Shadow and Gold

September 2005

He placed the finished oils back into the cabinet. The air was heavy with the scent of almond, jasmine, and orange; it was an odd combination but still somewhat pleasing. He brushed an offending strand of hair back, surveying the room. He finally managed to finish at—he glanced at the clock—a quarter to six! He frowned. He hadn’t expected this to take that long. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back and feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. He closed the cabinet and wiped his fingers on a towel. Although he was careful with the oils, some always got on his fingers. He opened the door and turned off the light, and walked out into the hall. He closed the door behind him, rolling his neck in order to relieve some of the stiffness that had arisen in the past hour and a half while he mixed the oils.

He yawned as he readied to leave—he had to hurry home if he wanted to eat dinner before he went to his jazz dance class. He slung his bag over his shoulder, double-checking he had his keys before he walked into the reception room to leave. He locked the door behind him and then turned to flick the lights off.

“I never knew you worked so late.”

He nearly jumped, his golden eyes wide. He turned slowly and looked at the man sitting calmly in one of the comfortable chairs in the reception room. The man had black hair, messy but with style. He was dressed in entirely black, which put him at a stark contrast with the still brightly lit room with the pastel wallpaper. His eyes matched his hair and clothes, hooded as if he were half asleep. He had flawless olive skin, his physical characteristics most definitely leaning towards Asian descent.

“We’re closed.”

The man snorted. He stood up in a fluid motion, his hands hidden in his pockets. He took a silent step forward—the golden-eyed man immediately stepped back into the door. The other man didn’t even dignify the move with a look.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Can’t I visit my kin?” the man asked lightly, daring the other to answer. Silence. Finally, he spoke.

“What does the Angel of Death want with me?”

“Now that’s just a foolish question. What does the Angel of Life have to do with the Angel of Death?”

“Answer the question, Azrael,” the brunette bit out. The black-haired man barked out a laugh. He took a few more steps forward.

“Answer the question, Raphael,” the man mocked. He smirked. “I just wanted to visit my esteemed colleague and see how he was doing.”

“What, is Michael finally tired of your baiting and actually ignoring you?” Raphael snapped back. The smirk deepened.

“Michael doesn’t know where I am, right now,” Azrael purred, stalking closer. Raphael pressed against the door, uneasy as the angel of death came closer.

“You can’t hurt me,” Raphael said quietly. Azrael stopped, the smirk instantly off his face. He narrowed his eyes.

“Is that what you think?”

“You’re the angel of death, Azrael. You embody the very thing that I’m supposed to prevent!” Raphael shot back, evading the question. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable attack—although Azrael wasn’t as volatile as Michael, Raphael somehow brought out the worst in the angel of death.

There was silence. The attack didn’t come. He cracked up his golden eyes and caught sight of Azrael standing there, looking at him. Without another word, the angel stalked out of the room. At his departure, Raphael felt the tension drain out of his body immediately. He leaned against the door for support, scrubbing his face with his hands. It just wasn’t turning out to be a very good evening.

“Could I please speak to Justin Scield? Tell him it’s Akos Rasolei calling.”

“Of course, Mr. Rasolei. Mr. Scield will be on the phone shortly.”

Silence.

“Raphael?”

“Michael, Azrael showed up randomly at the clinic I’m working at and I could’ve sworn I was going to get beaten up again but—“

“Whoa, slow down. What’s this about Azrael?”

Raphael sat on his beanbag in his bedroom, wrapped up in a blanket. He had opted out of going to dance since his nerves weren’t in the best condition. After drinking some tea, he finally deemed himself calm enough to make a coherent phone call.

“Azrael showed up in my clinic when I was closing today.” He could almost see Michael blinking in surprise on the other side. General he may be, Michael sometimes wasn’t the most mature. In fact, he rather fit his physical incarnation of a semi-adult frat boy.

“Why was Azrael there?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m calling you!” Raphael said, frustrated. “I barely ever talk to him. I mean, out of all of us I probably associate with him the least! Even Suriel knows him better than I do.”

