Finding Heathcliff

Forty-Eight

"Where are we?" Astrid asked, her eyes finding Azrael's the moment she woke up.

Her memories were hazy, she could recall very little... of the journey... she was sure they had taken together. Her feeling of perfect happiness was overpowering, banishing both thoughts and memories-- Azrael was with her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his eyes full of love. Whether they were in Heaven or Hell, she didn't care, as long as they were together.

Her elated smile faltered and her forehead creased even as she closed her eyes and tilted her face up for him to kiss her, his words reaching her at the same time, "We are in the White Tower. Michael arrived a few moments ago, and he will receive us as soon as you are ready."

His lips pressed to hers then, scattering her thoughts and her frown again. She laced her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, making him deepen the kiss as she let her hands wander under his clothes. This... could well be... the last moment they had... together... She hated her human weakness, her body's need of oxygen when she had to pull away from him-- the handful of seconds being enough for him to collect himself.

"You really aren't making this moment any easier," he chuckled, his lips freed from hers, finding her earlobe for a few blissful moments, making her moan in reply.

"I thought you'd like to wash and change before meeting the archangel?" he said, pulling away from her slowly, gently, standing up and gesturing towards a door set in the wall across from the bed.

Their reality crashed on her then, memories rushed through her mind like a riptide, taking her breath away.

"I love you, Astrid," Azrael was back on the bed with her before she noticed him moving at all, his lips at her ear, his arms around her.

"I love you, Azrael," she replied, cupping his face in her hands, kissing him once more. "But we are not supposed to feel like this, I understand."

Astrid stood up then, and walked towards the door he had shown her, finding a bath filled with warm, scented water waiting for her, and a clean, long, black gown which wasn't hers, placed on a low stool by a lit fireplace.

Evangeline insisted that you accept the dress, Azrael replied in her mind to her unspoken questions, making her realise that he could read her thoughts again. This was something she should keep in mind when meeting Michael. The archangel would be able to read her as well as any fallen angel...

You won't be able to keep anything from him. His powers are greater than mine, Azrael replied again, his thoughts making her shiver as she removed her clothes and stepped into the bath.

She was not ready to meet the archangel, and yet she could not avoid it, Astrid mused, letting her hair down and making it fan out around her in the bath, then reaching for a small glass bottle filled with what must have been a liquid soap. She had only used hard soap until now; this place seemed to be a perfect mixture of ancient traditions, contemporary fashion, and those in between times only existing in books, sprinkled with angel magic. She let her eyes stroll along the rim of the huge, white, marble bath to the golden taps bringing running water into the tower from somewhere, then to the fireplace which looked as if it was stolen from a medieval castle, to the long, narrow, midnight black dress laid out on the stool looking like something out of a fantasy tale, and then the warm, ambient light bathing the windowless room in its soft glow, magical light without a visible source.

Finally, she uncorked the glass bottle, reminding herself that she didn't have much time, the soap's scent spilling around her like a dream, like Azrael's presence, like love... It wasn't the scent of the burning incense that followed him everywhere like a shadow, but it was close; it was so unmistakably his that it made her breath hitch.

Stop. Now. Astrid chided herself. She couldn't afford this, falling deeper in love with each breath she took with the man who would be taken away from her, possibly forever, within the next hour.

Michael had descended from Heaven to meet you as your uncle's ambassador, she reminded herself as she washed, working the scent she never wanted to forget into her skin and hair. And to give Azrael his wings back.

The last thought made her heart skip a couple of beats then restart painfully, and it brought Azrael to her side the moment it formed. She sprang to her feet as she saw him appear next to the bath, wrapping her dripping body around his clean and dry clothes, spilling water on his bare feet.

"I don't want you to leave me," she muttered, her voice breaking in sobs as he pulled her flush against him, one hand pressed against the small of her back, the other caressing her wet hair.

"Hush," he said, reaching behind him for a towel even as he kissed away the tears she didn't feel trickling down her cheeks. "We will find a way."

Astrid nodded, taking a few deep breaths to calm down as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She wanted to believe it even though it would hurt more later if the way for them to stay together simply didn't exist.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Azrael asked as he helped her out of the bath, his eyes scanning the room fast to see that she really had everything she might need-- a couple more towels, clean clothes, a comb, a glass of wine to strengthen her courage...

She knew she should feel shy in front of him, and send him away while she dressed, but she could not part from him, her feelings for him were stronger than her manners, sending him away would cause her pain. She didn't want him to go anywhere where she could not see or touch him.

Astrid shook her head, revelling in the glimmer of relief followed by a surge of pleasure in his eyes, letting him help her dry up and put her clothes on, then brush her hair. Each of his movements and fleeting touches was underlined by love and reverence, and she found herself closing her eyes often to better commit those instants to memory.

As soon as she was ready-- her cheeks burning from the love she felt for him, from the strangeness of the moment they just spent together, when his getting her dressed had felt more intimate than if he had been taking her clothes off-- Azrael pulled her in for a kiss.

"You look wonderful," he whispered, making her blush deepen. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice, letting him take her by the hand and lead her through his rooms into a gloomy corridor, then up a spiral staircase that wound its way to the higher floors of the tower.

Astrid's head spun slightly as they finally spotted a tall arched door and slowed down, but she was sure that it was because of her feelings for Azrael, for his imminent loss rather than from walking up hundreds of stairs in circles. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and she fought them back bravely as two figures materialised out of the shadows surrounding the door-- Rigel and Ramiel.

Astrid felt herself being pulled in for an embrace by both the men, her mind unable to register their words before they disappeared within the glowing, bluish shadows again.

"Where did they go?" she asked Azrael even as the sound of a bell reached her ears.

"They'll be in the gallery with the others. It's only us Michael will hear directly," Azrael said, his hand pressed against the smooth white wood of the closed door. "Are you ready, Astrid?"

"No," she whispered, taking a deep breath to banish her tears. But we must do this, it's all... beyond us from now on... She let him pick the thoughts she wasn't able to pronounce from her mind.

Azrael looked at her, nodding his acquiescence. And despite knowing that he wasn't supposed to show any claim on this wonderful girl who could never be his, he laced his fingers through hers and held her hand tightly in his when he saw her tremble as he pushed the door open.