Also heads up: decided to just get all the tags posted here to save myself some time formatting. Any additional warnings for the remaining chapters will be posted here as well.
"He was once called the Morning Star. He had been a paragon of angelkind, looked up to by all for his passion and strength. Lucifer, bright and beautiful. And The Father loved him most of all."
Gabriel speaks to his approaching quarry in no particular hurry, the words tempered only by the quiet scrape of metal against ice, growing ever closer. Regardless of this, his gaze remains fixed on the distant corpse, chained in the heart of the blizzard from ceiling to floor. It's long since rotted, fallen apart beneath the weight of his sins, and the relentless cold.
"Then, mere days after the creation of the Earth, and its eternal prison, he challenged The Father for His throne. Him, and a number of others. We cut them all down, casting them out of our kingdom and into this inescapable prison."
"They were the first demons; the ones your kind have brutally rent apart."
In the corner of his eye, he watches the machine pull up out of their slide. Their remaining steps are cautious, coming to a stop right at the rocky shores of Treachery's vast, frozen lake.
"We only ever spoke of him with disgust after; used him as an example for mortals." His tone softens unintentionally. "He became a cautionary tale of the fate that beheld those who strayed from The Father's Law."
An empty laugh bubbles up his throat, but does not escape, smothered by the momentary surge of exhaustion he feels.
"Fitting then, that my final judgement should be here, for the very same crime."
He at last glances over to the warmachine. Their unblinking optic does not waver from him, as if they're waiting for him to finish speaking.
"Do you... have a name, Machine?"
There is a silence after those words, broken only by the roaring gusts of snow between them. Angel and automata observe one another with cautious but steady gazes. Gabriel silently counts the seconds, each one bringing him closer to his impending demise.
Finally, they lift their hand, and point to the letter and the number on their chest; the one just above one of the strips of light.
"'V-1'." Gabriel reads, and their wings flick up and down in response. "I see."
He turns to fully face them, breath fogging out of his helmet for just a moment before it's gone with the ceaseless wind.
"This is the end of your rampage, V1." He draws Splendor, and then Justice, the sound of his blades unsheathing for the last time echoing through the freezing winds. "Soon, there will be no blood left anywhere in Hell, save for what I possess."
"You want it?!" Gabriel takes to the air. The radiance of his wings and halo cut through the gray, igniting the snow with glorious blues and golds. "Come and get it!"
Coins are flying into the air before he can even finish his speech, and Gabriel eagerly anticipates the pain that will follow.
"SHOW ME WHAT YOU WERE MADE FOR!"
Hands shaking his shoulder force Gabriel out of his dream, and back to the waking world.
The blinding glow of the midday sun, streaming in through a gap in the drawn curtains, greets him. Even as his eyes crack open, a heavy grogginess tugs at every one of his senses, urging him to sink back into the pillow once more. But he forces himself to move his head from where it's half-burrowed into its cushion.
The source of his awakening ducks into view, golden light almost nonexistent in the radiance of the late summer light. He hears a low whirr, accompanied by a gentle puff of air.
"Machine," He murmurs, voice slurred with sleep. "What--what is it?"
V1's hand takes his own, the talons of their red arm tapping at their exposed fuel lines.
"Oh, you are-" he's interrupted by a yawn. "-hungry."
A nod. It belatedly occurs to him that he must have slept for an entire day. He ought to get up, water his garden, and return to his self-appointed duties. But he's still so tired; it's a fight to stay awake, and he's already beginning to lose out to the sheer exhaustion weighing down every one of his limbs.
Just as Gabriel starts to reach for the energy to sit up, one of their free hands grasps at his shoulder, urging him to remain still. Like they had somehow sensed his intent to rise.
Formless words of protest rise up on reflex, then comes the sharp, but precise, swipe of their claw along his palm, cutting into the pull of sleep. But he must have somehow become near-desensitized to it, for even that is not enough to completely rouse him. Before the blood can spill over onto the clean sheets, they press his wound to their chassis.
Their touch feasting upon him, like always, brings about a mild source of discomfort. But the sensation is still a welcome one. It grounds him, somehow. For if nothing else, it is a consistency in this uncertain eternity.
V1 holds it there for a full two minutes. He's almost asleep again when the familiar release of spring-loaded wire, and the subsequent winding of pulleys, unexpectedly breaks the silence. Their green arm lowers to his hand, and just as it's pulling away, something soft is pressed firmly in its place.
Gabriel only distantly registers the gentle feeling of gauze wrap pinning it to his palm, before it's carefully set back upon the sheets. The machine slides off the mattress and steps out of his peripheral. As the sound of the patio doors opening and closing reach him from the other room, the archangel is left staring, dazedly so, at his bandaged hand.
A faint memory of V1's hands upon him rises to the surface. Of their steady fingers plucking tack, staunching wounds, tending to each one with a gentleness that Gabriel hadn't ever deserved.
Sleep takes him mere moments later, but their phantom touch follows him into his dreams.
Almost four days to the hour since they convinced Gabriel to rest, and he still shows no sign of fully awakening.
From their vantage point at the bedroom doorway, his snoring rolls over them in deep rumbles, rhythmic in nature. One broad shoulder rises and falls in time with his breathing. He is, for all intents and purposes, sleeping peacefully.
V1 crosses the threshold to check his vitals anyway.
They circle the bed in silence, facing Gabriel's curled up form. Carefully, they reach for his neck, slipping two fingers right below the rim of his helm. His pulse beats steadily against their digits, and a small timer in the corner of their HUD counts down the seconds to a minute.
It turns out to be an unneeded endeavor, for his temperature remains within nominal parameters, and his heart beats at its average resting rate. But something within their chassis relaxes upon confirmation. He is alright; that they are certain of.
What they are not certain of is how long he will need to rest to make up for the deficit. Cognitive breakdown occurred in humans after ninety-six hours without sleep. Gabriel had clearly gone without for far longer than that. Would it be tomorrow? Days from now? Weeks?
There is no way to really know, just as there is nothing more to be done here. They have enough fuel for another day as it is. V1 withdraws their hand from his vulnerable jugular, and turns towards the patio door running parallel to the bed.
As they slip out onto the balcony, external readings register the surrounding air at a blistering thirty-seven degrees. A hot summer day, if the season could still be called that now. It was a perfect day to explore, maybe even finally head towards the outskirts of the city and explore its surrounding suburbs.
V1 leaps from the balcony to the rooftop with a stored slam, crests the narrow eave of the rooftop, and breaks into a sprint. They run to the western end of the building, ready to bound over the street to the next block over.
But then they spare a glance down at the gardens, simply out of habit.
Their visuals pick up on a difference immediately, bringing them to a sudden halt. They amp up their rendering, and confirm that many of his plants are duller in hue, and their leaves drooping and shriveled beneath the onslaught of sunlight. Shit, didn't his plants need water to survive? It hasn't rained in a week; humidity levels have dropped significantly since the last storm system passed overhead.
Meanwhile, Gabriel has been sound asleep; the flora he so painstakingly placed into the dead earth has gone uncared for for days now.
From their perch on the rooftop, V1 buffers. They don't know the first thing about plant care, but they don't want to wake Gabriel. Odds are, if he saw the state of his garden, they would never be able to coax him back into the cool shade of the apartment again. Letting the plants die is simply out of the question.