“Well, that might just be since Suriel is spoiled by all of us. And I really do mean, all of us,” Michael replied dryly.

“It’s just a bit disconcerting and even terrifying. The last time I saw him was four years ago! The last time I actually spoke with him was during the Korean War!”

“Raphael, you need to calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“No you’re not and you know it, too. I honestly have no idea why Azrael is there. I haven’t spoken with him in the past few months.” Raphael frowned. “So stop thinking there’s a conspiracy against you.” Golden eyes narrowed.

“I do not think there’s a conspiracy—never mind! I’m not that paranoid,” Raphael snapped back. Michael’s dry chuckle echoed through the phone.

“Right. It’s understandable why you’re paranoid. You’re the angel of life after all; it’s your job to protect the living.”

“I’m not…” he sputtered indignantly. “Ugh! I’m not going to even argue with you about that. Just… can’t you do something about him? You probably know him the best out of all of us. Possibly even more than Uriel.” There was a pause. Michael sighed.

“I’ll try to talk to him and ask what’s going on, but Raphael… Azrael is the oldest out of all of us. Whatever he does, is for a reason. And contrary to what you think, he isn’t going to hurt you.”

“Obviously you don’t remember World War II.”

“Raphael…”

World War II was one of the worst experiences of Raphael’s existence. All that death and destruction and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The most he could do was try to save all the lives that he could, which in itself wasn’t very much. While he was in France, he ran into Azrael. Raphael had lashed out verbally, which prompted a physical assault from Azrael. Raphael was only five foot and four inches. Azrael wasn’t that much taller at five foot and nine inches, but he was also much more muscular and Raphael could not defend himself against anyone. He was in pain for a long time afterwards—he never knew what Michael had done in judgment for that. An archangel was never supposed to attack another. Even so… Raphael was terrified of Azrael after that. Sure, he had been wary and a little frightened of the angel of death—who wasn’t? But after the beating, he had studiously avoided the angel of death, even when all the archangels convened.

“So what am I supposed to do? Move? Invest in bodyguards? Oh, but wait. He’s the angel of death. It wouldn’t matter,” Raphael spat out. There was a considerable pause after that caustic remark.

“Raphael, that was uncalled for. Just because you don’t like who he is does not mean he is any lesser,” Michael said reprovingly.

“I’m the angel of life, Michael. I’m supposed to prevent death. Not like it!” Raphael said incredulously.

“And that’s a rather infantile way of looking at the world, now, isn’t it? Raphael, the prejudice needs to end. Everything is part of the One. You and Azrael. As for him, I can’t do anything but talk to him. And I think you should really think about certain things before you get hurt,” Michael said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“…Fine.” Raphael said reluctantly.

“Go to sleep, Raphael. I know it’s late over there. And perhaps you should consider even taking a vacation. Even archangels need down time,” the other archangel said wryly.

“I’ll consider it. Bye, Michael.”

“You better consider it. Later, Raphael.”

Raphael heard the phone click. He sighed and ended the call on his cell phone. He knew he was being a bit childish… but he was pretty sure he was justified. Michael said that he would talk to Azrael. Raphael just wished he knew what was the angel of death was thinking.

The next couple days were Azrael-free—extremely relieving to Raphael. He was busy with his own patients at the massage clinic he worked at and didn’t really have a lot of time to spare. His dance classes kept him busy at night along with his search for a teaching position in anything science related, preferably biology or chemistry. He wasn’t as adept with physics as Suriel or Uriel.

In fact, in retrospect, Raphael should’ve suspected something. Azrael was the most calculating of the archangels, the most deliberate and careful. But Raphael was too busy to really speculate on the plans of said angel of death. And therefore, it was extremely startling (although, not unexpected in retrospect) when Raphael opened the door to his apartment one night, walked in, turned to flip the lights on and ran into Azrael.

