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The Spaceman	By : Esequell Category: -Movies Misc > Het - Male/Female Views: 957 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Michael (movie) and I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Spaceman
- 1
A/N - Based on the 1996 movie "Michael" starring John Travolta as the archangel Michael. Extra points if you understand the title reference ;)

The Spaceman
'I think they're weird,' Michael stood so close to the Italian-style London coffee shop that he could feel the central heating warmth through the glass. Art nouveau prints tempted him inside, swirling monochromatic lines and statuettes with vaguely erotic tendencies. Michael pressed his lips together, wondering if he really enjoyed their style, then addressed the empty space beside him. 'Do you think coffee smells better than it tastes?'
Michael's angel apprentice was under strict instructions to remain invisible.
'Is that part of your assignment?' the apprentice asked, full of reverent awe. 'Taking in Earth's delights, right? Absorbing their culture, getting to know what it's like for them so we can empathise...right?'
Michael patted his shoulder. 'I just really like coffee,' he said.
A brass bell chimed over the door and Michael inhaled the warm, scented air, sweet relief from the cold. He unwound his grey knitted scarf, stuffed the folded end into his overcoat pocket and zeroed in on the donut stand. The patrons naturally and unconsciously avoided his apprentice.
'What is it about donuts and coffee?' Michael tapping his fingers on the table as he waited to be served. 'I mean...whose idea was that? To put two really, amazingly sweet foods together, that just go so well. No, hold that. Actually, we know whose idea it was,' he chuckled, pointing upwards.
The boy looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. By the time he'd decided, Michael had his four glazed favourites picked out.
'Morning sugar rush,' he smiled. 'It's necessary,' he added, deadpan. The boy nodded in eager agreement. He didn't seem to understand dry humour.
'Do you know who you're here for yet?' the apprentice asked reverently.
'No,' Michael admitted mildly, as his coffee and donuts arrived. 'It'll come to me. Like a wave of inspiration. Thank you,' he nodded to the skinny waitress, his gaze lingering on her.
'But...how can you be sure you get the right person?' the boy asked, wide-eyed.
'Faith,' Michael rolled his eyes, not unkindly. 'Of course.'
'Of course,' whispered his pupil, as though Michael's had given the eleventh commandment. Michael exhaled through his nose in annoyance. The boys hero-worship was wearing thin.
There was a tinny, echoing crash in the kitchen. A man's shout cut under the high-pressure hiss of the milk steamer, followed by a stream of feminine invective and finally the skinny waitress barrelled out of the kitchen, throwing down her dishcloth. She spilled into the early morning human traffic, puffs of breath fogging, tugging on her winter coat.
'Ah, now that,' Michael said to the apprentice, 'Is job dis-satisfaction. That's why we have team building, right?'
The boy nodded enthusiastically.
'Listen, kid,' Michael said coolly. 'I think...we should have a few ground rules. Number one, you can't just agree with everything I say-' Michael stopped, his index finger raised.
The angry waitress stepped out. The oncoming taxi screeched to a halt too late.
She lay motionless in a big dent on the bonnet, behind a haze of dust and steam. Michael's mouth went dry as he replayed the flash of movement in his mind. She folded over the grille at the waist and for a second her hair continued to travel, hitting the metal with a soft, silken thump, too subtle for a human to hear over the hissing broken radiator.
His first breath after the accident stirred the steam rising from his cup. He felt the tingle. Not the tingle of a good looking woman, or the tingle when they brought out the granulated sugar. Not even the feeling he got just before a battle. This was a call to action. He left his cup and snatching up the last donut, slipped out into the cold.
The street stank of burning rubber. Sleepy newspaper pages, disturbed from their rest, fought for lift in the turbulent wake of passing cars.
'Is she...dead?' asked the apprentice, nervously.
Michael dissolved into the congruent reality where angels move around undetected. Nobody in the street would remember him. It was part of his angelic power.
'I have this...thing...about blood,' said the apprentice anxiously.
Michael patted him on the back warmly. 'You'll soon get over that,' he said.
The bespectacled taxi driver stood in the road, his dirty trainers part-laced, his fists bunched in his short grey hair, trembling as the radiator steam died down.
Michael snorted in dark amusement. 'Oh come on, man. You can do better than that.'
The driver ran to squirrel madly in the boot, returning with a blanket. Michael perched on the bonnet. Her face was mottled and bruised, her scalp bloody where the moving wipers had ripped out chunks of hair.
'Maria,' said Michael. She didn't move but his instincts told him to persist. 'You don't wanna go like this, do you? Are you broken?'
He laid a psychic hand on her ribs and knew intuitively that nothing was damaged beyond repair. 'Wake up,' he commanded. With a fingertip he disturbed the soft, blonde hairs at her temple. 'Wake up.'
Her lashes flickered, natural blonde against pale skin.
'Is she going to die?' asked the apprentice.
Michael frowned at him in shock. 'What kind of a thing is that to say?'
'I-I don't know-' he whispered, blushing.
'Novice,' Michael sighed, as the girl fish-mouthed. 'There we go,' Michael said encouragingly, smiling. 'It's OK, relax. They're coming for you.'
She snatched his hand with a disturbing, skinny strength as a siren cleared a path. Michael jolted in shock.
'Can you...see me?' he asked.
'A-A-' she tried to speak. His heart leapt into his throat. 'Angel!' she managed.
'No way...You can actually see me?'
Her lips twitched. A secret passed through her eyes, making him feel as though they'd shared something unique. As the paramedics broke out foil blankets and prepared to move her, her fingers slipped through his. Michael felt the in rush of cold air and realised, he'd felt her skin. Her warmth. That was supposed to be impossible.