Every memory of Gabriel crouched over his horticultural efforts is jammed into their simulations program. A course of action takes longer to calculate just from the sheer volume of information, but the generated outcomes spur them to leap from the rooftop down to the street level.
They start by retrieving his watering can, left lying on its side at the edges of the small field. The size and shape is swiftly calculated to hold a volume of approximately seven-point-five litres. Gabriel always held the curving nozzle over his plants for around eight seconds each, but the extra dryness from a couple days' neglect might mean more water will be required. The question being: how much more did it need?
...maybe they should just completely drain the container over each plant?
They'll try that first. If nothing improves by the time they return tomorrow morning, they'll just have to increase the amount.
The gardening tool fills with a single dip of water, several kilos heavier than the base weight. It sloshes about loudly as they walk to the first garden; the one their fight ruined. The debris has since been cleared away, the soil smoothed, and filled with other plants. Almost like it hadn't happened at all.
V1 begins with a plant bursting with flowers, their bright red petals rimmed with yellow. They lift the can over the approximate center of the cluster, and tip the nozzle over. Sparkling droplets catch the sunlight as they roll off the petals and leaves.
Gradually, the weight of the watering can lightens, and the earth below the plant darkens. It is... easy, surprisingly so. Keeping a plant alive is, as it turns out, not a difficult task.
Thirty seconds pass, leaving the soil completely soaked with water. Hopefully, the plant will be revived under the continued attention.
V1 glances towards the rest of the garden, optic prepared to narrow in on the next plant, when it occurs to them just how many more there are in this one, compared to the last time they stood here.
They straighten quickly, and stare out beyond the encirclements. Out to the tiny field he had carved out, and filled almost halfway with plants, in the three weeks since their fight. This isn't even taking into account the plants beneath the opposite garage, nor what's left in the pottery.
Including the time it took to get water from a trough for a refill, variable entirely by distance, this was likely to take up a few hours to accomplish. How Gabriel had the patience for such mind numbing tasks, V1 did not know. Only that they were likely to fry a circuit from boredom by the time they finished this particular undertaking.
V1 refuses to give up; Gabriel's mental well-being depended heavily on the health of this garden. But perhaps there is a way to expedite the process.
Their processors hum as they run several calculations. It had taken thirty seconds for the entire container to empty entirely, but dashing to and from the water source should greatly reduce the time. Fifteen seconds seems sufficient enough, but what if that still isn't enough to keep the water-starved plants alive?
Alternatively: they could just dump it all out at once. It's worth a shot.
A course of action planned, V1 pivots on their heel, vents blasting them across the soil-stained acrylic. Swiftly, they submerge the watering can beneath the surface of the trough's contents. As soon as it emerges, they dash right back to where they were. V1 comes to a quick stop before the next plant, tips it over-
And only an eighth of its contents emerge from the top, splashing off of the tiny-petaled flowers and splattering in the dirt.
As this sudden turn of events sinks in, V1 slowly turns back to the location of the trough, several puddles of water reflecting the endless sunlight leading right to where they stood. V1 winces internally as they cut the last two dashes from their routing, and the overall time increases as a result.
Nothing for it. They need to get this done.
Fortunately, a light jog back from the water source only spills minimal amounts. V1 heaves it up above their shoulder level, upending it over the plant.
And beneath the heavy deluge, a few of the center most flower snap cleanly in half, while others still bounce dangerously low to the ground.
V1 flinches at the sight, frustration warring with the sudden surge of shame. Fuck, aside from the most minimal of optimizations, there really isn't any faster way to handle this. And what the hell are they to do about the broken flowers? Maybe he wouldn't notice?
... perhaps it would be best not to risk it.
The warmachine carefully plucks at the snapped end of the stem, and tucks them between the fingers of their Whiplash. The blooms themselves are unharmed, but they would not last long disconnected from the roots. They'll have to dispose of them elsewhere. For now, V1 slips them into their satchel, well out of sight.
V1 steels themselves for the task ahead. Some internal part of them is already grumbling with dissent as they dip the gardening tool into the well-filled water container, and haul it back to the next plant over. And they know it will only grow louder as they spend more time here, wasting precious daylight keeping his plants alive.
But the last thing they want is Gabriel awakening to a dead garden, and subsequently losing even more sleep attempting to repair the damage. This they could do; something small. Just the simple favor of looking after something important to him while he rested.
But when every plant is sufficiently watered, and the sun lilts towards the west signifying the early afternoon, V1 vows to make sure he eventually knows that they're never doing this for him again.
Beyond the darkness that fills his eyes, hands roam his body. One with wicked talons that split him open from shoulder to pec, and the other with featherlight fingers that trail down his stomach. The metal digits are hot and cold all at once, leaving icy flames in their wake.
(Just below the wound, his heart pounds wildly against its cage, still beating despite his best efforts. The shards of his shattered beliefs, sharpened to a razor's edge, cut angrily into the throbbing muscles.)
As warm blood blossoms upon his skin in the wake of phantom pain, Gabriel's hips rise to meet their touch. They stutter with an aborted thrust when V1's teasing caresses glide over his pubic mound, only to taper off to his inner thigh.
"Machine... '' Gabriel's plea is little more than a hoarse whisper. But his utterance is met with claws teasing at the first cut. Every scrape of its razor edges feels like a lover's caress, slowly driving him mad.
They flip him onto his front, helm pressed flat to the ground below. It is still dark, but he can hear the sound of tiny stones scraping against the holy metal. His hips are yanked into a sinful arch before their dick is spearing him open.
(Roiling agony coils around the frantic organ tighter and tighter, like a hungry parasite, until it's poised to crush it beneath its strength; to rob him once more of clarity and peace.)
V1 sets a punishing pace right away, and Gabriel can do little except cry out as the electric shock of pain bleeds into the searing hot euphoria. The slap of metal upon flesh fills the air, wet and obscene. And he can barely hear it over the moans being punched out of his throat.
"V1... " Their name escapes him unprompted, and their rhythm stutters at the sound.
He senses their body arching over him, two of their hands finding his hips to guide his pace. Needles stroke along his spine, unspoken intent oozing from their tips as they graze along his unmarked skin.
"More!" He whispers, voice choked with desperation.
Just as quickly as they had pushed themselves in, V1 sinks their talons deep into the small of his back, fuel rapidly pooling across his shoulders and spilling into the dirt beneath his cheek. He can feel them beneath his skin as they keep wiggling the sharp digits in farther, before it curls and grasps into his very muscle and sinew. Pain bursts behind his eyes, timed with a hot pulse that comes from deep within his core.
"Please..."
(Rip it out of him, this rotted faith burrowed deep in his heart; clinging to him still like the shredded remains of a second skin.)
"Help me."
Their talons tear his flesh away from his spine in a spray of blood and gore. Gabriel's rapturous cry shatters the darkness, bursts of golden light blinding him as it flees his breaking body. Those same claws reach for his ribcage next, ready to rend his bones apart and claw their way to where he's still so achingly vulnerable-
And his eyes fly open to flashing neons, dancing through a thin sliver in the surrounding darkness. Bright, colorful, and almost painful to his weary gaze. Gabriel simply shuts his eyes again in response, dazed from the spectacle already.