“Fuck!” The word ripped from Raphael’s lips as he jumped back, tripped, and fell flat on his ass. His heart was beating hard, thumping in his chest so loud that he was sure Azrael could hear it. The angel of death just looked down at him, his face expressionless. Then he really did the unexpected—extended a hand to Raphael. The angel of life blinked in surprise. Hesitantly, he took it and scrambled to his feet, letting go immediately. He backed up into his apartment, the fear rising in his stomach again.

Not going to hurt me not going to hurt me, he chanted in his head. Michael wouldn’t allow it a second time. Raphael looked at Azrael with trepidation, shuffling backwards immediately as Azrael walked forwards.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

That particular question jerked Raphael out of repeating his mantra in his head. He shook his head mutely in reply. The angel of death just snorted.

“What do you want,” Raphael asked, glad his voice didn’t waver or crack. The other archangel looked at him, that dark gaze possibly more unnerving than Uriel’s all-knowing looks.

“I’ve a warning for you.”

A warning? This was news to Raphael.

“Since when does the angel of death dole out warnings?”

There was a significant pause.

“Since the angel of life is too naïve to understand how the world works.”

Raphael’s eyes flashed at the words. That remark was uncalled for, but Raphael suddenly remembered how much more damage Azrael’s body could inflict than his words. He bit down his anger, opting instead to shuffle back a few more steps and look at the ground. He heard the other archangel sigh. He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and had just about enough time to open his mouth. He suddenly felt himself up against a wall, Azrael a lot closer than he was a moment before, his arms held down at his sides by the angel of death’s much stronger grip. Raphael was in no position to fight back anyway—he was paralyzed in fear. His gold eyes glazed over, his breath coming in short gasps.

Not going to hurt me not going to hurt me not going to hurt me—

“No matter what you think, little Raphael, death is a part of the universe. The One created life and death. And he doesn’t necessarily favor one over the other. You would do well to know that and understand that, little archangel,” Azrael said, his tone devoid of all emotion. “Otherwise, you will be trapped in a cycle of pain beyond anything that your own gifts could heal.”

With that, Raphael felt the pressure on his wrists lift and he slid down the wall, trembling. Azrael had left just as fast as… he suppressed a shudder, wrapping his arms around his body. He kept the mantra in his head, still terrified.

He stayed that way for a long time.

Several hours later when Michael found him, Raphael was still in the same position that Azrael left him in. Michael immediately swept Raphael into a tight embrace, apologizing a thousand times, hugging him close. Raphael clung to the older archangel, still trembling in fear. Raphael breathed in Michael’s scent, trying to calm down. Michael held the younger archangel until he had finally succumbed to sleep, his lithe body finally relaxing. The older archangel carried Raphael into the bedroom and tucked him into bed. He brushed the hair from the brunette’s forehead, his own green eyes troubled. Raphael wasn’t the slightest of them, that was for sure; he was still small. Finely boned with caramel skin, all he had in common with his brother Gabriel was their skin tone (though Gabriel was darker).

“Will he be okay?”

Michael glanced back at the owner of the voice. Gabriel stood in the door, his tired eyes looking at the sleeping Raphael. Gabriel rubbed his brown eyes, his dark brown hair rumpled. Uriel had contacted Michael around midnight, informing him that Raphael seemed to be in distress. Michael had called Gabriel immediately, and the messenger archangel immediately teleported to where Michael was and then whisked both of them off to Raphael.

“He should be for now.”

“What happened?”

“Azrael tried to talk to him.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“And induced Raphael into near catatonic shock?”

“I didn’t say Azrael was successful.” Michael heaved a sigh, walking out into the living room. The brunette promptly collapsed on the couch while Michael all but fell into the easy chair. They were silent for a while, each wondering what to do. Finally, Gabriel just asked the question.

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m really not sure at all.”

“It would really help if Azrael used his social skills more often.” A half-hearted laugh came from Michael.

“Yeah, it would.” He sighed. “Uriel says it’ll work out, though.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“We’ll just have to wait.”