A green and white back covered his field of vision. They lifted Maria away, her neck in a collar and her body strapped to a board.
'She saw me,' he said in shock, standing in a great empty space. Sound came back to the world slowly. London was already moving on but Michael felt ungrounded and floaty. 'That's amazing! She saw what I am. Nobody ever does that. Come on,' Michael grabbed his apprentice by the hand.
'W-Where are we going!' the boy squeaked in surprise.
'The hospital,' Michael said decisively.
000
Michael conjured a deck of playing cards with a snap of his fingers. Sitting with his shirt-sleeves rolled up past the elbow, he leaned on Maria's bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His apprentice was losing to his poker face.
'Don't we have other people to attend to?' asked the boy. Michael glanced at the ward clock. It was ten past three in the morning.
'Nope,' Michael said, without any further explanation.
'Will she see you when she wakes up?'
'I don't know,' said Michael honestly.
At six past six, the apprentice fidgeted nervously and the whole room darkened. Michael twisted to face the visitor, careful not to reveal his cards. He was onto a winning streak, and he liked to win.
'What're you doing here, Azrael?' he asked.
'That's D-' stammered the trembling apprentice. 'That's Death!'
'You can't have her,' Michael said, his cigarette bobbing between his lips. 'The old man said so.'
Azrael hunched over the bed like an old lady contemplating murder. Michael snorted his amusement.
'Come and join us, Brother.'
A dusty graveyard chuckle reverberated around the room and the apprentice made a choking sound in fright. Death disappeared.
'Suit yourself,' Michael said quietly as he laid down his hand for the apprentice to see. 'I win.'
000
'I-It's you,' Maria whispered weakly. Her eyes were as blue as the summer flowers that grew in Heaven.
Michael's conjured cards disappeared with sutble pop, leaving the apprentice empty handed and confused. Michael pulled his chair up to the bed, his chest pressed to the plastic back.
'You can still see me,' he said. 'I didn't think you would. After the accident...I thought you might forget how.'
'I've never seen an angel before. You look just like a man.'
'Do I?' he chuckled. 'Maybe it's just skin deep,' he suggested mildly as he patted her wrist. 'Are you psychic?'
'No,' she said, as though the idea were preposterous.
'A channel? Medium? Clairvoyant?'
'No.'
'Ever play with ouija boards?'
'No,' she laughed softly. 'Never.'
'What about him?' Michael jabbed a thumb in the direction of his apprentice but Maria's smile faltered.
'Who? Is there another angel here?'
'Just testing,' Michael grinned. She seemed to buy it.
'Don't people see angels just before they die?' she asked.
'Before and after,' Michael grinned.
'So I'm dying?'
Michael rested his chin on the back of his arm. 'That isn't my area.'
She looked like she might cry.
'You'll be fine,' he assured her.
'Will you stay with me anyway? I don't want to be alone.'
He offered his hand in support, palm up, and jolted in electric surprise when her skin touched his, warm and solid. Impossible, he thought, as she squeezed his hand.
'You are real,' she smiled. 'What's your name?'
'Michael.'
'The Michael?'
'Yup. That's me,' he grinned.
'Looks like I get preferential treatment,' she said.
Suddenly, Michael felt uncomfortable under the apprentice's scrutiny. As Maria submerged gently into sleep, Michael waved to him.
'You can't do much more here, kid,' he lied. 'Go home and get some rest.'
000
Michael watched Maria sleep, rubbing the skin behind the joint of her thumb. Nurses came and went, all oblivious to him. Eventually he put his head down, her cool fingers entwined against his hair. He watched the evening traffic snake away into the distance, tail lights like starbursts through the glass. Something went ping inside him, an unexpected, raw feeling. Had he made the right decision, staying so long? Surely he'd done his job seeing her through the accident? He couldn't leave. He felt as though she had a persistent, unspoken need for him, and He hadn't asked Michael to return.
'Michael,' Maria smiled to see him and tightened her grip, disturbing him from his wandering thoughts.
'How do you feel?' he asked.
'OK,' she said quietly. 'I'm glad you stayed.'
'It seemed like...you needed me to,' he shrugged lightly. 'Do you want me to go?'
'Of course not,' she struggled onto her right side to face him, wincing with every adjustment to her position.
'What's wrong?' he asked.
'I feel like I've been hit by a car,' she smiled.
'Well you were,' he laid a hand on her silky hair. He felt the blood rushing under her skin and the distant, heady thump of her living heart. His own swelled and broadened. He liked her. He could feel his attraction fizzing under his skin like the after effects of poprocks. He couldn't explain why.
He caught her contagious smile and wore it proudly until they both laughed. He sensed they were sharing something more than a laugh, something deeper.
'Am I crazy?' she asked suddenly. 'Are you really here?'
Michael searched her face for answers to how he felt. She wasn't extraordinarily pretty. Her clear, periwinkle eyes were actually quite piercing and there was a rapier sort of intelligence to them. Her nose was a bit too pointy to blend into her face completely, but her hair. Her hair was beautiful, and she exuded an attractive innocence.
'You're not crazy,' Michael sat back. 'What is it with humans and being crazy? What's so terrible about being crazy?'
Maria smiled. 'I guess we don't like not being in control.'
000
The dusty block of concrete flats must have been built in the seventies. Some recent council intervention had cleaned up the kids playground, where an abandoned carousel stirred in the wind. The place was an energy dead-zone, a drain on anyone psychic enough to feel the overwhelmingly negative vibes.
Graffiti stairwells were lent vague, peripheral-eye movement by flickery halogen overheads, unguarded and backed with tinfoil trays. It stank of sweat and piss, and other fluids. Michael was reluctant to breathe in too deeply. The lift was predictably broken, so at the foot of the stairs, where a grey-haired tramp cuddled a bottle, he gestured Maria to put her arms around his neck.
