((Takes place following Fallen from Grace, and between the events of A Stop on the Way and Phone a Friend.))

Just as the angel had hoped, there was peace in the darkness - a quiet, deep, dreamless peace that was neither living or dying, neither Heaven or Hell. He surrendered himself willingly to the darkness, allowing it to embrace him like a lover, floating on a sea of inky blackness known as Oblivion. He let the dark waves take him and pull him under. There was no pain here, no conscious thought, no anything. It was peaceful at first in the darkness, but after a long while that seemed both an eternity and an instant, another sensation came over him - a separation, a oneness, an aloneness that he'd never known before. The only word that came to him to define the feeling was loneliness.

This was what it felt like to be really and truly alone, neither human or angel, alive or dead, mortal or divine. This sensation gave way to another he was only starting to recognize as fear, and with the fear, came unwelcome dreams of a mortal nature. He dreamed of a night a quarter of a century ago when he had failed to do his duty, when he had been defeated by a power greater than his own, by a being who had once been one of his brothers, but who had been cast out long ago.

Never being mortal, never needing sleep, he had never known a dream or a nightmare, not until now. He flinched in his sleep, his mind remembering the anguish brought upon him by his captors, crying out for help that he knew would never come, the hopelessness of his situation and the guilt of his failure only adding to the torment.

Not far from him, her small figure drowned in the loose fit of a night shirt, wrapped up in a warm blanket for comfort's sake, Rachel slept, curled tight into herself in the deep cushion of her only chair. Her face was turned toward the bed, toward the dying angel who had so unexpectedly broken her solitude, radiating the dreamless sleep of the truly innocent. She had no fear to mar her sleeping hours, no dread or regret, no understanding of danger. She simply was, in a way that few others throughout the history of the world had ever been or would ever be.

In the throes of his dreams, he unknowingly called out to the one person who might hear him, the one person who he'd been searching for for so long. No one else was there to hear him or to bear witness, but the one person he had failed, the only person who had ever showed him any kindness or compassion. "Rachel!" he called in the darkness as his eyes snapped wide open, fear making his voice tremble in a way that startled even him. He pushed himself up from the bed to gaze into the darkness, his breath caught in his throat, eyes bright with a fever that seemed to burn from inside him somewhere.

As the sound of her name - a name she had only known a few scant hours - broke through the silent stillness of the room, her eyes came open with a start, her body half-risen from where she had been sleeping almost before she was truly awake. There was no sense of disorientation - she had fallen asleep every night of her life in this room, and this was where every morning had woken her. She knew it, better than she knew her own self. Her gaze rushed to the bed, to where Zachariel sat upright, his body tense with the shock of his first nightmare. "Zachariel?" She pushed her blanket aside, dropping her bare feet to the floor to hurry to the bed. "I'm here," she told him, gentle hands cool on his fevered skin. "You are not alone."

But he was alone. There was no one like him in all the known worlds, not quite human and not quite angel, and the weight of that loneliness suddenly was too much to bear, and he found himself sobbing again, seeking solace in her embrace, weeping for all that was lost and all that he would never know. It seemed the saddest thing in the world that he had never known love or to be loved. He didn't know why it was so important in that moment, but it seemed to him that it in the end, it was really all that mattered.

His tears caught her by surprise, her arms wrapping about his shoulders, hands careful not to stray near the wounds on his back as he sobbed into her shoulder. The weight of sadness that radiated from him touched her heart all over again, and she found herself weeping with him, soft, silent tears to wet his shoulder as she sought to comfort him in the still gloom of their shared prison.

Time passed slowly in their shared prison, two lost souls bound together by a bond she did not understand and he refused to break, crying for themselves, crying for each other, lost in compassion and sympathy and sorrow. He wept until he'd wept himself dry, until he finally lifted his head, all the sorrow going out of him. He would find a way to triumph in the end; he would find a way to save her, somehow. His own life was forfeit and did not matter, his soul already lost, but there was still hope for her. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, seeking forgiveness for what he didn't know - for failing her, for losing her, for showing a weakness he had never known before. "I came here to save you, and I will not fail you again."

She met his gaze as he raised his head, those soft, gentle fingers wiping away the evidence of his tears from his face as she looked into his eyes. She didn't understand why he was so bent on having forgiveness, why he insisted upon apologizing to her. "You haven't failed me," she told him, sincere in her innocent ignorance of the truth. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're the first person I have ever spoken to for more than a few minutes. I'm not alone with you here - that is something to be happy for."

He raised a trembling hand to touch her face, as she had touched his, wondering at the wetness on her cheeks. He'd seen mortals weep before, but he'd never done so himself. He knew it was something done out of sadness, loneliness, pain, grief. These things had only been words before, barely understood. Was she weeping for herself or for him' As far as he knew, no one had ever wept for him before in all of his many years of existence. "You're crying," he said, stating the obvious. He touched his fingers to his lips, tasting her tears. Salt like the pillar that had once been Lot's Wife when she turned and looked back at the destruction of Sodom.

She held very still as he touched her face, starved of any real contact throughout her lifetime. Just the fact that he was willing to touch her was enough to make her tremble, wanting to cry all over again with relief that she was worth spending such a touch on. "Because you're so sad," she told him, answering the question he hadn't spoken aloud. "I wish I could help you. No one should be so sad."