Raphael awoke slowly, sleep clinging to his person. He wondered what the time was and craned his head to look at the clock, which stated in proud, digital numbers that it was half past ten.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. He was late for work! He scrambled to get out of bed, wondering how on earth he had overslept which led to wondering what happened the night before which led to…

The blood immediately drained from his face. That was why. He vaguely remembered Michael coming to his rescue but mostly he remembered the proximity of Azrael and those coal black eyes boring holes into his head; he began to shake again. He sat right back down on the bed, wrapping his arms around his body again, scrunching his legs up to his chest.

Not going to hurt me not going to hurt me!

Suddenly, two bodies were in his room, next to him, sheltering him, comforting him. Two sets of arms wrapped around him, warm against his cool skin and most important—he recognized them. He instantly relaxed, clinging to those arms and taking advantage of that feeling of protection.

“Raphael, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re fine. Unharmed. It’s fine,” Michael soothed. Raphael tried to calm his breathing. He focused on the two people hugging him. Michael definitely felt like Michael and the other…

“Gabriel… is that you?” Raphael ventured tentatively. Said archangel tightened his grasp on Raphael.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Gabriel replied.

“How did you get here?”

“Uriel tipped us off and I called Gabriel. We came last night,” Michael explained quietly. Raphael ignored the meanings of “last night.” He didn’t want to think about that just yet.

“It’s okay, little brother. You’re safe,” Gabriel murmured.

“Nothing will harm you. So breathe,” Michael said. “And Gabriel called in sick for you, so you don’t need to worry about your job either. Raphael managed a wane smile.

“Brother, you can’t even keep your work ethic out of my life, can you?” he asked Gabriel, attempting to smile.

“Hush. Just try to rest,” Gabriel ordered. Raphael nodded meekly. The other two archangels set him back on the bed and drew the blankets over him. “I’m going to take Michael back, but I’ll return. Just try to sleep.” Raphael nodded and dutifully closed his eyes.

Michael and Gabriel walked out into the living room; Gabriel was livid while Michael remained calm.

“I’m going to have certain words with Azrael,” Gabriel hissed. Michael laid a warning hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Don’t. This is between those two. We are not to interfere.”

“By whose decree?” Gabriel snapped. Michael gave him a look. Gabriel growled. “I don’t like it at all!”

“It will work out. Azrael can sometimes be extremely surprising. And obviously he’s doing it not just because he wants to, otherwise he wouldn’t be here at all. Remember, we may be archangels but we’re not all-knowing,” Michael said. Gabriel looked away. “I know you’re worried about him, but I’m pretty sure he’s old enough to be taking care of himself.” Gabriel snorted.

“The day Raphael’s able to take care of himself is the day… well, it’s just not a very likely occurrence,” Gabriel said. “And what’s with this lecture mode, today? It isn’t becoming of your frat boy image.”

“Asshole.” Gabriel grinned.

“That’s more like it.

“Oh, just take me home, messenger boy.”

“Mr. Rasolei, your four o’clock appointment is here,” the receptionist said, peeking her head into his room. Raphael nodded, stretching his arms before getting out the necessary oils.

“Bring them in, Katie,” he replied. The girl nodded and ducked out. Raphael sighed. He stayed at his apartment for two days before going stir-crazy—not that his brother didn’t have anything to do with that. With the Azrael fiasco firmly behind him, Raphael went back to work. He was an angel of life, it didn’t really suit his temperament to mope in his apartment when he could be healing people.

He sighed. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Every time he encountered Azrael, he froze up. And when Azrael got close… Raphael massaged his temples. He’d have to think of something quick, though. He really didn’t want Gabriel checking on him every day. There was a reason why he moved a good physical distance away, as much good that would have done him, anyway. He heard the door open and turned to greet the next client.

“Akos Rasolei. I think I infinitely prefer Raphael better,” Azrael said dryly, closing the door behind him. Raphael just stared.

“Azrael,” Raphael stated. So far so good. He wasn’t hyperventilating, although he really wanted to get out of the suddenly claustrophobic room.

“Actually, it’s Adam Kadmon,” Azrael replied, smirking. “And the security camera didn’t get anything we just said either, so don’t worry about that.”