'Come on,' he said.
She hesitated. 'You sure? You don't look strong enough to carry me. I'm not light.'
'I'll be fine,' he promised. He made a point to fake being a bit out of breath at the top.
The laundry strung between the buildings flapped in the wind. When he scuffed over a discarded needle he realised that the council approach wasn't grass-roots enough for a place like this.
'Thanks for this,' Maria gazed into his eyes. 'I don't know how I'd have gotten up here without your help.'
'Don't mention it,' he said, helping her into her tiny flat. He was suddenly very aware of the warmth of her narrow waist.
Dusty old carpet curled up at the edges and the curtain rail hung from its broken moorings at a jaunty angle. The wallpaper was stained with age-old fag smoke and a clothes horse held some work clothes in a stiff fold, thoroughly dried by a patch of winter sun that streamed through the narrow window.
The linoleum was frayed, the net visible through the plastic. All the furniture was well used.
'I need to sit down,' she said.
Michael sprang into action, helping her onto a sagging sofa.
'You smoke?' Michael asked her.
'No,' she said. 'Last tenant did, though. Like a chimney. It's such a mess, I'm sorry.'
He pulled out a packet and gestured. 'You mind if I do?'
'No,' Maria said. 'It's fine. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me.'
Michael sank into an armchair that felt deep enough to swallow him, watching her closely. He was uncomfortable leaving her like this. She looked so frail curled up in a faded crochet blanket. He'd be willing to bet his last dime that everything in the apartment was second hand. He elbowed aside a couple of magazines that bore printed stickers in the top right corner, the address of a doctors surgery. She's taken them from the waiting room, he thought.
'I can't leave you in here. Alone,' he tapped the ash of his cigarette onto a plate. 'Like this.'
'Don't you have thousands of other people to tend to?' she rested her cheek on the back of her hand.
'Sure,' he agreed. 'But there are a lot of angels. They can pick up the slack. Look...I want to ask you something. And I want you...to not feel insulted, right?'
Maria shrugged mildly. 'I can't promise. I don't know what you want to ask. But...I'll try.'
'Well. I don't think you're gonna be walking anywhere on your own any time soon. Your back is...purple.'
'Purple?' she asked anxiously.
'Yeah,' he sighed. 'When they changed the bandages I saw it. That's not a good state to be in on your own. So...do you want me to stay?'
When she smiled uncomfortably, tiny crows feet creased her eyes.
'Stay? What capacity are we talking about here?'
'God,' he winced. 'No. That's NOT what I meant. I meant, do you want me to stay and help until you feel better,' he shifted a bit uncomfortably. 'Do you...have anyone? You know. Who could take care of you?'
'If I had someone who wanted to take care of me, do you think I'd be living here? Like this?' she echoed his own words.
Michael gestured, both hands spread, unsure if she was insulted. 'I don't know.'
'No,' she said, and her stark, broken pain was obvious to him. 'I don't.'
'I'll stay then,' he said. 'If you want.'
'OK,' she nodded peacefully.
'OK?' he sounded surprised, wondering if she was really certain.
'OK,' she smiled. 'I mean...we've already established I'm probably nuts. I don't know. Something just tells me I can trust you.'
'Oh, you can trust me,' he couldn't get the smile off his face.
000
'I need to tell you something,' Michael said, sitting in a patch of weak late afternoon sun. 'Will you freak out if I do?'
'I don't know,' Maria shifted nervously. 'You tell me. How bad is it?'
'It's not bad,' he said softly. 'Just...weird.'
He shrugged off his coat slowly and laid it on the back of the armchair. Then he turned to one side for her.
'Holy fucking hell!' Maria startled. 'You've got to be joking!'
'No,' he said. 'Not joking.'
'Are those real?'
'Yeah,' he nodded. 'They're real. Are you OK? You're not gonna go and faint on me or anything?'
'Do people usually faint?' she asked.
'Sometimes,' he nodded. 'I hate it when they do. You look kind of white.'
'Maybe I'm dreaming after all,' she suggested dreamily.
'No,' he crouched in front of her, wary of a delayed reaction. 'It's not a dream,' he said gently. Instead of the fear and awe he dreaded, she reached out to touch.
'I'd rather you didn't,' he brought his wings close to his back.
'Sorry,' she whispered, slowly retracting her hovering hand.
'Are you OK?' he asked nervously.
'I'll be fine when whatever you put in my coffee wears off.'
He laughed. 'Sugar. You can never have too much.'
'Keep it coming,' she laughed, as he straightened. 'Wow. You're definitely the weirdest thing I've seen on or off drugs, but I kind of like it.'
'You do?' he asked, wondering what she meant, precisely, by like.
'Mmm,' she acknowledged with a nod, making him feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with sunshine.
000
As Michael lifted Maria off the sofa, her hands found his wings. She jolted and flushed an unexpected, beautiful pink.
'Sorry,' she adjusted her grip, looking guilty.
'No harm done,' he smiled. He wanted to lean down and breathe in the scent of her skin but he resisted.
The flat was too quiet, except for the distant sound of Metallica from next door. Michael thought he'd quite like to have her hands on his wings, but not from carrying her. He sat her on the edge of her bed and took off her flats, his treacherous hands lingering lightly on her delicate ankles. Her breathing changed, revealing her interest.
'You're heaven sent, you know,' she smiled. 'I don't know where I'd be without you.'
He perched next to her. 'Do you need anything else?' he asked.
'No,' she covered her hand with his. 'Why did you stick around, Michael? I mean...you don't know me from Eve, do you? Yet you've done more for me than any of my family ever have.'