She gasped as his lips touched hers, warmed by the unexpected intimacy. She, who had never been held, never been kissed, felt something pass from him to her; something that burned its way into her heart and made a place for itself there, throbbing and potent and unmistakeably him. But more than that, she felt something else stir inside her. A warmth, a heat, that seemed to make no sense, crackling through her veins as his lips left hers. She stared into his eyes, made breathless by a single kiss, her hand soft over his heart. "What was that?" she whispered to him, at a loss for words to describe how he had made her feel with a single touch.

"It is love," he answered as honestly as he could, having felt very nearly the same thing, like a flame bursting forth in his heart, unlike anything he had ever felt before during his existence as an angel. He had known love, certainly, but not like this. This kind of love was a human emotion, which resulted in a human sensation he had never felt before nor had a name for. It was like a yearning of the body that matched the yearning of the soul, but he was not sure what to think of it or what to do about it. Certainly, he knew the biology of procreation, but he had never before understood the physicality of it, or the power and potency of it. It was forbidden to those of his kind, known only to those who had Fallen, those who could no longer rejoin the celestial ranks of their brethren.

"Is ....is it something only you can do?" The innocent girl was almost in his arms as she asked this sweet question, green eyes wide, the thought of his loss forgotten in the wake of the strange, prickling that was swarming through her body, the tender tug at her heart as she looked into his eyes. "Does it only happen for you?"

"No," he replied, looking down at her softly, knowing the answer though he'd never had to explain it before and had never felt anything quite like it before. So, this was what mortals sang about, what their poets wrote about, what they seemed to cherish and yearn for above all things - this mysterious connection to another life. It was nothing short of miraculous. It was a gift from God; it was what defined them as human. It was as divine a gift as any he had witnessed in all of Creation. "It happens among mortals. Humans. People, like yourself. I am not human, but..." He frowned softly, his eyes betraying his sadness, his pain that was not yet forgotten despite the wonder of this new feeling.

She didn't let him finish, touching his lips with her fingertips to still his frowning words. What an innocent lacked in knowledge, she made up for in curiosity, in an eagerness to learn what had been denied her all her life. This was a part of that eagerness, yet it seemed fueled by a longing she could not quite put a name to. A longing that urged her to touch her lips to his, to repeat that strange, mystifying intimacy as her fingers curled into his hair, surrendering only too easily to the warmth inside her.

His words trailed off, his denial of his own humanity, which until only a few short moments ago he had not known existed. His eyes remained open, watchful, curious as she touched her fingers to his lips, effectively silencing him, stilling his questions, but causing his heart to beat rapidly, almost frightening him with the urgency that was making itself known, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He was as innocent as she was in this, each touch, each sensation new and different. He wondered at it and at the way it made him feel. Was this why it was forbidden to touch a mortal in such a way' Once it happened, it seemed there was no other feeling like it in all existence.

"Let me try," she whispered to him, her fingertips still stroking through his hair, forgetting the knowledge of the deception that had been worked upon her, forgetting everything but the man in her arms. For just a few short moments, nothing existed but them, and she felt that connection between them as though he were a part of her very being. Her breath warmed his lips as she gazed into his eyes, her own heartbeat fluttering as the tip of her nose stroked against his. As her lips found his in her first true kiss, her eyes fell closed, instinct guiding her to savor something wholly unique, almost sacred, between them.

He was not sure if what he'd done was right, but in that moment, he knew his words had been true. He had loved her from time immemorial; he had loved her forever. How could something this beautiful, this sacred, this loving ever be wrong" His eyes fell closed as she did it again. A kiss, they called it. Once more, he knew the word, but not what it had truly meant. He had never expected such a feeling as this, such a strong connection that could not be denied. In that moment, he accepted his fate. If he was only to live a few more hours, all of this made his own death worthwhile. He would draw strength from this kiss, this sacred union of souls, and he would defeat their enemies and free her body and soul from the loneliness of this prison cell they had made for her.

Innocent she might be, but Rachel was still human, with all the instincts that entailed. She didn't know this feeling, she didn't understand it. All she knew was that she didn't want it to end. She didn't want to stay cooped up in this room forever, forced to live the same day over and over again, alone. She wanted freedom; she wanted Zachariel. She wanted, for the first time in her life, something that had been denied her for too long. Her lips parted from his with another soft gasp, her pale skin flushing with the first gentle warmth of desire. The first taste of something that, unknown to her, could end her imprisonment for good.

As enchanted and astonished as he was with this feeling, he felt his strength flagging and knew he had to rest if he was to regain some of that strength so that he could fight for her when daylight came, when their captors returned to kill him. "Rachel," he whispered gently and reluctantly pulling away from her, sensing the need and desire that matched hers. "I cannot," he told her sadly. "I must not. Please forgive me."

For a split second, disappointment flared in her eyes, hurt by the first rejection she had been given, however gently it was done. But it did not last, her senses returning to her in a flood to remind her of his grievous injuries, his weakness, his certainty that he was dying. She nodded, her fingers lingering against his cheek as she leaned away from him once again. "I understand," she assured him, her voice barely above a whisper in the darkness. "You need to sleep."

"Stay with me," he pleaded, searching her eyes, asking for this one small thing in what he expected to be the last hours of his life. "I have wrapped my wings around you through so many lifetimes, and you never knew I was there." A single tear rolled down his cheek at his own admission. Those wings were no more and despite the opening of his heart to her, he grieved their loss as one might grieve the loss of some part of themselves that seemed imperative to their being. It did not occur to him that he could do the very same thing, using his arms, rather than his wings.