“Why are you here?” Raphael asked, his voice a tad bit unsteady. It was really okay. Raphael was totally fine. He wasn’t close to freaking out at all. And that was just a bald-faced lie.

“For a massage, what else?” Azrael answered. “I did pay for a half hour massage.”

“All right…” Raphael replied. He turned around. He could do this. He just had to follow the system—this wasn’t any different from any other massage. “Please take off your shirt and lie face down on the massage table.” He busied himself with the oils. He could do this. Something familiar. Something ordinary. Something to keep himself distracted so he didn’t become a whimpering mess. He turned around and strode confidently over to the massage table. He laid his hands on the other archangel’s hair, closing his eyes. He let his hands rest, allowing them to become familiar with the client—even if it was an archangel. He moved his hands to Azrael’s shoulders, sensing the energies within the archangel. It was a bit odd giving a massage to one who was kin in all senses of the word but direct blood relation—normal humans had distinctly different energy patterns than archangels.

He turned and picked up the oil. He splashed some into his hands, warming it as ylang ylang and lavender filled the room. He went back and began to smooth the oil over the archangel’s back, noticing that Azrael was rather muscled, even if compared to Michael who was just the epitome of physical muscularity. Mental muscularity was an entirely different story… He ignored that unkind thought and began the massage in earnest, losing his self in the strokes and kneads, covering the neck, shoulders, arms, and back. Raphael’s nimble fingers skillfully drew any tension from Azrael’s back, aided by Raphael’s own gift of healing, which he used sparingly. There wasn’t really anything wrong with the archangel anyway, so all his gift really did was enhance the massage.

Azrael was rather nice to massage, Raphael realized. His body wasn’t totally stiff nor was it totally loose, but it answered to the molding Raphael’s fingers asked. He studied the expanse of olive skin—it had a few faded scars here and there, but nothing serious. There also didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on the elder archangel. Not that it really mattered, Raphael thought.

The massage winded down and the half hour was over. Raphael stepped away, wiping his hands on a towel—the oil had been firmly massaged into the skin so there shouldn’t have been a feeling of greasiness. Azrael slowly got up from the massage table, turning around to retrieve his shirt. Raphael also noticed that the front was just as well muscled as the back.

“Thank you,” Azrael said.

“You’re welcome,” Raphael replied simply. It was his job. And Azrael had paid. Azrael opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it decisively. He nodded once more after his shirt was on then left. Raphael just sat down in a chair. It was a weird day.

Raphael decided that he was going to walk home that night, since it was one of the last warm evenings of the year. He could feel the change of seasons coming, and he wanted to enjoy being outside as much as possible before the abominable cold drove him indoors until spring. Gabriel always wondered why Raphael didn’t just live on the west coast, but Raphael knew exactly why (because Gabriel did). He breathed in the fresh air, ignoring the scents of the city. It was the end of a really weird day and he was going to enjoy the air. Even if the fuel exhaust from the hundreds of cars threatened to cause a coughing fit.

He glanced up between the tall buildings at the setting sun, smiling at the crimson light that burned in defiance against the oncoming night. He shouldered his bag and started walking again. He had a great deal many things to think about that night. Such as, the oddity known as Azrael that came in for a massage that day. If it was anyone else, Raphael might have laughed. Since it was not, Raphael did not laugh but he still wondered.

He checked his watch. Only a quarter to six. He sighed. It could’ve been worse, he supposed. At least he didn’t have to close today. Then he probably wouldn’t have gotten out until past seven! Today was extraordinarily busy, so everyone on staff stayed later than normal. He trudged on, ignoring the rest of the world. Unfortunately, his weird day decided to continue in a more annoying vein as he approached a heated argument between several teenagers in front of one of the biggest business buildings in the city. He always told himself he was going to get a bus pass one of these days, or at least a subway pass, but he never did. And he didn’t really like subways all that much, anyway.

He was glad that he managed to pass the building before the masses of people left it. They always came out around six, although there were the few that came out before. He glanced at his watch—it was almost six, but he’d still have time to avoid the evening rush…

He froze.

