev nodded and pulled her hands away from his, the ache starting to ease. "Well…since you're up, are you hungry?"

"Perhaps. Is your grandfather awake yet?"

Dev, on her feet now and already half way toward the kitchen, stopped in her tracks. She turned back to him, eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. I figured he could do with a couple extra winks."

"So you are preparing the meal this morning?"

"Unless there's someone else here I don't know about."

"Then, no. I am not hungry."

She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyance swiftly drowning out her earlier discomfort. "There's nothing wrong with my cooking!"

"The dinner I suffered through last night would beg to disagree with you."

"What the hell was wrong with dinner?"

Gabriel arched a brow at her. "It was burnt."

"Singed," Dev corrected, bristling, "and only a little. It was still perfectly edible."

"It was soup, Navi."

"And that has what to do with anything?" He was standing now, and she was trying very hard not to get distracted by how well he wore those plaid pajama bottoms and that plain black tee.

Well done, Kmart. Like, seriously well done.

How he managed to arch that brow even higher, she had no idea. But he did manage it, his look now absolutely incredulous. "Soup, Navi. You burnt soup. I did not even know such a thing was possible."

He was very right, but that didn't mean she was ever going to admit it. "I thought it tasted fine."

"You clearly have exceptionally low culinary standards."

She leveled a straight up 'duh' face at him. "I live in middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Wyoming," she pointed out. "Haute cuisine up here is elk chops and venison stew. It's not exactly a chef's paradise."

"Your grandfather manages admirably."

"Well my grandfather…"

"…is awake now, thanks to you two," Pops grumbled, bleary eyed and sleep-rumpled as he marched down the hallway. "I'll cook the damn breakfast," he snapped, throwing a look at Gabriel, "so you can quit your bitchin'."

Clearly, Pops had gotten a whole hell of a lot more comfortable with the situation over the past few days. He still had moments when he looked at Gabriel and could see nothing but the great, shining Archangel, but most of the time, he treated Gabriel as he would anyone else. A fact, Dev had noticed, which Gabriel seemed to enjoy very much.

Dev was just about to pipe up with something snarky when a sudden sound caught all of their attention. Off in the distance, loud as hell through all the surrounding silence, was the very distinctive sound of a truck making its way up the very long drive from the main road. Without a word, they all leapt into action. Pops took off for his bedroom—fetching his shotgun, Dev guessed. She tore towards the boarded up front windows, peering out to try and catch a peek at their approaching visitors.

Gabriel, to her surprise, followed her but stayed behind her, a strong, solid wall at her back. "What do you see?"

"Nothing yet," she said, straining to catch a glimpse. Her breath caught in her throat a moment later when Gabriel leaned into her, warmth all down her back—Oh God, she had no idea what he was doing but she would be perfectly happy if he'd just keep on doing it.

"You have more than one set of eyes, Navi." His lips were very close to her ear, the tiny hairs along her hairline danced with his breath, sending a shiver down her spine. "Use them."

It was an old argument—a skill she was supposed to have but had never managed to master; had honestly, barely even been able to use. Despite her best efforts, her gifts had always had a mind of their own, coming and going as they pleased and never showing up when she'd asked them to.

She rolled her eyes, trying very hard to ignore his closeness when she knew it certainly did not mean what she very much would have liked for it to mean…and hoo boy, she was going to hell!

"If I knew how to do that, I would have done it already. You've always acted like I do it on purpose, but I swear that I don't. Every time I try, I fail, so that's why…" her voice trailed off as the approaching vehicle came into view.

It was an older model, dark blue Dodge Ram with a plow on the front and a cover on the bed—standard issue for these parts. It began to slow as it drew nearer to the house, and she could read the move for the cautiousness that it was. Certainty bubbled up in her gut and she knew—knew—that this was who they had been waiting for.

"It's them," she whispered, barely noticing the way Gabriel stiffened and straightened at that.

"Is it, indeed?"

"Oh yes," she murmured, a feeling of warmth like she'd never known before starting in the middle of her chest and expanding outward. "Oh yes," she repeated, and then she was off, moving toward the door.

Gabriel caught her before she could throw it open, his large hand engulfing her wrist. She whirled around, glaring at him and ready to tell him what he could do with himself, but stopped when he held her coat out to her with his other hand. "You will do them no favors by freezing to death."

"Yeah, fine, you're right," she grabbed the coat from him and he released her arm. She jammed her arms into the sleeves and tore the zipper up just as Pops came barreling out of the bedroom, shotgun at the ready. "No need, Pops," she called, and even her voice sounded as buoyant as she felt, "it's them. They're here!"

And then she was out the door, leaving it flung open wide behind her.

All his nervous energy calmed by the excitement in his granddaughter's voice—if she sensed no harm and if Gabriel wasn't tearing out after her, then he doubted it was worth staying worried about—Pops shuffled over to where Gabriel was standing by the open door. The two stood side by side for a long, silent moment, watching as Devlin waded through the snow toward the still slowly approaching vehicle. There was a tension in the air, a sense of…anticipation.

"Everything's about to change, ain't it?"

Gabriel glanced over at Nathaniel Jacobs, his expression grim. "Everything has already changed."

The old man shook his head. "Not all the way," he murmured.

"No," Gabriel agreed. "Not all the way. Not yet." He shifted his gaze back out to where Devlin had stopped several feet in front of the truck, which had also stopped. "But it will. It always does."