by T. R. Hamby
It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t know….it’s….like this obsession. You meet this person, and--they’re just--they make you….”
He sighed. “I don’t know. You know I'm shit at this.”
Gabriel absorbed this. “Like a friend,” he said slowly. “Only….more?”
“Yeah. Almost.”
They were quiet a moment.
“It’s strange seeing you with her,” Gabriel said frankly, taking a dish from the sink and mopping it with a towel. “You seem….very happy.”
Michael looked over his shoulder at Gilla, who was sitting on the couch in the living room. He looked at the same time she did, and they caught each other’s eye and smiled.
He returned to the dishes, glancing at his son. “You need to be careful. Involving yourself with him.”
Gabriel tutted. “He isn’t a child.”
“He’s young. He’s naive.”
Gabriel looked at him firmly. “He’s smart. Much smarter than he seems.”
“You shouldn’t have told him.”
“I still don’t see the problem,” he replied, tutting again.
Michael sighed. The dishes were washed, but he kept the water on, so no one could hear.
But before he could say anything Gabriel said, “Look. He’s my first mate--maybe that means I’m overeager, overprotective; I don’t know. But I’m not the one who recruited him; I’m not the one who brought him in. That was the four of you. And what’s more, I seem to be the only one of us who gives a damn about him--except Nora, maybe.”
He took a calming breath, then continued, “We need to protect him, but he’s not some idiot junkie. Don’t underestimate him, and don’t try to caution me. We’re mates now.”
Michael nodded reluctantly. It was one of the more difficult things about being a father--hoping that his children made the right decisions.
Everyone went to bed, and Gilla took his hand. They closed the door behind them, and then she was kissing him, pushing him against the wall, surprising him with her new strength. He scooped her into his arms, laid her gently on the bed, but she grasped his shoulder and pushed him onto his back, making the bed creak.
He chuckled, and held her arms. “You have to learn to be gentle now,” he cautioned. “You’re very strong.”
She looked surprised, and considered this for a moment. Then she kissed him again, softly, trailing her hands along his chest. She seemed unaffected by her recent brush with another abuser, and Michael suspected this was due to the discovery of her newfound Angelic qualities. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. She was happy, and she was safe.
He woke around one in the morning. He could hear movement downstairs, and he frowned. It could have been anyone, but he decided to check anyway. Most of them slept too soundly to be getting up in the middle of the night.
Except for Mel. He was sitting at the counter, clad in a T-shirt and sweats, his arm free of its sling. His hair was rumpled, and he was sipping from a glass of what looked like whiskey.
He didn’t look up as Michael came in.
“Hey,” Michael murmured awkwardly.
Mel glanced at him. He still looked peaked, with circles under his eyes. But he had been improving rapidly--today his wound was almost completely scarred, and he was regaining feeling in his fingers. His pain was starting to ebb, too--ever so slightly.
He didn’t reply, just sipped his drink, his jaw working.
Michael decided to make himself a drink, too. It was awkward--he could tell Mel was in a pissy mood. But he was also weak, and Michael didn’t want anything to happen to him while he was drinking.
Michael cleared his throat as he got a beer from the fridge. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” Mel said pointedly, and Michael took that to mean he had been having nightmares again.
He felt a horrible wave of guilt. He knew Mel’s nightmares well, knew he was the cause of them.
Another nail in the coffin that was their relationship.
They were quiet, sipping their drinks.
Mel was rubbing his arm. His sapphire necklace sparkled, hanging from his neck, and Michael was reminded sharply of Lilith.
He put his drink down. “I’ll get Gabriel.”
“No,” Mel said quietly. “I’m fine.”
Michael tried not to sigh. He had been trying desperately to help these last few weeks. He had helped prepare for the procedure, helped organize their patrols. He had stayed at Mel’s side all day Saturday--mostly hiding behind Nora, but still present.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of this. Forgiveness, probably. But forgiveness for what? For what he had said on the plane? Or for what he had done all those years ago--the worst thing a person could do?
That wasn’t possible. He knew it.
Mel looked at him. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything--with the operation. You were more prepared than I was.”
Michael hadn’t been expecting that. He shrugged and nodded.
Mel was studying him, an indecipherable look on his face.
He looked away and said, “I know you feel like shit for what you said on the plane. But--you know….”
And he sighed. “Don’t worry about it.”
Michael took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected that either. But it didn’t make him feel better--he didn’t feel relieved, or forgiven. He felt worried--worried that they would forever be caught in this shitty cycle, a mess of angry words and weak apologies.
His heart raced, and his jaw worked. He knew he shouldn’t. But he thought of his children, how after all these years they had come back to him. Maybe there was a chance. Or maybe not. He couldn’t stop himself either way.
“This….thing we’ve been doing,” he said slowly.
Mel didn’t look at him, but his head twitched.
Michael sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t anymore.”
There was a smile on Mel’s face, but Michael knew it was bitter. He looked at him, his blue eyes gleaming.
