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It's an evening of flight. The sun is just down, and now they stand atop the spire of Riverside Church, one of the tallest in the city. Michael has his arm around Lindon, holding him with the absent tenderness of a mother cradling her child. "I understand why Lucian can't bring himself to leave," he says, in his soft voice. "And why the Nephilim came into being. Humans are terribly dangerous to us."
"At least we won't be making Niphilim," Lindon says. His khanki and tweed are disheveled, and the breeze whips through his hair up here atop the spire. Unlike previous flights, he has started to relax; he doesn't cling to the spire, leaning rather against Michael lightly. His sense of balance has improved. "It's so good to be out," he says. "If I'm not safe with an archangel, there's no hope for me."
"I could watch over you more, if you like," Michael offers. "I don't need to sleep, and I like watching you most especially among humans. I could keep other humans from bothering you." Just what Lin's social life needs. The archangel of war guarding him with a flaming sword. "Or I could take you out more often," he adds. "And no. I can't make a human male fruitful." A beat, and, drily, "No matter how often I might try."
"I would like," Lindon says. "I know that Lamont would forego sleep and the rest of his life if I asked, but I don't want him to do that. Besides, it's been ages since I've seen you." His cheeks color a touch, and he ducks his head, laughing quietly. He takes Michael's hand in his. "Trying is, ah, the important part." He glances up at the angel, eyes bright.
There's that answering smile, like the sun at teh edge of dawn. "I agree," he says. "Creation is always pleasurable, and so are its acts. Though the labor to bring it to term is often less so."
"I don't envy women that at all," Lindon says. "I'm glad my life has led me to this point, where the chances of me getting married are practically non-existent. I don't know if I'd forgive mysef for putting someone through that." He looks out over the city, quietly radiant just to be outside. "Do you ever wish sometimes you'd had kids?"
The angel is silent. "No," he says, finally. "It's not in me, the urge to reproduce. There is a great deal of physical pleasure in the act, as one might expect of a body meant to transmit life, but….me, myself, no. I've been privileged to watch most of Creation happen, but it is not for me to enter into time that way," he notes, turning to look at Lindon, expression still tender.
"I imagine after all this came into being, one baby isn't that big of a deal." There's a wistful look about him, but nothing as strong as longing. "There's just so much going on anyway. How can anyone think about having a family? That's the downside, I guess, of really knowing how bad human existence can be."
"It's always a big deal," Michael's voice isn't chiding. But there's a faint hint of amusement. "Creation always is. That's the Divine in you, in all of you. The image of God - not blind reproduction, all life does that. But to think, to imagine. Even the smallest child drawing in the sand in the beach understands. Adults seem to forget that is their birthright." HE massages Lin's shoulders, lightly. "But I can understand. Mortal lives are fragile, and to love one is to give a hostage to time."
Lindon smiles softly as he listens, and his eyes lid with pleasure at the massaging. "Love is worth it though," he says. Looking to Michael, he says, "Is that what it's like for God to love His children? Or is it the eternal soul He sees? Or…" His smile fades. "I guess there isn't a lot of interference in our lives anymore. I don't even know that He's there."
"He sees the whole circle of time, unending. What has been, what is, what is to come, seamless," His voice is reverent. "And He is present. You are not forgotten or unnoticed. Never think it."
Lindon purses his lip, then nods slowly. "It's good to know that," he says. "Things have been a little stressful lately, is all. I can almost see the end, but I can't predict how it'll turn out. I can only speculate, I can't know the future." He takes a deep breath and lets it go. "Anyway."
Michael dips his head to kiss Lindon at the corner of his mouth, more in benediction than ardor….though the reactions that gesture can provoke are always fascinating. "I think it will turn out all right," he says, "Though prophecy is not my gift."
Lindon rests his forehead against Michael's. "I have every faith in the allies I've been blessed enough to acquire," he says. "It doesn't get much more powerful than the Sorcerer Supreme and an archangel. I almost feel sorry for the man who's after me."
"I am allowed to destroy at will," Mike does not hesitate to assure him. "I have free will there." Because that's all the reassurance Lin needs, surely.
"There are days I would give you a list," Lindon says. "It's probably better I don't keep one. My co-workers might regret it. If I knew where Hargrove were, I'd tell you. He'd be gone. It would be over." He sighs quietly. "That would unfair to you, though, to use you like that. You're not a force of destruction to me."
"I might consider it. I can dispatch evil, even though that is not my primary purpose in a specific, individual sense," he says. "And I can't find him merely by wanting to," Mike's voice is a sigh. "But I can keep you safe."
Lindon leans against Michael lightly. "Yeah," he says. "You can keep me safe. I'm not even afraid of falling anymore. You've never let me hit the bottom yet." He looks down at the street so far below. "What is your primary purpose?" he asks. "I know you've told me, but in my head, there's so much of you that's rather personal. I've actually managed to forget something."
He looks down at Lindon, "I was created as the counterbalance to Lucifer," he says, gently. "Samael is his true name, though he refuses it for now. He was the first fire of creation, the spark that begins. I am the ending, the running down, the dying of the fire. I am not Death, not the sharp transition from life in time to life out of it, that is Azrael and I do not usurp his function. I am war and struggle and chaos. All of that, too, is encoded in Creation. I have not fallen, I am part of the plan."
"Like Shiva," Lindon says. "Creation's counterpart. How fitting that both of you are here at the same time." He takes a deep breath and, still looking at the city below, he asks, "Are we on the brink of our own extinction? I just mean with things heating up in Viet Nam, and now we've got the bomb. There's no telling what's going to happen."
"I don't know," Michael says, looking out. "For I am not present when someone destroys himself. Though there are angels who come even in the depths of despair. We are more than the stars in the sky. And hope is never to be scorned."
"Hope is something I haven't truly felt in a long time. Not since this." He taps the side of his head. "I've felt happiness," he's quick to say. "And joy, and an appreciation for life. More appreciation than I had before. But in contemplating the vastness of the universe, it's too much. I would've been content just to work with my books."
"I understand. It is a burden mortal minds were ot meant to carry," Michael says, taking Lindon in his arms again. "Shall we go home to your place?"
Lindon curls up close to Michael, and he says, "Yes, there were a few things I wanted to show you, some old texts you might find interesting." Writings about angels he found while browsing his newest finds. He'll show them off and preen over them for the archangel, because nerd's gotta nerd.