'You needed it,' he said.
'People needs things all the time. They don't always get them.'
Michael produced a cigarette and popped it between his lips. He shrugged.
'Yeah, well. My friends do.'
'I'm your friend?'
'If you want to be,' he said, as he left, pulling the door to behind him.
000
Maria buried her face in a cooler bit of pillow. He's an beautiful idiot, she thought. Only idiots do nice things, and expect nice in return. She opened her eyes to light and smelled cooking. Limping around a pile of her unwashed clothes, she leaned on the kitchen door frame. Michael stood at the cooker with his back to her.
'What's this?' she smirked. 'Domestic too?'
The cigarette moved, revealing his smile. 'It's a frying pan,' he said. 'Hardly haute cuisine.'
'Eggy in the basket?' she peered over his shoulder. 'You're kidding. My Mum used to make those.'
He arched a brow as he turned to regard her.
'You look better.'
'I'm OK,' she assured him, but as she bent to sit, she froze in pain. Her back was on fire. 'Fuck!' she hissed, gripping the edge of the table. She couldn't move, not to sit, not to stand. She couldn't remember a time in her life that she'd felt so helpless.
Michael steadied her by the waist. 'Are you OK?' he sounded concerned.
Under his cigarette smoke there was a smell more uniquely him. Something angelic, like the soft, fresh towels she'd taken to sleeping on just after her brother died. That smell always made her feel so safe.
Maria gazed at his dark stubble and cupids bow lips, entranced. He smiled, smoke rising through his curly fringe. Lost in his eyes, she forgot he was bending over her, his big, strong hands warming her traumatised muscles. She couldn't breathe. She liked him, there was no denying it, his strength of character and his kindness, even if she couldn't bring herself to believe his affections would last.
'Are you OK?' he asked, so close that she felt his breath on her skin. She blushed. His blue eyes travelled her face slowly, until she hid behind her hair.
'I'm fine,' she nodded. 'Just this...blasted back pain. I don't think they should've discharged me so soon.'
'Can you sit?'
'To be honest, I think I'm stuck like this,' she wasn't really joking.
'Lean on me until it loosens up,' he offered. She put her forehead on his shoulder.
'You should be careful, you know. Getting me used to the good life like this.'
'Why?' he asked.
'I'm not used to it,' she shrugged as best she could with the pain in her spine.
'I'm not leaving,' he spoke into her ear with a sudden strength of conviction that made her skin goose-pimple in pleasure. 'Not unless you tell me to.'
'Are angels always this nice?' she asked.
'Always,' she felt him nod. Heat bled through his shirt into her body and slowly, the pain died to a dull throb until she could straighten up.
'I'm OK,' she said. He moved away. She wished she'd faked pain a bit longer, just to be closer to his smell and warmth.
'You hungry, Maria?'
'I didn't even know angels had to eat,' she said.
'Well...we don't,' Michael covered his breakfast with sugar. 'It's kind of like a pleasure for us.'
'You'll get diabetes if you keep eating that much sugar,' she laughed.
'No I won't,' he grinned, 'Angels don't get sick.'
'I want to be an angel,' she said wistfully.
Michael sat back in his chair. 'Can't be done.'
'What about the stories in the bible about humans ascending to heaven and becoming part of the host?'
'Nope,' he said lightly. 'Humans don't make good angels. Too wrapped up in their own problems, on the whole. I mean...they can guide. If they want to.'
'But angels can become human?' she asked.
'With divine dispensation,' he agreed.
'So are you more human...or more angel right now?'
'A bit more human than you can handle,' he winked easily.
Maria clutched her back dramatically. 'At the moment, you're probably right. But give me time.'
Michael's smile grew. Maria sensed he wasn't altogether adverse to her rather clumsy attempts to flirt with him.
'We'll see,' his chuckled. 'I wouldn't want you to pull a muscle.'
000
Michael smiled at Maria as he helped her onto sofa.
'Can I give you a hug, Maria?' he asked softly.
'Of course,' she sounded breathless and nervous.
'OK,' Michael nodded. He arranged himself, wings comfortable and opened his arms to her. Maria sank into his heat and masculine strength, feeling suddenly safe.
'Mmm,' he sighed warmly into her hair. 'That's better. Hugs are important. Everyone needs a hug sometimes.'
His chest was firm and Maria wanted to run her fingers through his dark, curly chest hair. He felt firm and muscular, with just enough fat layer to be considered cuddly. Did angels even have sex? Was it a sin to wonder?
Maria glanced up to read his expression. He met her eyes and the background TV suddenly sounded much quieter. She felt like time had frozen. Should she be virtuous and break what might become a moment? She couldn't force a single word out as Michael touched her face with thick, blunt fingertips. His eyes were soft as he chewed his lip, watching her reactions.
'God, you're so pretty,' it was almost a breathy moan. She believed every word, on the strength of the feeling showing in his eyes. 'So pretty.'
He bent to kiss her but stopped, leaving Maria to wonder if she'd imagined their sudden proximity. Was she seeing things that weren't there? She waited, terrified and thrilled, breathless, with no easy way to backtrack now. She couldn't even remember when she'd decided he was the one for her.
His lips touched hers, soft, full and gentle. Maria slid her hand under his open collar to touch boiling flesh as he pressed against her softly. The phone woke, shrilling so loudly that they parted. Maria stared at it mutely.
'Do you want it?' he murmured, his hand outstretched ready to snatch it off the cradle for her.
'No,' she said honestly, even as she gestured to him to pass it over. She indulged a shared smile with him. He didn't seem to keen to put off their business either.