Somewhere beyond the hypnotic lights, his clit throbs, as if reminding him of his dream, cut pitifully short. Right. They haven't had sex since their fight.
Scratching this particular itch had become the furthest of his concerns. Nevermind that V1 had shown little to no interest in the more physical aspects of their... truce, sparring or otherwise.
(It makes the thing lodged in his chest fester all the more persistently, like an infection left alone for too long, and poisoning any attempt at removal.)
As his arousal is slowly overcome by his perpetual exhaustion, dragging him back into the realm of dreams, Gabriel can't help but distantly wonder if they would still want him, after everything.
"Machine... !"
Gabriel's moans echo in their head, even in the absence of his hot, panting breaths rolling over their plating. Internal fans just whirr harder in answer as they grind their palm against their silicone nub, stroking their cock in time with each press.
V1 watches the sight of their own fingers sink into his cunt, glistening against a backdrop of neons and soft carpet. The memory shifts to one of his writhing back, onyx flesh littered with scratches, and his ass desperately rolling back onto their dick. A jolt wracks them as a loose wire, sticking out from their hip joint, is tugged sharply by their Whiplash.
They pretend the hand is Gabriel's, clawing at their plating with that insatiable hunger of his. It just makes their pussy clench down on his thick fingers as they burrow deeper and deeper, stretching them to their limits. V1 twitches their hips upwards as they're fucked harder, hunger running rampant in their wires; they want more of this, more of him, more of Gabriel-
An orgasm hits them unexpectedly, making their systems freeze and flooding their visuals with brief, but rhythmic bursts of static. For about three seconds, their hips seize as ecstasy wracks their frame.
And then just as quickly, the pleasure subsides, leaving them prone on their bed with their fingers still buried in their oversensitive, abused cunt. V1 blinks their shutter open to a sunlight-tinted ceiling, and lets out a long, exasperated whirr. By all means, they've driven away a few weeks worth of built-up tension, and the remnants of their frustration with Gabriel, to boot, but their afterglow leaves something to be desired.
It's missing the sound of heaving breath, the delightful warmth of overheated flesh pressing against their steel body, sticky with sweat and the occasional patch of dried blood. Their pleasure centers had clearly gotten used to having sex with a partner again; they've never felt so unsatisfied after rubbing one out.
They're tempted to stay in bed and have another go, but it's been a week since Gabriel fell asleep, with no sign of another storm anywhere on the horizon. Two of the containers he brought for water have already been emptied, soaked into the ground for his plants to drink, and V1 has no earthly idea where he got it before the rains arrived.
Withdrawing their soaked digits from their pussy, the warmachine throws their Whiplash in the general direction of their desk, the crack of a winding pulley splitting the quiet morning. The spearhead snatches up a stained rag sitting by a dissected holopad, and they clean their cum-splattered plating with a quick few wipes.
It's quick, methodical; by the time V1 rolls to their feet, panels closed up, any and all salacious thoughts have been firmly pushed away. They head for the exit with brisk steps and a clear head.
(If Gabriel still wants them after they finally figure out how to repair their friendship, V1 is going to ride his fingers until their servos shorted out.)
Paradise burns.
Gabriel dazedly wanders ivory-brick streets, listening to the choruses of screams and shouted prayers, and the blazing roar of gilded towers alight with fire. Heat rolls over him from every side, hot like the rotting breath of Gluttony's heaving lungs. Flames, leaping from broken windows and arching doorways, lick at the edges of his chiton.
His feet carry him past the blurred forms of angels flying by, with no rhyme or reason to the direction in which they flee. He cannot remember the reason they are so afraid. Had the machines breached the gates of Heaven, impossible it may seem? Or was this the chaos of their beloved maker vanishing into thin air?
(Is this what he condemned Paradise to, when he decisively eliminated its subjugators?)
Yet Gabriel does not see any flashes of steel, nor any burst of fire from extended nozzles, and certainly no guards struggling to bring order amidst the terrified crowds. Only flashes of angels as they scrabble aimlessly through the air, like a panicked flock of birds trying to evade a predator.
A shadow moves across the plaza, blotting out the radiance of the sun here in the Fourth Sphere. Gabriel looks up, and his legs become weak from the relief that fills him.
The Father is home; he's returned from his long absence.
His mighty hand, radiant and loving, reaches now to embrace his children after so long-
And Gabriel cannot move. Shadows swarm at the edges of his vision, blocking out the hand reaching for him to crush, to destroy, to utterly obliterate him and the rest of his people.
His chest heaves with wild panic, eyes fixed on the ceiling above as he beholds--
Nothing.
The midday sun pours through the gap in the curtains. That it is even here to offer Gabriel it's warm splendor was a miracle, let alone that he is alive to witness it. But its presence is not enough to chase away the images of his nightmare.
(What if he had managed to bring V1's head to the Council to begin with? Would Hell have been weakened enough by then to be destroyed? How many more days of peace would Paradise have had before its unmaking?)
He can only lay there, and reel from how horribly, painfully lucky he really is.
"Take what... want... "
Gabriel's half-aware words tumble out in a soft murmur, before his ever-present snores cut through the silence again.
V1 looks down at the hand they had so gently grazed with their own, lifting it higher from the mattress. Gabriel barely even reacts when they slice his palm open, just with another incoherent mutter escaping him as they press his injury to their chassis.
The morning of the ninth day had dawned bright and beautiful. Precipitation at last passed over the city, and persisted all through the night. All they need is a refuel, to check on the plants in the garage, and they'll have the whole day to explore. At the very least, their little ritual does not interrupt his rest. Gabriel sleeps on, tangled in a mess of sheets and pillowy down.
But it does not aid in soothing their insistent concern; if they focus on it too long, it will begin running their programming in pointless circles. All they can do right now is let him rest, watch over his plants, and hope that something will have improved when he finally wakes up in full.
There's no need to waste any further daylight watering today, but the warmachine still swings by the gardens for a quick confirmation. The greenery seems to glow in the presence of the early morning sun, and jewel-like dewdrops glisten where they're nestled in the petals of the flowers.
Good, they can probably skip tomorrow, too. Even with the recent rain, the other troughs are beginning to run low on water.
Minutes later, after deeming the soil of the shaded garden still sufficiently damp, they're leaping between the high-rises, and following the marked path on their barebones mental map of the city. V1 hasn't been this far north since before their fight, instead opting to explore in places as far from Gabriel as possible. Now, they feel a bit better about using his gardens as a starting point for their more recent explorations.
The directions featured on the holographic event advertisement by the subway entrance, dated mere days after Mankind's fall began, are painstakingly committed to memory as they follow them. Because the ill-fated event itself is not important, but rather, the location of which.
At last, nearing the final turn at least two miles north of where an archangel sleeps, they pull up out of their slide. V1 has no breath with which to hold, but their fans remain eerily silent as they round the street corner.
The building they've sought out almost takes up half the block. And unlike the last one they had visited not a month and a half ago, the only sign of damage here are the toppled sculptures in the courtyard, broken into chunks or into many pieces. A holo sign projecting from the base of the steps flickers erratically, but they catch enough of its glitching letters to make out a single, vitally important word.