He felt the shudder race through the ground before he heard it, and then saw the fire blossoming from within the building, rushing up and out all sides. His eyes widened and lifted his arms in panic. Fire exploded from the front of the building, swirling around Raphael in a five-foot radius, glass flying through the air. Raphael could block the physical force of the explosion but he couldn’t shield himself from the noise that assaulted his ears, temporarily deafening him.

The fire finally blew out around him but continued to rage in the building. He was frozen in place, staring at all the destruction around him. He caught sight of the group that was standing in front of the building beforehand—he retched. Most of them were burned horribly, others impaled by metal and glass. A few of them were still alive, however. He wiped his mouth, spitting to the side. If he could save those few…

He ran over to them, ignoring the continued destruction of the building. He slammed up a shield against the falling glass and turned to the survivors. He let his own wings unfurl, golden wings that radiated the all-healing energy of the One. With his wings out, he could use more of his power than normal. He extended his hands, calling to the gift the One had given him. He reached for the source of creation, opening his heart to the life energy and letting it pour through his body. The golden light enveloped the few survivors, knitting flesh back together and regenerating that which was lost. But suddenly, the light was blocked. Raphael’s eyes widened. That wasn’t possible, he was healing them!

“They cannot be healed.”

He whirled around and stared up at the angel of death. He seemed more terrifying than ever, against the backdrop of destruction. His face was impassive and his wings were out, black wings to match his eyes and hair… Azrael stepped forward slowly.

“They are not yours to save.” Raphael shook his head vigorously. That wasn’t true. He was the angel of life—he had the power to save them!

“I can heal them. I have the gift and the power!” he protested. Azrael shook his head.

“They are chosen to die.”

“I won’t let them!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Azrael said. He lifted a hand and darkness burned from it. Raphael gasped as he felt the life draining from the bodies of the survivors.

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Raphael shouted. He let more energy flow from his hands, golden light warring with blackness. His entire body burned with radiance, his eyes glowing with unearthly light. “You can’t take their lives. I can save them!”

“It’s not your decision!” Azrael thundered. Raphael nearly cringed but he refused to back down.

“I’m the fucking angel of life!”

“And I’m the angel of death,” Azrael growled. He suddenly closed the distance between the two of them and caught Raphael’s hands with his own; black swirled with gold. He forced Raphael to come closer until there was very little distance between their bodies. Azrael stared at the younger archangel. “You can’t prevent death. No one can.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? I know you’re the angel of death… but… there’s no reason for this. Why can’t you let them live?” Raphael asked desperately. He could feel the pain of the survivors as his own, as the archangel was deeply connected to their lives right then. Raphael was past the fear for himself and was now in very much fear for the survivors.

“Because that’s how life is. Things live and then they die. Nothing lasts in this world. You need to have life and death, otherwise there is no balance. There would be nothing. No destruction but also no creation. No death but also no life. It’s a cycle that you and I are bound to, that we cannot do anything about,” Azrael said intently, black eyes locked with gold.

“But…” Raphael tried, realizing slowly he was fighting a losing battle. His physical incarnation couldn’t keep up the amount of energy he was channeling to fight for the lives of the survivors for much longer.

“The sooner you realize this, the less you will be hurt by death,” Azrael said softly. “Death isn’t the final end. Death is merely the beginning, but in order to begin something new… you need to finish the old.” Raphael felt his control slipping and in moments, the souls of the survivors left their physical bodies, born away to the One. He looked helplessly up at the older archangel, totally unsure of what to do.

“What does it matter to you if I’m hurt?” he asked.

“It does matter. You may abhor me with all your being, but you are still my other half,” Azrael replied quietly. “I was reminded of that by someone in particular. That’s why I came to warn you.” Raphael was silent. He supposed he should wonder who told the other archangel, but he really didn’t care. He let his arms drop, his hands still joined with Azrael’s. He bowed his head. He didn’t know what to do.

“Let’s go,” Azrael murmured. He let his wings enfold both of them, hiding them from the eyes of the world and flew away.