000
Maria stared at the handset. Michael smelled the psychic tang of grief. He could see her tears glistening in the window reflection.
'What's wrong?' he asked. 'Maria?' he tried to bring her out of her shock. 'What is it?'
'I have to go to a funeral,' she said, as a flock of drab town pigeons fluttered a wide arc against the low winter sun, casting shadows on the washing.
'Whose?'
'She was...my friend. Probably the only one I had left. Breast cancer...her heart failed.'
'I'm sorry,' Michael laid his hand on her shoulder.
'Why?' she whispered desperately. 'You're the angel. You tell me. Why this. Why now?'
'This isn't my area, Maria.'
'What is your area?' she set the phone down on the windowsill, where old sealant had gone yellow with time and dust had gathered in hard to reach angles. 'You don't seem to have one. Except maybe care work.'
'I do,' he straightened a bit. 'Have an area.'
'What is it?' she asked finally, when the silence had gone on too long to be comfortable. Michael pulled his cigarettes out of his overcoat pocket.
'I'm a warrior. I defend the Kingdom of God.'
'So what the hell were you doing in Cafe Roma? And just in time to see me get splattered?'
'I was sent to help you. Though I didn't really know it...until I saw you. You looked so thin. The cab...just came out of nowhere. And I wanted to see if you'd live. You interested me. What do you want me to do?' he spread his hands wide. 'You want me to leave? You want me to come to the funeral with you?'
'Why are you still here?' her eyes were pink. 'I'm not religious, I don't go to church...I haven't prayed since I was a child!'
'He doesn't care about that,' Michael shook his head, beginning to feel helpless.
'You're right,' she said angrily. 'He doesn't care,' she tipped her head back against the glass.
Michael touched her shoulder comfortingly, but she folded, her head against his belly.
'I don't understand you,' she sobbed, her tears warm on his palm.
'I'm so sorry this happened, Maria.'
'If God wanted to send me an angel, why didn't he send me one who can predict the future?' she pushed past him and slammed the bedroom door so hard he felt the shockwave.
'Maria!' he yelled after her. She didn't answer. Michael scraped his hair back. 'God, what am I doing here?' he whispered. 'I'm making things worse.'
000
Michael's cigarette butt glowed for a few seconds in the sludge at the base of the bridge tower before it sank and extinguished. Suspension cables stretched away to infinite sky, making him think of ladders and journeys home. Michael couldn't remember ever feeling so small, a lone, fleshy dot on the face of a planet where people no longer recognised angels.
He'd seen pictures of bridge construction workers perched on the high-wires, gazing at black and white cityscapes like men with bird in their genes. He wanted to be up there with them, one step closer to God.
Desiccated leaves left over from autumn, previously hidden in little nooks, behind bins, in dry gutters, tenaciously clinging to dry stalks came rolling with the breeze, adhering themselves to his legs. Did they know they'd once belonged to a tree? Or were they old and forgetful now, lost in an illusion of separation?
Michael put his back to a sturdy tree as sunset gave way to after-dark London ambience. Though he was tired, sleep was a long time coming. He thought of Maria's curling carpets, her grimy draining board and second hand clothes and missed her until his gullet burned.
'What do you want me to do?' he whispered, but his eternal companion, His Voice, was quiet. Queasy disillusionment settled over Michael, making him feel resentful of this silence. Michael closed his eyes resolutely. If He wanted to be quiet, Michael would stubbornly join Him.
A bloke threw up on his boots. Michael opened his eyes to the first, diluted light of dawn.
'What the hell?' Michael muttered, as the stink reached his nose.
'Fucking freak-' the drunk muttered, with a pigeon-eyed glance back. Michael shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
'I'm the freak,' he muttered. 'Right. At least I have a job.'
At a vaguely familiar corner, Michael followed the smell of coffee, feeling suddenly aware of what a disgusting place London was. An alley was an olfactory cornucopia of extrasensory information – old fish, something vaguely cheesy. He spun three-sixty to gaze at Cafe Roma, wondering how he'd gotten here without trying. Maria sat in the window, gazing at the chocolate coffee bean pattern in her cup. He didn't need his angelic psychic sense to tell she felt broken. It was written all over her posture.
'Maria!' He pushed the tinkling door open. 'Maria?'
She jolted upright.
'How did you know I'd be here? Were you following me?'
'No!' he said quickly. 'I swear it, I had no idea you were here. I was worried.'
'Where did you go?' she folded her arms, looking uncomfortable. 'I thought you might come back when it got dark but you didn't.'
'I didn't think you wanted me to.'
'I was upset,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry, Michael. I should have known...it's not your fault. For not taking you at face value, as well. Nobody has ever gone out of their way for me like this before.'
She slid out of her chair painfully and put her arms around his neck. He enfolded her, smiling and relieved. Her touch was a balm against his heartache.
'I'm sorry too,' he said bravely. 'He sent me to look after you and I failed. Forgive me, Maria. Please. I shouldn't have walked out like that. I thought I was doing you more harm than good.'
'It doesn't matter any more,' she said warmly to his throat. 'You're here now.'
Michael breathed in her scent gratefully. 'Let me come with you, to the funeral. Just for moral support. I want to take care of you...it's not just a job any more. I want you to be happy, somehow.'
'I am when you hold me,' she confided softly,
'Yeah?' he grinned, tightening his grip. 'Let me hold you then.'
000
An ancient yew-tree growing beside the plot had formed itself into a strange, hollow sphere of branches. The freshly placed ground glistened with particles of glassy frost, but the wind was colder. It stung all the heat from his cheeks. The cemetery hill provided a view of the local industry, half closed down against a backdrop of winter sky, growing heavy with snow. Suddenly, Maria turned and buried her face in Michael's coat, sobbing.