‘L-I-B-R-A-R-Y'.
The exterior looks virtually untouched. Good. Now, the question that remains is if the interior was in a similar condition. If even just one of the public information consoles in here somehow worked, they'll have access to every scrap of data in the facility's digital repository.
The front doors are intact, but there's a mess of bodies in the antechamber that makes them internally wince. In the glow from the overhead skylight, V1 notes the splatters of dried bloodfuel. It decorates the floors, walls, and the acrylic window of the librarian's desk one room over. The source of which all lay scattered in the form of limbs and torsos across the stained, dusty floors. Not the first thing they had wanted to see at a place like this, ironically enough.
Ignoring all this, V1 picks their way across the makeshift graveyard, and to the next set of doors. There is considerable less light shining through the cloudy glass, but not enough to warrant need of their flashlight, quite yet.
Whatever was supposed to take place here clearly hadn't started yet, but a slew of overturned tables and toppled drink cups tell a grisly tale of what had taken place instead. Fortunately for them, the worst of the deaths had been in the antechamber. Perhaps from fleeing blood-hungry robots when the fall began.
Otherwise, everything else looks relatively untouched. Perfect.
Offline projectors line the walls, with countless comfortable-looking chairs, loveseats, and low tables to sit on just below them. To the far left, a big information desk. And to the right, a set of stairs leading into the upper rooms. More places to search.
Physical books, especially pre-New Peace classics, had been regulated to private collections and personal use rather than libraries. Meanwhile, all manner of resources, information, and human literature had been regulated to digital formatting, and stored in on-site servers. At least, that had been the case for the lab library.
It looks to be the case here, too. There's not a single bookshelf in sight. V1 won't know for sure if this place is deprived entirely of physical media until they search the whole building. But for now, they had bigger priorities.
And at the other end of this vast communal are several rows of darkened terminals, dusty but intact. They stand out against a dull mural, faded from dust and time, and marred with a single splatter of blood upon its surface.
V1 clears the remaining space between them and the back area with a single bound, and give the first terminal they can reach a thorough search. It does not flicker to life when they hit the power button, but there are several more yet to try.
Their luck thus far holds. Upon hitting the power switch of the ninth terminal they check, V1 catches the distinct whine of processors and batteries booting to life. Hardly daring to believe it, they watch as the holos pour from the projector, and present them with a flicker, but functional library portal.
V1's wings flutter in their pack with excitement, quickly getting their hands onto the projected menu and navigating it eagerly. They scroll past icons of search engines, used specifically for things like browsing dissertations, essays, open-source programs, coding tutorials...
And then, when they at last locate the list of books available for download, their fortune finally runs dry. Everything is locked behind library card access.
V1's internal fans whirr with irritation. There was always something. They wouldn't even know where to start with that. And if the access codes are not in physical form, they'd be locked out for certain.
... or they could connect themselves to the input port and try to brute force their way in, or even hack into the administration accounts and add themselves in. Either way, they're going to need cables. That pile they accumulated for the projection cube is a good place to start.
V1 backs out of the login page, continuing their perusing of the rest of the library's available content. They already know most of the coding languages available, which brings them to the open-source programs immediately after.
Art software jumps out at them first, with colorful icons and small space requirements. Right after that, 3D printer patterns, a slew of spoken language learning applications, even one dedicated to gardening.
V1 rapidly declining interest flares sharply when they reach a section near the end of the page. The programs available are smaller in number, to be sure. But that matters little when they recognize one of the icons: an ancient instrument colored purple and blue.
Apollo's Lyre.
One of their technicians had always been fiddling around with the program in his downtime. He would always let V1 linger in his office after software updates, letting them listen to his latest project. In the final days of the lab, he had gone as far as to show V1 how to use the program. And they still had that knowledge, committed it to their memory even long after they lost the chance to try composing something themselves.
... well, Gabriel couldn't be the only one with a hobby around here.
More than satisfied with themselves, V1 shuts off the terminal to preserve the hardware. They log "Search for more cables" and move it near the top of their priority list. It sits right below the scheduled objectives, "Check on Gabriel at 900 hours", "Water Gabriel's garden", and "Refuel from Gabriel".
When they're finished here, they'll get to sweeping the surrounding area for cords and the like. But in the meantime, that staircase to the upper floors is calling their name.
Confessional booths were created with remorseful sinners in mind, not disgraced archangels of God.
But somehow, Gabriel finds himself crouched in one anyway, reliving a life spent in arrogant pride and terrible wrath. Yet silence follows his every sentence, every word, like all of existence itself were eager to hear his countless transgressions.
There is no one to pass judgement for the judge, after all.
"I have fallen into delusions of righteousness, believing my actions to be that of the Lord's." His voice aches from speaking for so long now, but it has taken so long to list all of his sins. "I have given false hope to those simply seeking redemption for their mistakes, I have taken the lives of countless sinners, including a man who possessed far more honor and kindness than I ever did."
Heresy's perpetual crimson glow pours through the frosty glass of the door. It washes over his onyx skin, his gauntlets, splashing them with the illusion of fresh blood.
Gabriel swallows, and finishes his confession with a wavering tone.
"I have hurt my friend." He murmurs. "They were--they told me a horrible truth I could not accept. I became so angry, and I took my wrath out on them."
"I don't deserve this." The words tumble out of their own accord. "I'm not supposed to be here."
A damning silence follows. There are no words of comfort nor a blessing from the other booth; there is no absolvement from God. An archangel has never needed it before.
Bereft of forgiveness and deprived of punishment, Gabriel is all but cursed to live out his remainder of eternity with the weight of his guilt. It stands poised to crush him, looming over him like the cramped walls of the booth, built to house a mortal sinner rather than a regretful angel.
Gabriel stares down at the blood on his gloves, rolling off of his fingers in steady drops, or in marring the untarnished gold in long-dried stains. Is this the blood of the Heavenly Council? Are these patches of flaking red from when he struck down Minos? Or is it all just from the innocent souls he's crushed beneath his heels over the years?
How could a reminder of something so horrible still bring about a sight so beautiful?
A sound breaks him from his silent reverie; the gentle rapping of metal on glass. His gaze follows it to the frosted window, and beholds the silhouette on the other side.
Golden wings cut through the haze of ruby, haloing a single source of light fixed directly at him. The shadow of their palm rests upon the other side, smearing it with the blood on on their own hands. The very moment their eyes lock through the window, those wings flick with recognition.
How had they gotten here, to this quiet corner of Heresy's grandest cathedral?
V1's optic tilts and then rolls back twice, as if beckoning him to come out. Then they turn away, walking onwards until he starts to lose sight of their light amidst the descending curtain of darkness.
Gabriel all but jumps to his feet, scrabbling for the knob and giving it a desperate twist. His shoulder slams into the door, and it swings open so quickly he almost falls flat on his face.
And he finds that it is raining. But these are not the bloody tears of Dis, nor the angry storms of Wrath. This is simply rain, soaking his wings and streaming down the pointed chin of his helm.
He watches as the blood on his gauntlets begin to wash away. The stains remain, they always will, but the diluted red begins streaming off his fingers to fall to the ground below. Slowly, it begins to run clear.
From where it splashes into the barren soil below, greenery begins to sprout, and then spread beneath his boots in all directions.
