neutral_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

michael,
raphael

(no subject)

Date: December 29, 1999
Setting: First corridor, then Raphael's room
Status: Private -- Michael and Raphael (Complete)
Summary: Michael runs into a hungover Raphael.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, this time more in distress than his usual nervousness. Grasping a few blond locks, he then held on, slowly walking down the corridor with his hand still in his hair, deep in thought.

He couldn't sleep. Well, so he didn't really have to sleep, either, but now, when he really would have wanted to sleep just to escape it all, he found himself absolutely unable to. His mind simply couldn't go to rest right now. Therefore, he had ended up walking around the manor for the whole night, and now, it being morning, he was still on his way to nowhere particular.

Whatever he tried to force himself to think about, his mind always returned to the same topic. Raphael. Raphael, and his love for him, and his rejection, and how much it all hurt. His conversation with Uriel had done little to help; rather he felt even more confused than before. And, while he was badly hurt by the cold rejection, he still longed to at least see Raphael, to talk with him, to be close to him.

Oh, yeah. Like that'd ever happen; Raphael clearly hated him now. Well, an angel could always dream, right?

Suddenly, he froze as he saw a figure approaching him. At first, he didn't recognize the odd being. Surely he had never encountered somebody who looked like that. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should have recognized this stranger, that he did know him, in fact, but he determinedly ignored this feeling. After all, he only knew two redheads, and this couldn't be either of them, as one of them was female and the other would surely never wear something like that.

The other came a bit nearer, and suddenly realization dawned on Michael. His jaw hang open in shock and surprise as he could no longer deny that he knew this "stranger".

"Ra -- raphael?" he stammered disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

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Raphael slid from Michael's arms onto the bed with a groan. He tried to slid under the covers, frowning as he realized he was still in rather uncomfortable clothing that wasn't suited for sleeping.

He blushed as he realized that he was still making an effort and that he couldn't make it go away in his state. Give that, he wasn't about to undress, especially not with another in the room. He turned towards Michael.

"I need water," he stated softly and politely. "And if you could miracle me some sleepware I would... appreciate it. Very much."

Exhausted, he slumped onto the pillow and tried to stay conscious so he could drink something.

Michael didn't respond with words, merely nodded. He immediately miracled Raphael into a set of comfortable pyjamas. His mind tried to drift to the images of what Raphael would look without clothes, now that he was making an effort, but he fought down both the thoughts and the blush that threatened to rise to his face. He must now concentrate solely on helping Raphael feel a bit better. If he could ignore Frankie's continued presence when the dog apparently was interested in killing him he definitely wasn't going to let his own imagination distract him.

He took a last glance at the pyjamas and nodded again, this time in slight satisfaction. This was much better than the previous clothes. Not that Raphael hadn't been absolutely breathtaking in those clothes -- never mind the fact that, at least to Michael, he was always breathtaking -- but those just hadn't been Raphael. At least not the Raphael he knew best. (He wasn't about to use the phrase "knew and loved". Whatever this strange new Raphael was, he still loved him just as much. In the end, this was his Raphael.)

a glass of water was to be his next mission, so he miracled one into his hand and handed it to Raphael. "Can you drink it yourself without spilling it around, or do you need some help with it?"

Carefully Raphael took the glass from him, only spilling a little over the sides. The nightclothes were a relief; he felt as though he could finally breathe and relax.

"I can drink it," he mumbled, embarrassed. Surely he hadn't had that much... but perhaps he had. It wasn't as if his memory of the previous night was clear, exactly.

As he sipped the water, Frankie came over and sat on his lap. He would have petted him, but he needed both hands to keep the glass steady.

"Sorry to be such a bother," he whispered.

Michael smiled a bit, enjoying talking with Raphael, however simple their conversation was. Soon enough Raphael would realize jsut who he was talking to, and when that happened, Michael would have to be very lucky to make it out of the room without being seriously hurt.

He watched like a hawk as Raphael sipped the water. Frankie walked over and sat on the redhead's lap, then gave Michael a challenging glare, one that made it rather clear that the feeling of dislike was quite mutual. Michael hadn't that easily forgotten about the bite.

"You are not a bother," he then reassured Raphael. "I merely enjoy the chance to take care of you." During a moment of an unusual amount of courage -- even for him -- he reached out and gently wiped a lonely coppery lock away from Raphael's beautiful face.