'It's OK,' he enfolded her in both arms, trying to lend her strength. He was afraid that if she shook any harder she might come apart and be destroyed. He didn't want to feel the terrible loneliness of losing her again. 'Maria, I'm so sorry, baby. It'll be OK. I know it feels so bad. Somehow I'll make sure you get through this, I promise.'
He rocked her gently from side to side. 'I don't want you not to cry,' he met her beautiful eyes with a gentle smile. 'Crying is good. Better to have the feelings out. Are you OK, baby?'
She nodded tearfully.
'Promise?' she asked quietly.
'I promise,' he smiled. Then he frowned. 'That's it? You don't want me to turn water into the wine to prove I care?'
'No,' she swiped at her eyes with her cuff. 'I believe you now. I know I'm crazy...but I believe you.'
'OK,' he smiled. He held his hand out for her, palm up. 'Let's go home, baby.'
'Yeah,' she sighed.
000
Maria swept the washing basket up and pushed it into Michael's hands. 'Oooph!' he grunted, rubbing his belly. 'What? What do you want me to do with it?'
'Put sugar all over it and eat it,' she teased.
'Nah,' he smirked. 'It'd be too stringy. I'd rather have cereals. You got any cereals?'
'Loads,' she came close enough to hand him the pegs with a smile that gave him tingles. 'But no milk.'
He set both on the windowsill and caught her waist. She giggled, sidling up close, reminding him of their recently developed habit of nightly cuddles in front of the TV.
'You're practically dancing,' he said, a bit sadly. 'Soon you won't need me anymore. Then what?'
'Maybe you could be my live-in cook,' she shrugged, her arms loose around his neck. 'I don't know. Don't you get a choice?'
Michael shrugged with one shoulder. 'Sometimes,' he said. 'But the big guy...sometimes he has his own plans, and I wouldn't like to argue.'
'You don't want to go back?' she hazarded, dipping her head to catch his eye.
'No,' he said, as he transferred his gaze to the skyline.
'Maybe he'll ask you what you want,' she played idly with a lock of his hair. 'You do know...I don't actually believe in God?'
'You should,' Michael said kindly. 'He believes in you.'
'Now when you do that,' she gestured to his face. 'You look like a real angel.'
'What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm not angelic enough the rest of the time?'
Maria laughed and perched on his lap. She counted on her fingers; 'You drink. You smoke. Angels don't smoke.'
'Who says?' he lifted his chin in challenge.
'Everyone. I bet you anything...if I went to the nearest church and I asked the priest if angels smoke, he'd say no.'
'Well maybe he's just never met me,' Michael said logically.
'What else do you do that's not very angelic?' Maria grinned.
A sweet, heady quiet came down between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
'I told you,' he said mildly. 'I wouldn't want you to pull a muscle.'
000
Michael patted his overcoat pockets, searching for a familiar square. 'Have you seen my smokes?'
'Nope.'
'Well...how far can they go?' he muttered, searching the floor. Maria disappeared into the hall and in the too-bright overhead light, he spied the packet under her t-shirt. 'Give,' he gestured to her.
'Give what? You're not making much sense. As usual.'
'My smokes,' he emphasised, reaching for her. She dodged. 'Give. Damnit, Maria!' he sighed as she slid past him with and fled, giggling into the living room. He followed, sensing a game. A grin tugged at his face. 'Look at you,' he said lightly. 'All spry now you're fixed up. You gonna give me my smokes?'
'Nope,' she laughed from behind the sofa.
Michael lunged but he barely touched the tail end of her winter scarf. He cornered her in the kitchen.
'Nope!' she chirped, ducking under his arm. He dropped and caught her. He waited a minute to make sure she wouldn't try anything athletic to maintain the game, then he pressed a dry kiss to her pulse. She stilled, panting softly into his hair.
The afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, casting rib-cage bars onto the linoleum. The floor was too hard to kneel on and she weighed too little. He noticed her shirt had ridden up when he touched her bare back. He was suddenly aware of her scent, half soap, half ASDA eau de toilette. Something with a citrus tang that curiously reminded him of Spanish heat and cold beer, and her. He breathed it in, committing it to memory. Any tension left in her body ebbed and she settled, her nose in his neck.
'Now,' he plucked the packet out of her waistband. He couldn't bring himself to pull away without running fingertips of the yellowing bruise on her lower back. 'That things are as they should be,' he popped a cigarette between his lips. 'We can go.'
'Are they?' Maria met his eyes. 'As they should be?'
'I'd say so,' he arched a brow, then he stood up and offered both his hands. 'Maybe it'd be more accurate to say, things are how I want them.'
'No argument,' she whispered.
'That's a first,' he smirked. She smacked his arm hard enough to leave a sting.
He leaned on the lift wall.
'You're pouting,' he observed. 'That's really cute.'
'I'm not cute.'
'You're cute,' he shrugged, as the doors opened.
'Do you want this ice cream or don't you?'
'You're gonna penalise me. Ice cream, for a compliment? Fine. You have your ice-cream, and I'll just lick you,' he grabbed her. Their play fight must have tired her. She didn't fight. He kissed her temple.
'Do you wanna take a cab?' he asked. 'You look exhausted.'
'A taxi,' she feigned a perfect high-class English accent.
'A cab,' he said, as he pulled her close.
'OK,' she nodded. 'Talk about the high life,' she added drily while they waited on the corner.