“What do you want to do instead?” he breathed, shrugging. “Be best friends? Go play football together? Have a beer every night?”
Michael tried to stay patient. “No.”
“What, then?”
He looked away. His chest hurt, and he remembered standing over Mel the day Lilith was killed, how Mel had looked up at him, hatred in his eyes.
He remembered his screams, his cries. How everything between them had been severed.
There was a long silence. When Michael looked, he found Mel’s face to be cold, stony. His head twitched, and he sipped his drink. Then he set his glass down, grimacing, and gripped his arm.
Michael went upstairs. Gabriel was awake, in Barry’s room. He followed his father to the kitchen, placed a hand on Mel’s arm.
“Six hours since the last time,” he said awkwardly; he seemed to have picked up on the tension in the room. “You’re getting there, Kira.”
He left for Barry’s room, and Michael sat down, a few seats from Mel. Mel was still rubbing his arm, almost absentmindedly, staring blankly at the counter.
Just say something. Anything.
“I know you got me the guitar,” he said quietly.
Mel seemed unimpressed, continuing to study his arm, bend his fingers. “Nora told you.”
“Yes.”
His head gave a small twitch, and he closed his eyes.
“Father said something strange,” Michael murmured.
Mel rolled his eyes. “Shocking.”
“Yeah….”
He thought for a minute, before saying, “He told me that….when I almost died….that he hadn’t--I don’t know--chosen to let me live. That….that choice had been up to you.”
Mel studied his glass. There was a strange look on his face.
He shrugged, though his head twitched again. “He’s always saying shit like that.”
“He’s never wrong.”
There was a pause. Mel didn’t seem to have a counter argument, and he fiddled with
his glass, a dark expression on his face.
Michael steeled himself. He had to do it.
“Why did you save me?”
Mel sighed, looking around as if he might find something in the room that could change the subject. His head twitched, and he ran a hand through his hair.
“Does it really matter?”
“Yes,” Michael said firmly. “It does. It does to me.”
Mel looked at him. He seemed struck by Michael’s honesty.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I couldn’t,” he whispered. “I just….I couldn’t.”
Michael absorbed this. He had suspected it--how couldn’t he? It was almost like what Nora had said, over a year ago, while comforting him after his argument with Agatha.
You offered your life for him, and he did the same for you. I hope you know what that must mean.
The two of them couldn’t let each other go.
His hands shook, and his heart pounded in his chest. “I have to tell you something,” he breathed, before he could lose his nerve.
Mel looked at him, saw his expression, and panicked. “No. I don’t want to hear.”
“You need to.”
“No, I don’t,” he moaned, “I don’t want to.”
“Mel--”
He was getting up, leaving his glass on the table. But then he swayed, stumbling, and Michael caught him, helped him to the living room.
Mel sat on the couch, breathing heavily, blinking back tears and gripping the edge of his seat. He held his head in his hands.
Fuck. Michael should have known better. He returned to the kitchen, fixed a stronger drink, and brought it to Mel, who took it and downed it. Michael sat on the recliner, watching him worriedly.
After a long time--almost twenty minutes--Mel’s breathing slowed, and he looked up. His eyes were red, and his face was ashen. But he looked calm, much calmer than he had just been.
He looked at his hands, brushed at the healing fingers on his left hand. His jaw was working. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks, and he brushed at them impatiently.
He took a shuddering breath. “Tell me.”
Michael felt sick. “You’re sure?”
Mel simply gave him a dark look, before returning his gaze to his hands.
Michael shivered. He felt sick, very sick. What was he thinking, bringing all this up? Did he actually think it would solve anything? Make them friends?
But it was too late now. Mel was owed an explanation….and Michael had to atone for what he had done. He couldn’t be a coward anymore.
He closed his eyes. “Father….wanted to kill you both,” he said hoarsely.
He shook his head. “I tried to save you. It was the deal I made with him--that he would spare you, banish you instead--in exchange for my life.”
Mel looked at him, stunned, but he continued on, before he lost his nerve.
“He wouldn’t let her live. I tried….I promise I tried. But he wouldn’t listen….and I couldn’t….”
He took a steadying breath. “I couldn’t say no. I was a coward. I was scared of what he would do--to me, to you, to my children. I couldn’t stand up to him like you could. That’s why he favors me, Mel. I can’t say no. I….”
And he paused, his throat closing. Those horrible memories were flashing in his mind, so painfully, so vividly.
He brushed at his eyes, and continued, “I wish I had said no. I wish I had taken that chance….offered my life for both of you. Anything. What I did to her….I took an innocent life. And what I did to you….”
He was trying so hard not to sob, to keep it together. 200,000 years of sorrow, of regret, of loneliness and self-hatred. All to the surface now.
He held his head in his hands, trying desperately to get the words out.
“Your screams will fucking haunt me forever.”
There was a long pause. He could hear Mel breathing raggedly, and he knew he was trying just as hard to keep his composure. Neither of them was doing very well.
“Then there was the War,” Michael said, “and I was trying to die, trying to fulfill my deal with Father, so you would be safe. And then you saved me,” and he finally looked at him, “and fucking ruined it.”