After draining what was left in the glass he looked towards the other angel again.

"Could you give me one more? I want to be sure I get enough fluids in me. And I'm sorry about Frankie."

He sighed.

"And while I'm on the subject of apologies... I owe you quite a few. I'm sorry for what I said to you Michael. About... everything. Really. I've been... unreasonable."

His cheeks were tinged red from shame.

"I hope you aren't too mad at me."

At Raphael's request, Michael immediately miracled the glass full again, not saying a word. However, when he heard Raphael's next words, his heart leapt. Immediately he told himself not to get too excited -- the fact that Raphael was apologizing to him definitely didn't mean that his feelings were returned.

"Mad at you? Never," he said quietly, choosing carefully his every word. "Sad, yes, and definitely upset, but never mad at you. If anybody, I'm mad at myself for ever placing you in such a situation."

He subconsciously drew himself away a bit, his eyes now avoiding Raphael's gaze. The memories of their quarrel flooded his mind, making him simply unable to meet the other's gaze because of the disgust he feared to still see there.

Raphael took another drink and focused his thoughtful gaze on Frankie.

"I tried, you know," he said, his voice very quiet. "I went to a club, dressed as I found out some time ago most dress. But this time, instead of nudging attention away and blending in, I let them notice me.

It drained me to do it, but I made an effort and healed them, each and every. And... and I asked them to kiss me in return. Women, men, mostly young, aesthetically attractive..." He sighed. "And nothing. Nothing real.

No amor. No eros. Just caritas. And maybe that means that there's something wrong with me," he said, his voice dull and slightly drowsy.

"If I did not fall... perhaps there is something wrong with me. But those people I healed - so many diseases from their 'efforts.' Is it punishment? For what, then, if love is not wrong?"

He paused.

"I hate Pestilence... and when I see them I wish I could do something about it.

But as for making an effort... maybe I'm just not meant to..."

Michael listened quietly as Raphael told of his little "adventure". A part of his mind roared in rage at the thought of Raphael kissing somebody, anybody else, and his heart hurt at the thought, but he forced himself to ignore that. After all, he didn't own Raphael. He had no right for jealousy.

"It's not diseases from their 'efforts'," he finally said, starting his response on that particular piece. "Not everything that goes wrong with people is a punishment. If you are sick, it doesn't meant that you are being punished, or that you have done something wrong to deserve it. You, if anybody, should know that sickness does not look at a person's heart. And, if it were a punishment, it wouldn't be for love; rather it would be for the careless and irresponsible behaviour that has caused them to catch those diseases at the first place.

"Just because you are making an effort and kissing someone doesn't mean that you should feel something," he then said. Hesitantly, he continued, "You know... Some time ago, Uriel came to talk to me. So, we talked, and, well, kissed. I was making an effort then, but I definitely didn't feel anything for Uriel aside from friendship. The only reason I liked that kiss was because for a moment I managed to forget it was Uriel and thought it was..."

He trailed off and lowered his eyes, ashamed at himself for even suggesting that. Yes, he had for a moment managed to fool himself into thinking that he was kissing Raphael. And, because of that, he had managed to enjoy the kiss.

"Effort and enjoyment don't always go hand in hand," he said, finally daring to continue. "Just because you are making an effort doesn't mean that you should automatically feel something. And, even if you aren't making one, you can still feel love for somebody -- both amor and eros. Making the effort only makes them more... intense. It is not the reason you feel them. And even if you don't feel anything like that when you kiss somebody while making an effort, it doesn't mean you're unable to do so; it only means that you aren't attracted to that particular person."

Raphael's comment about the retired Horseman had shocked him. To even think about Raphael actually hating someone was almost unthinkable -- never mind that not long ago Raphael had rather openly hated him.

"As for Pestilence, I don't like him, either. However, we cannot make him cease existing. He has a purpose, just as we do, and we have to accept his work, even if we do not approve of it. If there was no sickness, who would appreciate health? You have every right to hate him, though -- after all, he does try his best to undo all of your doing, just like you try to undo his deeds. You are two opposing forces, Pestilence and you; it would be strange indeed if you didn't want to make his work futile.