His gaze follows the blossoming stretch of verdant, rolling all the way to where the machine's distant form is swathed in a gentle glow, warped by the sheets of water falling between them. A hand lifts, beckoning to him once more, before he sees their outline shift in place. Somehow, he can easily picture them crossing their arms, just like they always do when feeling impatient.
Almost like they've been waiting for him awhile now.
With a deep breath, Gabriel spurs himself to keep walking, where his friend lights the way through the darkness, and onward.
Thunder crackles overhead, loud and sharp and far too close-
And as it echoes into the distance, the muffled sound of rain ushers it into silence. Colorful lights dance at the edges of his vision, watery through the crack in the curtain at the other end of the room. Gabriel closes his eyes again, without really meaning to.
Then he opens them again to the first hints of sunrise, slowly washing away the night.
Gabriel blinks, the distinct silence falling loudly upon his hearing. Full awareness returns gradually, with flashes of half-remembered images flooding his mind's eye as it does. Slivers of lights, flashing endlessly through rain and darkness, the golden glow of late afternoon haloing the thick drapes, V1's hands on his own, drinking from him in silence.
How long had he slept for?
His muscles scream at him as he pushes himself upright, but are quickly silenced when his arms lift over his helm, pulling them taut in a much-needed stretch. Gabriel holds it for ten seconds, a soft, involuntary groan rumbling in his throat, followed by a sigh when the tension releases.
He feels... better; leagues better than he's felt in years, now. Any lingering exhaustion has completely evaporated from his body.
Still, something nags at the back of his head, insistently so, telling him repeatedly that he's forgetting something important. It prompts him to push away the sheets bunched around his hips, and slide out of bed, feet carrying him to the patio doors. His lungs pull in the cool air of the darkened bedroom, and then he draws back the curtains.
The neons are dimming as the sun prepares to come up. Puddles litter the terrace outside, and droplets fall from below the railing of the wrought-iron fence. Petrichor fills his nose as Gabriel slides the door open, gaze instinctively traveling upwards towards the heavens. There's not a cloud to be seen in the brightening sky.
Still, any amount of rain is welcome. Especially after how long the Earth had likely gone without it prior. His gardens always thrived after a good storm-
"Oh shit."
Despite the fact that he's only a mere eighty meters from where his handiwork began, Gabriel expends the energy to teleport directly there. The echoes from the first still ring through the air as he stumbles back into reality, bracing himself for the sight of shriveled leaves and brittle stems-
Only for his eyes to be treated to the sight of green, overflowing from every hole he dug, sprouting well above the surface of jagged polymer edges that encircle it.
His panic declines just as quickly as it had risen, but it's effects linger as he pushes his wings into a glide. Up and down the block he goes, scanning each and every plant, every tuft of grass with a keen, practiced eye.
All of them flourish still; he doesn't even know how long he slept for, but nothing lies dead or dried or neglected. Has it really rained that much?
Yet several of the troughs are merely half-full when he checks them. His watering can is consciously absent from where he vaguely recalls setting it down last. Someone's been looking after his plants in his absence, and there's only one person that someone can be.
Gabriel's wings turn, and he rushes through the concrete gap to float over the first shallow hole he opened up in the road all those months ago. His overhead vantage point, and the light of his wings, give him a full view of the garage. Of the lush, verdant carpet of grass, the near-empty containers he kept diligently full, and his few possessions. Meanwhile, his watering can sits by a small, mesh bag that had certainly not been there before.
No doubt about it: V1 had been performing his duties in his stead. How long had he been out for, exactly? Why hadn't they just woken him up?
His wings take him to the bag, heavy with flaking tulip bulbs. It looks a little charred, but more than likely, they'll come up around springtime if he buries them now.
Then that's what he'll start with, then.
Before he gets back to work, Gabriel spares a single glance at the projector cube; still broken, still untouched since... sometime before he fell asleep. His hands are steady again; he could try fixing it. V1 had gone out of their way making sure his plants stayed alive in his absence, after all, nevermind the bulbs of a plant he thought extinct on the Earth.
It would be the least he could do.
But ultimately, Gabriel leaves it untouched, wings automatically carrying him back out into the open air. Sunrise streams through the gaps in the high rises, dappling the greenery with its golden touch. The bulbs are set near the far of the meadow. Dewdrops glisten in the growing daylight, flowers rustle as a fresh breeze rolls over his skin, promising more rain a few days from now.
Gabriel's hands grip the hilt of his shovel tight, moving to stand where he remembers he wanted to plant the zinnias. His arms pull up, and plunge the tool downwards-
And he stops.
The tip just barely presses into the dirt. With more force, it would burrow deep into the earth, and lift away with more; the first move in this dance of basic gardening knowhow. But instead of continuing the ritual, Gabriel instead stands there, staring down at the empty earth.
He didn't need to plant these right now. They'll be fine somewhere cool and dark, until the winter winds come rolling around, however that would take form on this dead, dead planet.
Gabriel wills himself to start digging; plenty more plants still sit in pots awaiting transplant. There is still so much to be done to restore this wild world back to its former glory.
But instead, Gabriel looks down the vast swath of acrylic he's already cut away, all the grass that has grown and all the plants that thrive in the soil, in spite of poisons and plastics and fire. There's so many. Eventually, it will become a challenge just to keep it all alive and watered, especially when the rain season comes to a close.
Yet even this realization is not enough to banish the exhaustion he already feels just thinking about it. Why does he not want to continue? He is well-rested, his strength has returned to him, and Sloth is a cardinal sin, after all.
(No, it isn't. It's only one part of an arbitrary ruleset to test mortal souls with, its definitions warping as time went on.)
His frustration with himself grows the longer Gabriel lingers there, idling away the golden hour. There are still so many things he could be doing. He could go get more compost, he could just get back to work, he could go sit and sulk the day away, he could finally fix that damn cube. But he doesn't want to do any of that. He wants...
What does he want?
In the face of all the time in the world to garden, to read, to repair, to discover, what does he want out of this terrifyingly vast amount of complete freedom?
The shovel falls away from his loosening grip, clattering to the ground and startling Gabriel out of his thoughts. The blade glints in the sun, duller than he remembers it being when he first began his labor.
He's nearly overcome with the childish urge to kick it, swing it around, see if it would break open more of the road from the sheer force alone. Maybe then all this pent-up energy would release itself, and he could garden in peace. Or maybe it would just break; it's a tool meant for one thing and one thing only, after all.
... he could do what he's always done when his thoughts become too much.
And the very moment that thought crosses his mind is the moment he knows exactly what he's going to do. Gabriel doesn't let himself think much about his decision; he just takes to the air, and flies back to the apartment to retrieve his armor.
After all, the worst V1 could do is say no.
(He's not sure what he'll do if they say no.)
On the night of the tenth day, it rains again. All that needs done on the eleventh morning is to check on Gabriel.
V1 makes a quick detour to the crowded kitchen for their satchel on their way out, filled to the brim with newly collected cables. The moment it's in hand is the moment V1 takes a flying leap over the marble-top island, calculated and precise. Light hits their plating, and their built-in navigational systems instruct their servos to take a sharp turn to the right. They crouch into a slide, from which they skid into a powerful jump that brings them onto a glass skybridge.