Mel actually laughed, though he was still holding his head, shuddering slightly. His eyes were red, and tears ran freely down his cheeks.
The anguish on his face was too much, and it took Michael a long time to get his bearings enough to finish speaking.
He closed his eyes. “I’m….”
He paused, momentarily unable to speak. His throat was so tight, his chest so painful.
He tried again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
It was all he could manage.
He brushed at his eyes, taking slow breaths, and chanced a glance at Mel. He was brushing at his eyes too, although it didn’t seem to be doing much good, as more tears followed. He was silent, and avoided his gaze. But, miraculously, he didn’t seem to be angry.
“I--” Mel said suddenly.
He stopped, looked down, cleared his throat.
“What happened to me--what you did, what Father did--god, I died when I lost her,” and his voice broke.
He took a deep breath, then said, “and then the War came, and I was so, so angry….but I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t lose you too.”
They were quiet for a long time. Michael didn’t know what to feel--relief, pain. They had finally addressed their love for each other--their willingness to die for one another, to protect each other.
And the revelation was very….calm.
But there was one more thing.
“There’s something else,” Michael murmured, and Mel looked at him. “After Father revived you, he offered me the deal….where I would work with you down here. He said I could have anything in exchange.”
He paused, unsure of how Mel would react. But he finally said, “I asked him to make you unkillable.”
Mel stared at him, not understanding.
Michael cleared his throat. “I mean that….if a Blade hit an artery, you wouldn’t bleed out. If one was thrust into your heart, or into your skull….anything. You would survive. Nothing can kill you--not a Blade, not another Angel. You can be injured, but….you can never be dead.”
He decided--perhaps selfishly--not to include the fact that Mel could kill himself, the only exception to the rule.
Mel looked stunned. He contemplated this for a few moments, frowning.
“Why?” he finally breathed, looking at him.
Michael looked down at his hands. He was quiet for a long moment, trying desperately to think of the right words.
In many ways he didn’t want to say it. He had said enough, hadn’t he? But he had to give Mel an answer. He couldn’t lie.
He took a shaky breath. “I saw you die. In the War. For five minutes I thought you were gone forever. After that I couldn’t….I couldn’t risk losing you again. I couldn’t….”
But he trailed off, unable to continue.
Mel was quiet, still looking bewildered. Michael supposed he was rethinking all those times he had thought he would die, only to find out now that that hadn’t been possible. The thought of being truly invincible, undefeatable.
He was sure it was overwhelming.
Mel finally spoke. “I need to be alone,” he said quietly, staring at the coffee table.
Michael got up, eager to please. Mel’s calmness was encouraging, but his silence was also worrying. Had things….improved? Or was Michael fooling himself?
“Michael,” Mel said as Michael went to leave.
“Yeah.”
“Does Nora know?”
He hesitated, but nodded. “Yes.”
Mel nodded, frowning vaguely. “Good.”
Mel
He was invincible. Truly, undeniably invincible. No Blade, no Angel could kill him.
It was horribly unsettling.
He was the last person he would pick to possess this power. Nora would be his first choice, of co
urse. And then Michael, Gilla. But himself? It was very strange, and while the news sunk in he grappled with his sense of self. Who was he? Why had he been chosen for this?
Then he came back to reality, and he shook himself. This was just another one of Father’s games. Michael’s heartfelt request, and Father’s twisted reply. There was nothing special about Mel. He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t favored. He was just his usual self, with some extra features. That’s all it was.
“Are you angry with me?” Nora asked.
They were in bed, just a few minutes away from getting up for breakfast.
It had been three days since Mel’s conversation with Michael. Since then the two of them had been overly polite to each other, distant. Mel could sense Michael wanted things to be a little less clinical, but he didn’t know how to initiate that. So much had been revealed, so many painful things.
He wrapped his good arm around her and kissed her neck. “No, diletta.”
“I didn’t want to break Michael’s trust.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
She brushed at his hair. “How are you?”
He shrugged. “Getting there. It’s just….disturbing.”
“I get it.”
He studied her. Her curly hair was in a ponytail, with a few stray curls trailing past her temples. She still looked half asleep, her brown eyes hooded. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, something he loved to see.
She smiled at him, stuck out her tongue, and he chuckled.
She frowned, fingering his necklace. “What about Michael?”
Mel sighed. “I don’t know….what do you think?”
She smiled. “Well, I don’t think you two should join a football team.”
“Helpful.”
Nora smacked his good arm, and he grinned. She sighed. “Just….be nice. You can do that.”
Mel couldn’t help but frown. “Can I?”
Nora simply gave him a look.
“Breakfast!” Serene’s voice called from downstairs.
They chuckled.
Nora drew into Mel, resting her head on his shoulder and tracing her fingers along his chest. It was a lazy morning, and neither wanted to get up, even with the call for breakfast.
“So is ‘Mica,’ like, a nickname?” Nora asked. “They never call Michael ‘Father.’”