000
Frozen commuters overflowed from the subway, braving the cold. A briefcase snapped open and papers took flight. A siren flashed by in the dark, and the shiny surface of Michael's shoes reflected headlamps. He was mesmerised by the wet tarmac, sweeping underfoot like the spines of a giant glass hedgehog, tipped with street-light. He could smell the exhaust of passing cars, contrasting Maria's perfume. Her arm linked with his, her warmth seeped through his coat. He didn't want that warmth to be separate from his any more but he didn't want to guess how she might feel about that. It was one thing to play with people and never follow through, it was another to touch someone's heart. He was afraid to touch hers in case he broke it.
'Maria. Where are your parents?'
'Mum was a stripper. When I was ten, she died. Overdosed. Dad was never around. My little brother passed away too. Leukaemia.'
'I-I just wanted to know,' he said, apologetically. 'I want to know all about you. I'm sorry, baby.'
The dark bedroom was strewn with crumpled clothes, the bed unmade. He stood in the square halo of doorway light, his rain-wet fingers reluctant to let her go. She was his defence against loneliness but more; she was a string under his ribs, tugging on his heart. He wasn't sure if he could do without her.
Maria held onto him with cold fingers, and smiled; 'You don't have to sleep on the sofa, you know.'
He worried that whatever he did now would be wrong.
'I sleep standing up,' he felt himself smile nervously.
'I know.'
'Right,' he murmured. She pushed his wet curly hair off his forehead with cool, damp fingers. The string around his heart tightened.
'Are you scared to touch me?' she asked softly. 'I won't break, you know.'
'It's not that,' he willed himself to step away. Instead, his wayward hands took her waist. He was losing this battle, and a pitiful fight he'd put up so far. 'I don't want to hurt you.'
'You won't.'
'I don't mean physically,' he rolled his eyes.
Maria nodded, humouring him. 'I know what you mean. But I think losing you is the only thing that can hurt me now.'
'I'd do anything not to hurt you,' he said suddenly. 'Anything. Even leave.'
'I know,' she stood up on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the mouth. He made a soft, appreciative noise as she lingered, her lips soft and cool from the rain. His feathers mantled and his skin broke out in goose-flesh. 'I don't want you to leave,' she breathed hungrily.
'Good,' he cupped her face with both hands and gave her a soft, lingering kiss, basking in the warmth and relief of her acceptance. 'Because I don't want to.'
000
One of Maria's bony knees jabbed his thigh but he didn't mind. It felt so good to be close to her. Her scent was still on his skin, her taste in his mouth. He couldn't face ever letting go. Her breath stirred his chest hair, gusting rhythmically over his collarbones. He inhaled and the hot-coal tip of his cigarette lit up a patch of her hair. The smoke curled away to disperse at the ceiling. Maria kissed the folded joint of his wing.
'These are beautiful.'
His insides warmed with powerful gratitude. He spread his longer feathers invitingly.
'You can touch them now,' he said lightly. 'It's a sex thing, y'know? People don't know it, but having your wings touched...just casually touched...it's like having your balls fondled by a stranger.'
Maria's laugh chimed. 'And you like that too,' she teased.
'No, not by strangers. Only you,' he smirked.
Maria raised herself up to gaze at him. 'Is God going to call you back?' she asked.
'I don't know,' he gazed at the ceiling. 'I hope not. But...I have a job to do. I was made to do it. I'm not sure how long He'll wear this.'
'Don't go,' she put her arm around his neck and her head down on his chest. 'I can't be without you.'
Michael didn't want to guess what He might demand, so he stroked Maria's hair and whispered; 'It'll be OK, baby. Whatever happens, I'll make sure you're OK. I promise.'
000
This place smelled like a really old library, not a church. Michael walked the bookshelves, running his fingertips along the flaky, peeling spines. Thirty empty pews offered up their closed bibles. He could hear distant footsteps in the cloisters and the gentle rustle of a long garment on stone but noone came into view. Slowly, the stained-glass windows dimmed with the sunset, yellow angel hair fading out first. Rich reds and royal purples ignited, living briefly their highest expression before they faded too in the last deep violet minutes before the emergence of starlight.
Flickering tea-candles animated the face of a compassionate stone angel. A gust of cool underground wind came from the open crypt door to kiss the back of his neck. Michael sighed resignedly, his heart sinking, leaning on the wood in front. He knew the presence that watched him.
'Gabriel. Come on. Don't play those games with me.'
Gabriel rendered from the shadows and ducked under the cathedral arch to stand in the empty walkway, his blue eyes aflame with other-wordly intelligence.
'Anybody would think you'd never shared a battlefield with me,' Michael said, irritated. 'Aren't you supposed to be my brother? Advise me.'
'Am I?' Gabriel asked softly, in a voice like the last click of a stone lock.
'What does that mean?' Michael asked. 'I take a few weeks away on a job and you think you can pull those tricks on me, of all people?'
'Months,' Gabriel gazed down his aquiline nose imperiously. Michael shifted uncomfortably.
'It didn't feel like that long,' Michael admitted, his insides twisting with the first inkling of loss. 'Just tell me what He wants to say.'
'I did not come on behalf of He.'
'What? Well who did you come for?'
'For you. You will make us choose between our brother...and a human woman.'
Michael felt as though Gabriel's lazer eyes were taking the measure of his very soul. The shimmering horn that hung at Gabriel's belt suddenly made Michael afraid for Maria, caught between their love and a host of jealous angels.
'He grows impatient,' Gabriel said quietly. 'Bring her. Records are only as permanent as the ink I use to write them.'
'God, no,' Michael sighed. 'I can't do that to her. I won't.'
'They all die, Michael,' Gabriel said coldly. 'The only question is when...and how, you inevitably lose her.'
Michael folded his arms over his breaking heart. 'What did He tell you to do, hmm? Is this a conditional order? If Michael won't come home, go and do this?'
Gabriel said nothing.