The motions are familiar; this is the route they've been taking to reach their only source of fuel since he... ‘settled' there in the business district. Their body knows the path so well that it allows them to turn their focus to other things. Namely, further attempts at mending their relationship with Gabriel, at caring for him where he has been faltering. And at the very top of that unsatisfyingly short list of possibilities, is a recent discovery that holds promise.
(Their investigations of the library had not only yielded a treasure trove of digital information.)
The simulation plays out with high statistics of success, for a chance of clear communication. With this, they would apologize to him for their needless reveal. They had not meant to hurt him, yet it did not change the fact that they did anyway. This course of action is likely to not fully mend the distance between them, but V1 will try.
For both their sakes, they will try.
And then a blinding flash of gold, hung high in the endless sky, catches their attention and throws all those odds right out the window.
For the third time in a month, Gabriel has caused them to lose their sense of balance mid-movement. This time with his physical presence rather than just frantic thoughts about him. V1 almost doesn't latch onto the eaves of the rooftop in time, heels digging into the concrete wall in a panic to keep them from taking a tumble.
The archangel has seen them, too. He floats against an abyss of morning blue, wings almost undetectable against its brilliance. V1's legs automatically push off of the surface before their feet lose their strength, and bring them to the next rooftop over. From their new vantage point, they see what it is, exactly, that had alerted them to his unexpected presence.
He's donned his armor; they haven't seen it on him in weeks now. They're not sure what to make of this development in the slightest, between his unexpected appearance, and the sight of Justice and Splendor hanging from his hip.
He is awake, of his own accord; awake and armed.
Gabriel descends without a word, landing at the exact opposite end of the roof. His boots hit the ground with barely a clatter, the picture of grace. For a moment, V1 is uncertain of his intent, standing here before them with nary a word about it. But then Gabriel shifts, simply resting a hand upon the hilts of his blades.
"V1," He addresses them in a neutral tone, but the short pause that follows alerts them to the fact that he's steadying himself. "I have something I need to tell you."
They have to make a conscious effort not to let their wings flick instinctively in response. That he had come to them, of his own volition, is promising enough that he's ready to start talking to them again-
"But before that," His spine straightens, heels together like a soldier at attention. "I have a request to make."
V1 slowly, measuredly, tilts their head to the left, even as their racing thoughts heat their processors enough to activate their cooling fans. They hear him take a breath through his nose.
"Will you grant me the honor of a spar, once more?"
V1 buffers, even as some part of them anticipated this being the case. They calculate the risks, weigh their desire to care against their eagerness for the chance to battle him again. Before the silence can stretch for more than five seconds, V1 nods in answer.
As Gabriel moves to draw his swords, V1's simulations briefly attempt to parse the meaning behind his request. Is he simply attempting to find common ground with them again? Or does he intend to fight until one of them perishes?
By the time they've banished that particular train of thought, Gabriel is speaking to them again.
"Don't hold back." He says, raising the blade of Justice to point it directly at them. "Fight me like you mean it, Machine."
It's a testament to their trust in him when something about the edge in his voice alone pushes away their doubts. V1 barely registers the sound of their satchel hitting to the ground, loosened from their shoulder almost instinctively. They haven't seen this side of the archangel in weeks; the one that relished in violence, in bloodshed, in a passion for struggle.
If Gabriel wanted a fight, they would gladly give it.
V1 eagerly draws their revolver first. A coin forms in their hand, ready to fly, as their battle data on him loads out with a thought. Their heel pivots, their vents flare with heat, and they're flinging coins into the air as he surges charges forward, his swords missing them as they dash immediately to the left once, and then twice more.
Right as they swap to the electric blue of their railgun, Gabriel vanishes in a pillar of light and an echoing shatter. He then reappears not five meters above them, his swords slashing through the air-
And the electric stream of their railcannon shot misses him entirely. Its trajectory is redirected out into the sky, vanishing from sight when the charge runs dry.
In the microseconds V1 has to process what had just happened, he's upon them, almost as quickly as he'd cut one of their coins in half. His shoulder connects with their chassis, and sends them flying across the rooftop.
Their pneumatics and gyros kick into overtime to right their tumbling form, and they skid to a halt just at the opposite edge of the rooftop, right where he stood. His laugh cuts through the quiet of the morning air as they withdraw their nailgun, fixing their attention on their quarry as his wings tinge with gold, a sorely missed sight.
"Oldest trick in the book, Machine!" He taunts, spiraling away from them as the spray of tack chases him. Has he always been this fast? His movements are clocking in several units faster than what they'd come to know is nominal.
He swoops back in for another strike, and they greet him with the Knuckleblaster. The blast tears them apart with an echoing crack, buying a precious few more seconds for processing.
Gabriel had mentioned before not needing to sleep. Whether he had intentionally lied, or was parroting something he had been told, they do not know. Now, his heightened speed and reflexes make it clear that proper rest has had a resoundingly positive impact on him. He stood a greater chance at beating them in combat, now.
But if there is anything V1 excelled in, it's adapting on the fly.
The warmachine adjusts their reaction time, narrowing it down to the very margins. Blood boils in their heating chassis, visuals plunge in quality, and they fire a nail magnet in the empty space he approaches. A satisfying screech of rending metal fills the sky as they switch forms once more, and fire burning shrapnel through the air. The tack flies around him like an angry swarm of bees, droplets of blood raining down.
It draws them like a moth to flame, darting through the fuel sprinkling in all directions, and costs them a plastic vein on their thigh when Gabriel's downward slash slices it open.
"How satisfying, making you bleed!"
In answer, they throw an uppercut with the Knuckleblaster, ripping the flesh of his side open as he's blasted away again. His blood splashes onto them, and hunger surges.
V1 gets more daring, spurned by the artificial adrenaline that fills them whenever they rip precious ichor from Gabriel's flesh. How had they gone this long without the hot splash of ambrosia across their plating? The rush that fills them with every dodged attack?
They clash midair, parting after an overcharged shotgun blast. A sting ripples up V1's thigh as he spirals past them with a manic shout, leaving behind a gouge in the plating. A cannonball collides with his exposed stomach, knocking the wind out of him briefly. Gabriel kicks them into the wall of a building, and V1 nails him with a charged shot in turn, bouncing off the coins they had thrown not moments prior.
All around them, the world has become something like a blur, swirling with light and color and sound as their body navigates them through the buildings and streets on autopilot. Everything has narrowed down to their spar, to the archangel who dances around them with twirling wings and joyous laughter, jeering at them with every missed attack. In turn, their systems buzz with positive feedback, almost drunk on the sensation.
Some part of them never wants this to end, but a larger part of them still wants to win.
They slide under his next swipe, swiveling around to land another railcannon blast. His spinning swords meet it halfway, and clatter to the ground as bright red bursts like a flower at the impact point. V1 throws themselves back at him with another overloaded explosion, flying over the street as their fuel levels tick to the halfway point.
Gabriel's wild charge is heralded by an incoherent yell, morphing into laughter as they crash together in a tangle of limbs and blades and the world comes to a sudden stop. The barrel of their revolver presses firm to his chin, finger steady on the trigger-
Right as the edge of his sword touches the joint of their neck, pressing daringly into the sensitive steel.