Raphael was in a state of shock—no, more of a state of numbness. He was numb. He clung to Azrael as they flew. Raphael was in no shape to fly. He had no idea where they were going, but at the same time, he really didn’t care. He breathed Azrael in—ylang ylang and lavender. The oil that he had used earlier that day, a time that seemed so far away.

When they finally reached their destination, Raphael was sliding out of his wonderful numb state into a more conscious awareness. Which was followed by a surge of sorrow and self-recrimination about the survivors. He felt fingers grip his chin and lift his face. He looked into coal black eyes.

“Do not feel guilt. Do not blame yourself. Feel the sorrow for their passing but also rejoice that they are with the One. But do not feel guilt. There is no shame in death, nothing unnatural at all,” Azrael spoke, after a moment of silence.

“But… I am the angel of life. I am charged to preserve it,” Raphael replied dully. Even to him, it was getting repetitive. Azrael smiled a little.

“That you are. But you also must realize that death is a part of life. Someone living forever is just as unnatural as never living at all,” Azrael said. He frowned. “That last part didn’t sound as good aloud as it did in my head.” That happened to elicit a small smile from Raphael.

“I… do understand. What you meant. And I do know that we are one and the same, essentially. It’s just…” Raphael trailed off, a memory of pain suddenly flashing in his mind. He trembled slightly. Azrael noticed and bowed his head.

“I… I have to apologize. For that.” They both knew what Azrael was talking about. “It… what you said that day was just something I didn’t want to be reminded of. And I was also frustrated with you. The perfect one that loved all. And somehow, I was exempt from that.”

“What’s past is past,” Raphael replied softly. “There’s really no sense in me clinging onto that memory.” They were silent. They stood in front of each other, the silence growing loud. Feathers swished as black wings surrounded Raphael. The younger archangel kept his wings folded, looking up at Azrael.

“Time heals all wounds. And you will eventually be able to let go of the guilt. I will not let it consume you,” Azrael said forcefully. Raphael understood immediately and looked at the angel of death with sorrow in his golden eyes. He studied the face that so many feared. He searched those eyes for answers, for something to explain why. Raphael dropped his gaze, a pensive look on his face. He realized there was an answer in everything the other archangel did, only when he thought about it. Only when he truly allowed himself to see the deeper meaning.

He hurts, too. Raphael belatedly understood that even the angel of death felt emotion. Felt the life that snuffed out. After all, they were the opposites: the same but different. But Azrael did not have the power to heal. He only had the power to destroy.

Perhaps, Azrael wished to keep him from the guilt that the angel of death had endured once. And still, to some extent.

He took a deep breath and decided to make a choice. He reached out with his arms and pressed his body against the angel of death. He clasped his hands around Azrael’s back, resting his head on the taller archangel’s shoulder. Raphael stood there for a moment before Azrael tentatively returned the embrace, enveloping the younger archangel in his arms. Raphael let the warmth enfold him—strange that the angel of death was warmer than the angel of life. He became conscious of Azrael’s heartbeat, felt the chest rise and fall with each breath, and realized that even the angel of death was human. He felt the tension leave his body as a hand gently stroked his hair. They were silent.

They stood that way for a long time.

Ende

Pronunciations:

Michael: mee-ky-EL

Akos Rasolei: AE-kos rah-sohl-AE

Justin Schield: first name’s normal, last name’s like “shield.”

Author’s Note:

Okay, I thought I was going to have them kiss at the end… but I deemed that way too cliché and too hard to work in without having it seem really random. Not enough sexual and/or romantic tension to warrant a kiss in my opinion. However, this is only the first draft, so I might edit it later and replace the embrace with a kiss.

Besides that, what did you think of it? Raphael and Azrael forced me to write this entire thing in one sitting. It took me about four or five hours. Right now it’s 1:44 AM. As for the archangels, possibility of future stories, focused on the other possible pairings. And perhaps with random side stories. I doubt I’ll create an actual novel out of any of these, but I might just create a series of stories. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed it!

Austin