'What do you want me to do?' Michael was almost laughing. 'Kill her? Is that it?'
'Have you forgotten the sons of God and the daughters of men-' Gabriel began, like a teacher in front of his class.
'Don't give me that,' Michael held up a hand. 'Don't, Gabriel. I know that passage as well as you do, and of course I haven't forgotten. Jesus.'
'They were wiped from the Earth for less.'
'I love her,' Michael said. 'No matter what you do, you can never take that away.'
Michael turned to leave, then reconsidered. 'What do you want, Gabriel? Why are you here? To warn me?'
'To help you,' Gabriel drew himself up. 'Worse will follow...if you do not heed me now.'
Michael gripped the wooden pew so hard it cracked. 'If you hurt her,' his face twisted. 'I'll kill you.'
'Take action then,' Gabriel said coldly. 'So I do not have to.'
He disappeared, leaving Michael cold and sick with fear.
000
The muted TV light reflected in the window glass. Maria lay stretched out on the sofa with an arm thrown over her face, her fingertips just touching an overturned glass of red wine.
'Maria!' Michael stumbled over a fallen, damp towel in panic and caught the glass with his toe. It rolled away under the coffee table. He bent over her, cold with fear.
'What's going on?' she mumbled, opening her eyes.
'Oh God,' he snatched her up and buried his nose in her neck. 'You scared me.'
'I was sleeping!' she protested, wrapping her warm arms around his neck. 'What's wrong, Michael? You're shivering!'
'Nothing,' Michael lied swiftly. 'It's nothing. I just thought...the pain pills and the wine. I didn't know what to think. You just scared me, that's all.'
'That's it?' she pulled back to look at him, smiling dubiously. 'He who battled Lucifer? Scared by a little glass of wine?'
'Oh, come on,' Michael sat back on the floor with a sigh, clutching his chest. 'Don't make fun of me. You nearly gave me a heart attack.'
'I'm fine,' Maria crawled into his lap and laid his hand on her heart. 'See?'
Michael studied the light in her eyes in comfortable silence.
'What if I could take you home with me?' he asked suddenly. 'I mean...I know that's a long shot. But what if.'
'How?' Maria asked.
'It's called a divine dispensation. He hardly ever gives them. But if I can...do you want to go?'
'You said humans make poor angels. Something about us being wrapped up in our problems.'
'Not as an angel,' he waved a hand. 'As an angel,' he closed his eyes softly. 'I don't know. Even I don't know how it works.'
'You're asking me if I want to die?' Maria arched an eyebrow.
'No, not if you want to die. I know you don't want to do that. Jesus,' he put his head against the arm of the sofa and sighed through his nose. 'I think the big guy wants me back, Maria.'
'Can't you refuse?' she asked hopefully.
'No,' he said.
'Why?'
'Because...I don't want to,' he admitted. 'Being an angel...it's my job. It's what I am. I love it, Maria. I don't want to give that up,' he gave her hand a squeeze. 'But I don't want to lose you either.'
He slipped his arm around her softly and nuzzled the warm crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent. 'Do you trust me?' he whispered, laying his hands on her pulsing throat.
'Yeah,' she nodded, her eyes slowly filling with a flickery, chilling fear of change. 'That much I'm certain of.'
'OK,' Michael said softly. 'OK.'
000
Michael clutched Maria as a vortex of kaleidoscopic light opened in the ceiling. As it vacuumed them both in, Michael sensed her human body weakening. Words stuck in his dry throat as she shuddered once, turned to ash and fell apart. Michael closed his eyes, awaiting His judgement.
'I'm so sorry, baby,' he whispered to the air, his arms empty. 'So sorry.'
Her warmth and mass returned. Michael jolted. Maria lay in his arms in a light body, her eyes flickering as she woke.
'Your wings are coming apart!' she exclaimed. His feathers blew free in the gusting, warm wind. For each one that shed, a new feather made of shimmering light replaced it. 'Michael...can you fly?' she asked curiously.
'We're on the way to Heaven...after what I just did to you...and you choose now to ask me if I can fly?' he chuckled as the tunnel faltered and disintegrated, leaving them on Heaven's front step. Michael set her down and took a step back.
'Hold on, baby. And...don't freak out. OK?'
His flesh turned to ash and blustered away.
'Well?' he asked, and Maria opened her eyes nervously. He gestured to his shimmering, angelic light body as it took on the colour and texture of clothes and skin, nervous of her reaction. 'What do you think?'
Maria touched his cleft chin. 'You're made of light.'
'I'm solid enough, baby, believe that,' he grinned, grasping her warmly around the waist.
'What about me? You said I can't be an angel.'
'Same,' he smiled. 'You've been reborn...in a light body like mine. Divine. Dispensation,' he smiled. 'Do you think you can you deal with it? It must feel so weird. I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't want to frighten you.'
Her smile blossomed as she stroked his half-bare chest and touched the high arch of his broader, longer wing.
'I think I'll get used to it,' she smiled.
'Now, now,' he pressed his lips to her cheek lovingly. 'Better lay off the wings or we won't make it to see the big guy at all.'
Familiar laughter stopped Michael dead. He looked up to see Gabriel with one broad hand on the apprentice's shoulder. They were both shaking with mirth, their eyes full of love.
'You?' Michael frowned at his brother.
'I,' nodded the archangel, smirking.
Michael grasped Maria by the hand. 'You're such a bastard, Bro. But I love you.'
'Come on,' he produced a cigarette and popped it between his lips. He lit it with a flame from his fingertip and shrugged at her surprised expression. 'The shit's over now, baby,' he grinned. 'Time to party!'

A/N - R&R folks. :)
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The Spaceman