Gabriel's lungs heave for air as their fans scream in their chassis. They're aware now of his palm wrapped tight around the blade of one of their wings. V1 hadn't even realized he'd gotten a grip on it when they had collided. Instinct almost, almost, kicks in, almost spurs them to squeeze the trigger and put a bullet directly into his brain for touching them. Just as quickly, Gabriel would be able to lob their head right from their shoulders if they chose to, perhaps even before they could fire.
And yet some part of them knows that it won't happen. They're not going to pull the trigger, just as they know Gabriel is not going to behead them.
Because their spar has ended, for the first time, in a tie.
Ten days Gabriel had slept, utterly dead to the world and their growing turmoil. He emerged from his period of rest even more a worthy opponent than ever. Is this his true strength? Is this the man that almost single-handed demolished an army of desperate husks, subjugated all of Hell, and cut down hundreds of his own brethren?
(If he hadn't been so deprived of rest, so overwhelmed, so riddled with suppressed agony, would they even have won that first fight?)
Slowly, yet at once, their weapons lower. Gabriel's grip on their wing loosens enough for them to drop back down to the ground. His veiled gaze does not once stray from theirs as they steady themselves on their feet.
Silence reigns now, settling so suddenly at the end of their spar. Neither of them move, like they're just now seeing each other for the first time. At least, that's how V1 feels. And it makes them feel strangely giddy, renews their fascination with him tenfold, and leaves them shaky with relief.
Fuck, they've missed him.
Never have they wanted a voice more than they do now. If nothing else than to tell him that; tell him how much they cared about him. More than the fuel, more than their sparring, more than all the sex. That they've missed him so much, that they were sorry, that they didn't mean to hurt him-
Gabriel is the first to break eye contact, jolting them from their frantic thoughts just in time to catch him sheathing his swords with a simple flourish. The moment their blades disappear into their scabbards, the archangel drops to his knees, and then falls forward onto the palms of his hands. His entire upper torso dips in a deep bow, staring resolutely at the ground.
They don't even know how to react to this new development, until he at last speaks.
"I am sorry, V1." He says. "None of this was your fault, yet I... treated you like it was."
He breathes in, as if collecting himself. At first, his tone is steady, but it begins to waver as he goes on.
"I know I asked you for some time, but the truth is, I was terrified that you wouldn't--that we wouldn't ever..." He swallows, thickly. "You've done so much for me, and I've repayed that with fear. I did not mean to push you away; I did not not mean to hurt you. But it does not change what I did to create that distance."
The instinct to refute this rises, but then dies down as a prickle of old resentment stings their thought process. Well, yeah, after that admittance, he could've at least tried to reach out at the start of this mess. But they're not entirely sure how they would have handled it then, reeling still from their own mistake.
Their audials then detect a tremor in Gabriel's voice, snapping them out of their thoughts with a small shock.
"I can't continue on like this. This--every day, the uncertainty of where we stand eats away at me." He sucks in a shuddering breath. "I miss our spars, I miss your company; I miss you, V1... you have given me a life that I don't deserve, and it is the most terrible, wonderful thing anyone has ever given me."
His head dips lower, like a sinner awaiting divine punishment, voice dropping to a whisper.
"I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, not after my treatment of you, but... I can't bear this loneliness any longer."
"Please... forgive me."
Five seconds pass in utter silence, with nothing but Gabriel's shuddering breaths and the whine of their fans dying down to mark the time. V1 still isn't entirely sure how to react to this, but not for a lack of empathy. Quite the opposite, in fact.
At first, reflexive exasperation surges. He couldn't have just opened with this, first? And then request a spar afterwards? Did he really need to prelude his apology with a fight, especially after the drastic amount of sleep he'd denied himself?
Why the fuck does that make them want to laugh? They're suddenly so shaky with relief. It overtakes everything: their remaining anger, their sardonic amusement at the whole thing, their lingering worry. But certainly not how much of an asshole they feel like.
They don't know what to do; how to give form to the words they want so desperately to say to him. To grant him the forgiveness he craves. To tell him how sorry they were for hurting him, that they still wanted this; the spars, the sex, his presence in this empty, empty world.
V1 drops to their knees, and reaches for his shoulder. Gabriel stiffens beneath their touch, but does not flinch. Slowly, his gaze lifts from the shattered concrete to meet theirs, and their best attempt at a sorrowful expression.
"I... Machine, are you... ?"
What can they do? How can they leave no room for doubt? Must they write the words in the dust on the ground-
...
They move their hand to tug insistently at Gabriel's, coaxing him upright. As soon as finishes rising up on his knees, V1 turns it over to face the sky. There, they see the scars upon his palm, to match the ones littering the rest of him. His wounds that have fed them, healed them, kept them alive and at his side.
Their finger slowly begins to trace over it, in slow, deliberate movements. Gabriel remains silent as they finish the last shape, giving form to the words that have haunted them for weeks now.
I F-O-R-G-I-V-E Y-O-U
For a moment, they worry he won't catch on. But then Gabriel's head bows with a trembling rush of breath, faintly echoing with a sob. V1 squeezes his hand, and he clutches at their grip like it's a precious thing.
"Th-thank you," he whispers, voice choked with emotion. "Thank you... "
The war machine opts to give him a few minutes to compose himself, but he recovers swiftly, hitching breaths gradually steadying out. The moment he looks back up is the moment they begin writing again.
I-M S-O-R-R-Y T-O-O
It is a moment more before the archangel speaks again.
"V1, there is nothing for you to be sorry for-"
They shake their head, a long whirr leaving them as they elaborate.
I H-U-R-T Y-O-U
Silence follows this, but it's broken shortly after when Gabriel's shoulders heave with a sigh.
"Yes, it did hurt." Gabriel murmurs. "It still does."
They have to bite back the urge to flinch, but Gabriel's other hand hurriedly clasps atop their own.
"But I value your company far more than anything else in this world, more than the pain this knowledge has inflicted upon me. You have to believe me, I am not angry with you. Please, V1, don't blame yourself for this."
At first, his declaration makes their pumps thrum, causing their emotional logic to run haywire in a way they couldn't even hope to parse. Just that it feels good, makes them ecstatic, and at once, frightens them with its strength.
But then the latter part of his words sink in. V1 gives him a look; like he hadn't also just admitted to still feeling responsible for their fight. And it's a testament to his ability to read their mood, when all he does is release a shaky laugh in answer to their deadpan glare.
"Oh, we're both awful at this, aren't we?"
That's a resounding affirmative in their book, but their fans still rise and fall with a sigh to match his earlier one. They reel from these revelations; he isn't angry, he missed them, too. The tightness in their chest lightens just a bit more, down to more tolerable levels.
V1 doesn't notice Gabriel closing in on them until it's too late.
His arms encircle them, pulling them tight against his shredded cuirass. The hollow sound pulls them from their giddy spiral, instinct threatening to flare against the strength of his grip pinning their folded wings in place.
But the pressure of his arms around them, battered armor and healing flesh alike, triggers something. They experience a slow but steady flood of reward signals. It isn't heady like sating their bloodlust, nor is it salacious in nature. But the rush is no less addicting. Couple that with the crushing relief coursing through their wires, and V1 feels something close to lightheadedness.