"And why do you say you only wish you could do something? Didn't you just say that you healed every human you encountered there? As much as you would probably like to, you cannot make everybody healthy; that would destroy Pestilence's existence, and that is beyond our power. However, you can try to -- and you do -- oppose him as fiercefully as you can. According to what I know about you, you do everything you can to heal everybody. If you do what you can, nobody can ask you to do more or blame you for not doing enough. And, Raphael, I simply shiver to think what the world would be like if there was nobody like you and Pestilence was given free rulement over the Earth."

Now, he fell silent for some time. Finally, he said, "As for making an effort, I can't tell whether or not you're meant to do so. You are capable of it, that is for certain; if you were meant not to make an effort, why would you be able to do so? However, whether you wish to do so is entirely your own choice. Some, like me, choose to do it. Some, like Uriel, choose not to. You are the only one who knows what is the right choice for you."

In his heart, hope and despair fought for the charge of him. The decision was perhaps only for Raphael to make, but it would also determine whether he had any hope of ever winning over the other archangel's heart or whether he was fighting a losing battle.

Raphael frowned.

"I do not believe truly that it is punishment; but it is a consequence and an unfair one since it is not always their fault. And even if they are reckless - the are young and you claim love is no crime.

It isn't just," he said petulantly.

He ignored Michael's statement about kissing Uriel and turned to lay on his side. He allowed his wings to spread, ripping the night clothes and putting a barrier between him and Michael.

"Do not lecture me about the purpose of that filth; he has no purpose aside from torment.

And I know that I have failed. But perhaps I am simply not going about things the right way. Besides - how do you know what is beyond my power? I have never tried in ernest; perhaps I could heal all, if I ignored limitations. Perhaps I could find some other way. There are ways. There must be..." He looked at the wall and remembered plague ridden cities and dead bodies stacked high, abadoned by the healthy. "If I am to oppose him, then should I not do it to the best of my ability?

Who could fault me for destroying him?"

His head realing with possibilities, Raphael fell silent; his head was pounding too much, he wasn't thinking straight... When Michael brought up the subject of efforts he felt increasingly uncomfortable, aware of the flesh below his waist that he was still too drained to banish. The topic was awkward; so he avoided it.

Tired as he was, however, he could not quash a curious thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since Michael's admissions.

"Michael?" He asked quietly. "When did you first... you know, feel for me? How?

I think I deserve to know."

Michael winced a bit. Raphael spreading his wings felt like a physical blow. Just a moment earlier the other archangel had been talking with him more openly than in ages, and now he was again separating them.

Raphael's words about Pestilence made him feel uneasy. Ignoring limitations? Destroying something He had set to be, questioning its purpose? Something inside him told that such talking was simply wrong, that it was not allowed. Might Raphael be... slipping? Such a thought filled him with dread, and he closed it out of his mind quickly. Still he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling, and chose not to comment, not wanting to dwell on the topic anymore.

However, Raphael's questiong definitely deserved an answer. For a moment he thought about it, and was even himself slightly surprised at the answer he finally came up with. "I don't know when exactly," he told Raphael. "It was kind of a gradual thing, I think. However, I do know for sure that I haven't thought of you simply as a friend for at least two thousand years." He did know that. He could still remember himself admiring Raphael's shining coppery locks and brilliant smile in the holy light of the first Christmas. Oh, his love for the healer was not a new thing by any means.

"And as for how... How could I not? You've always been so sweet and intelligent. Beautiful, too. When I think about it, I'm quite surprised I didn't fall in love with you even earlier than I did. Or perhaps I did and just didn't recognize my feelings for what they were. And is it even possible to tell how or why one comes to love another?

"I never told anybody about it," he continued, the answer to the question already given but words still spilling from his mouth. "Uriel figured it out on himself, though -- I think that was some time around the downfall of Rome. On my insistence he agreed not to say a word about it to anybody else. Apparently he found the whole thing somehow amusing."

"That makes no sense," the archangel mumbled from behind a wall of feathers. "There are others who are beautiful. Others who are sweet or intelligent or whatever you say."

Frankie curled in next to him and Raphael pulled the covers over the dead dog. He frowned when he heard about Uriel's reaction.

"And... Amusing?" He said flatly. "I don't see what's amusing about the situation. That doesn't seem an appropriate reaction however you look at it.

Uriel is beginning to annoy me."

He buried his head in the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to let go, hoping he would wake up without the headache.

