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Streaks of rain tracked their way down the window. He had been awake for quite some time without entirely being aware of it, watching the hypnotic flow of the early spring weather. The mackerel clouds raced through the sky. Typical of Marsember, the rain wouldn't last long, he knew, and would give way to a few minutes of classically perfect weather for a few minutes before the air turned thick with humidity as the sun sizzled the streets dry. It was time. He swung himself out of bed and paused to look back at his sleeping wife. Seeing the curve of her body, half bared by the disarrayed blankets caused a welcome surge of desire. He smothered the urge to wake her. With more tenderness than he might have showed if she was awake, he pulled the blankets back over her. The fading bruise across her cheek was a vivid reminder of how close he'd come to losing her entirely. He turned away and pulled on his clothes, the darkest and most somber he owned. When finished, he resembled more shadow than man. He scrawled a quick note to his wife, leaving it prominently on the table. Some things I must attend. I'll return past noon. Yours Always -B The rain stubbornly held through the morning. The cemetery was crowded with lizards and he carefully kept to the outskirts. He was too far away to catch more than a word or so of the memorial, but he knew enough of these things to see the tense postures, the brief words of the priest, and note that very few of her comrades and colleagues made their own eulogies. She'd been cast far enough from the light before her death to avoid being martyred. That was good - it was doubtful that the guild would have to deal with too many hot-heads seeking revenge. He watched the crowd of mourners. The young lieutenant, back in his tabard, stood near the front, his blonde girl looking toy-tiny and perfectly beautiful next to him. Angel smirked, comparing them to another couple - Bienca towering over the scruffy and lank Dawn. He winced inwardly as his mind presented a memory all three, including the silent, but ever-present Dusk. It was difficult to think of him as really gone, he and Dawn had been so long as one unit. He and Jewel rarely referred to either of them by name at all - they were simply 'the boys.' He shifted the result of his other early-morning errand under his arm. The mortician was no more immune to bribery than most other low-level officials, although he'd shown some integrity until Angel assured him that all he really wanted was to return the remains to the few people who cared for the unnamed dead man. It was, perhaps, the fact that he'd been forced to avert his eyes and blink - he'd known Dusk for nearly ten years and relied heavily on his cool-headed intelligence - that convinced the man to hand over the boxed remains. The box was not very big and Angel winced slightly as he'd taken it. Angel didn't know if it would bring Dawn any comfort to have them, but he, himself, would be more at ease knowing that Dusk's body would not simply be disposed of in some unmarked grave. He knew she was there before she spoke, although she moved with the same silent grace as any skilled thief. He could taste the slight tang of the soap she'd used in the sluggish breeze. "I didn't expect to see you here," she said, stepping up beside him. Rain pattered down against the shawl she wore over her hair. He didn't look at her. There was no need. "I could say the same of you," he said. He shrugged. "I needed to be here." Her hand crept into his, her cold fingers shaking. He closed his hand around hers and they stood that way, watching and silent, for some while as the mourners milled around, breaking up and returning to their homes. "Is it really over?" "As much as it ever will be." "Do you forgive her?" The deepest crevice of the Abyss could not be colder than his voice. "Never." "And me?" "You know the answer to that." "Then it does you no harm to say it." She released his hand. He turned to look at her then. She was fragile, too thin and pale. Dark smudges of sleeplessness ringed her wide brown eyes and her lips were a colorless line against her marble skin. Deliberately, he called up his memories of her, pressed against the prison cell's wall, feeling the threads of strength within her as she offered over to him all of her life's energy, should he have needed it. The memories were still painful, horrific and he clenched his jaw against them. "What debt there was between us -" he spread his hands, offering his empty palms to her "- has been paid and repaid." She granted him the saddest smile he had ever seen and the pain of it squeezed his heart unexpectedly. "I love you." There was no room for regrets and might have beens. What existed between them was ethereal and yet as solid as steel. He took her into his arms and she wept against his chest. It was not - and never would be - enough, but there was nothing left of him to give her. His love was already claimed and he would not bring himself to destroy two lives - three if he counted his own as worth sparing - to give her the pale substitute of lust. "I know." He could think of no comfort, no words to explain. She didn't need them, and so he said again, "I know." The rain made ghosts and shadows of them. "Goodbye, Angel." Foolish. Stupid. But if he could not trust her, he could trust no one. "It's Bastian." "Thank you. Bastian." She melted into the rain and was gone. |
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