"But I still don't get it... you should really just forget about me you know. Less hurt that way. Less hurt if you don't love at all," he said, then yawned.

"Love hurts..."

Michael shook his head. "There may be others who are all that," he said truthfully, "but, in my eyes, none of them are even close to compare with you."

The comment about Uriel surprised him, and made him feel even more uneasy. The Raphael he knew would definitely not call Uriel annoying. Though not extremely close, the two had always seemed to have respect for each other, and to hear Raphael say such a thing somehow didn't feel right. Now, it wasn't like he hadn't found Uriel annoying at times, but for Raphael to feel so enough to actually say it aloud was certainly new. First appearing to hate him, then calling Uriel annoying -- what would Raphael do next? Tell Metatron off, perhaps? This definitely wasn't going into a good direction.

"As for Uriel, he often finds the strangest things amusing. Even more often those things seem to have something to do with messing with my business. At times I think he sees himself as the big brother I never wanted."

He was silent for a moment. Then, seeing as Raphael had his eyes closed and seemed to be starting to drift off, he said very quietly, "And maybe I would be best forgetting you... But I find myself unable to do so."

With a final whisper, barely audible even to angelic ears, he then added, "I do know that love hurts... Endless, bittersweet pain is all that love seems to be."

Raphael nearly snorted.

"You sound like a trashy romance writer when you say things like that. 'None of them are even close,' 'endless bittersweet pain' - what are you taking your cues from? Harlequin novels?

And as for Uriel - it isn't amusing. Not at all. His sense of humor leaves much to be desired."

He sank into the covers and pulled the sheets around him more tightly.

"Nevertheless - thank you for getting me here. I appreciate it. I guess you'll be leaving, then."

Raphael's words hurt more than Michael was willing to let on. His tone forcedly calm, he said, "At least I say what I feel and think exactly like it is. Even if it makes me sound sappy, I prefer to be honest. Or would you prefer me staying quiet for another two millennia before I tell you something with no omissions of any kind?"

He drew a deep breath before continuing, "Uriel is, well, Uriel. His life and job aren't exactly the lightest ones to bear, and he gets his amusement from where he gets it. If I can help him feel at least a bit better, even if it is at my expence, I will endure it -- no matter how annoying it feels at times.

"As I said, I have decided to be honest and say whatever I think exactly like I feel it. However, I cannot help but wonder whether you are also truthfully voicing your own feelings. And, if what you say is truly what you feel, I'd like to know whatever happened to the Raphael I used to know. The one who was indeed sweet and loving and all around adorable, who never said a bad word about anyone, definitely not about another angel.

"Perhaps you were right about this house; perhaps it really affects us all. I definitely hope so, for if this is the real you, the person I have loved for over two millennia -- and still love, despite everything -- then I fear for you. I truly fear for you, Raphael, for even here Uriel has his sword with him."

Those last words, not intended but spilling from his mouth nevertheless, hurt him even more than anything Raphael had said. And they hurt because, like everything else he had said, they were exactly what he felt.

Lowering his eyes, he turned to leave. "Sweet dreams, Raphael, and I hope you rest well," he said quietly, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. "Hopefully you'll feel more like yourself once you wake up."

With that, he walked away. And, no matter how impossible it had seemed earlier, he was hurting even more than before he had run into Raphael in the corridor.

Raphael bolted upright in the bed, feathers flying everywhere as he did. Frankie gave a yelp as he was unsettled.

"Uriel still has his sword?!!" Raphael blurted. "What do you mean by that??"

He stumbled from the bed and grabbed the much taller angel's arms, forcing him around in a frenzy.

"I'M NOT A BAD ANGEL!" He screamed hysterically. "I'm not, I swear to you - it's the house! I swear it is, it makes me feel like I'm changing, but I'm still me, I'm still Raphael! I'm doing my duty, doing what I'm supposed to, but why can't I have questions? I still love Him, I'm not a bad angel, I'm not, I'm not. How could you even say that..." His face flushed and his body shook. He let go of Michael and clenched his hands into fists as his side. "Why would you imply I'm going to Fall? How could you even mention something so horrible? Well, I'm not - do you have that through you're head? I'm not bad, I'm a good archangel, a loving one, I care for people."

He looked up at Michael's face, red and furious.

"I'M NOT GOING TO FALL!" He yelled as loudly as he could.

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