Their arms wrap around his bare waist in turn, squeezing him back. Gabriel slumps into their embrace with a shuddering breath. It's wonderful, and they don't know why they hadn't asked for one sooner.
As things turn out, hugs do, indeed, help.
"I have so much to learn, still, and to forget." Yeah, so do they. "But for now, just know this: I meant every word I said, about needing your company, for as long as we both have left in this world."
He sucks in a shuddering breath, and his next words make their reward center ignite with such incredible warmth that it makes them dizzy.
"I forgive you too, my friend."
The grass cushions his feet comfortably, and its very touch is like a balm for his nerves.
Thin blades of delicate green spring up when he shifts them, thriving alongside hardy clover and sprouting leaves. It's a soothing sight, alongside the vibrancy of the other plants abloom with larger, fuller leaves, even if their flowers are beginning to die.
Just to his left, V1 lies flat on the grass, wings splayed carefully to not bother any of the other plants. They are clearly comfortable, but their attention is rapt upon him as he continues speaking.
"There were many, many times, all throughout Mankind's existence, that I would feel the stirrings of doubt. But I never once let it take root. Sympathy for their plights led me to do what I could for them, and yet I continued to carry out their punishments, with no intent for true mercy."
"I have no excuse at all for what I did, for all the suffering I inflicted; I will have to live in regret of my actions for the remainder of my existence."
Gabriel swallows around the heavy knot sitting in his throat.
"I meant it when I told you that I don't feel as though I deserve this; any of this." His heart squeezes in his chest as he confesses this, still laden with guilt. "That I should be here, when so many others who deserve it more are not."
V1 does not move, nor prompt him to continue, as he takes a moment to further steady himself. A moment he had never earned; one drenched in afternoon sunlight, the fruits of his labors thriving all around him.
Yet it is something for himself. A small sanctuary of life in a ruined world; a place he's shaped with his own hands, not by Divine command, but because he had wanted to try.
Voice steadier, Gabriel finishes.
"But in spite of all this, I am grateful you told me the truth, V1."
Their wings flick against the ground with clear surprise, head tilting sharply to the right.
"I would have spent the remainder of my days believing my creator had no fault; had simply just died all those years ago." A sting accompanies this declaration, in spite of itself. "I will never know why The Father did things the way He did, for He took his reasoning with Him to His death."
Gabriel looks over to face them fully.
"And in that same vein, V1, you have given me more freedom than I ever could have hoped for."
The archangel had never thought such a thing could be found in exile. Paradise is forever out of his reach; never again will he walk among his people, whether they still lived or not. But he was not alone, and at last, not without purpose.
From now on, he would live on his own terms; for himself, and the one who made all this possible.
"Thank you, V1." He tells them. "For saving my life, many times over, now."
With a rolling motion, they sit up just enough to grasp at his arm, squeezing it once before releasing it. Gabriel parses its meaning in a moment, and cannot help the relieved smile that tugs at his lips beneath his helm.
"I have one more thing I'd like to say." Gabriel straightens, reaches back, and grasps at the half-completed cube. V1 had, helpfully so, informed him that it was beyond repair. "I know you have forgiven me, but I'd still like to replace this."
They blink, head tilting just a tiny bit, and their optic shutters squinting up at him.
‘Are you sure?' The machine silently asks.
Gabriel nods.
"Before you... revealed everything to me, I was simply happy at the prospect of finally learning more about you. And--and if you'll permit that still, I will work to make that possible."
V1's internal mechanisms rise and fall with a low hum, with one finger touching their optic rim. Almost acting contemplative. The machine holds this position for about five seconds, before Gabriel realizes he's being teased.
"Machine!" He huffs, and they promptly break character, shoulders shaking with mirth. Gabriel cannot help the laugh in his tone either. "I am being serious."
Their hands hold up placatingly, even as they continue with their chortling. But then they take one of his own again, and trace another word into his palm.
O-K-A-Y
V1 does not linger much longer; the both of them certainly had a great deal to think about tonight. Hours after the machine disappeared around the block, Gabriel had refilled the water troughs in their entirety. The repetitive actions allowed him the focus needed to turn the day's events over in his head.
Twilight stains the sky when Gabriel ducks back into his sanctuary for the final time today. Instead of reaching for a new tool, he instead plucks the poetry book from the top of the small pile. It's been wiped down; V1's doing, no doubt.
He's read it front to cover thrice now. Something about the promise of renewal laden in its words had brought some comfort to him before, wrapped in imagery of brilliantly verdant summers, sprouting shoots, and the atmospheric phenomena that made it all possible. Gabriel craves it now, more than ever.
But as he takes flight, another thought strikes him before he can reach his usual perch. It draws his attention to the south end of the street, to the apartment building at its western corner.
A bed would be far more comfortable than the concrete eaves of the rooftops, and a dry communal room would be a safer place to store books.
Their patience lasts a day, bolstered by the innate feeling that they both needed just a bit more time apart. It's spent kneeling beside a working terminal for three hours; one is spent narrowing down a compatible cable, and the other two from setting up their bypass and obtaining a newly minted admin account. It isn't even noon by the time they're back in the townhouse, idling in their bed and fiddling with the virtual drum machine. V1 amps up the repetitive sounds in their head, in volume and frequency, until it drowns out their sense of restlessness.
The following morning, however, starts with a preset internal timer waking them at approximately eight-hundred hours. Upon rebooting, V1 springs from bed, hands snatching up their satchel on the way out.
In record time, they've reached Gabriel's gardens. V1 slides down final stretch of unbroken road, turning the block by bouncing of a broken down car, hurtling towards the start of greenery and rolling to their feet-
And he is not here.
A quick peek into the garage yields no sight of the archangel either. It's quite likely he's gone to get more plants. Well, hopefully he's not going be too far into whatever unknowable agenda he has laid out today. They have other plans involving him; the most important one of which involves dragging him to the northern areas of town.
But if he's somewhere they can't immediately reach, there's nothing for it but to wait. V1 plops down on crossed legs before the little field, switching to idle mode. In spite of their state of lowered power consumption, restless energy still plagues their system.
Days now they've waited out Gabriel's hibernation period. It shouldn't come as a surprise he's gone right back to gardening following their reconciliation efforts. But would he still spare time for them if they interrupt his little ritual?
(In their humble opinion, Gabriel has done enough horticulture to last him the rest of the month.)
Five excruciating minutes pass by in complete silence before something changes; interrupts the utter stillness of a dead city, a dead Earth:
Rhythmic thumping, followed by a muffled curse. By the time the sound resumes itself, their advanced audials have guided them back up the street, and around the block to its exact location.
A cloud of dust falls to the sidewalk from a single patio. The presence of which is accompanied by a single archangel, currently beating a decent length of shag carpet with the bristle-end of a plastic broom.
It takes about thirty seconds for Gabriel to notice them, after they move to stand just out of range from the cascading filth particles. His helm pokes out from over the railing a moment later, center of the cross fixed upon them.
"V1?" He questions, and they answer with an easy leap up to the balcony. V1's heels balance deftly on the iron handrails. "What is it?"
Instead of a reality-shattering truth, or a selfish request, V1 simply grasps at his hand, and gives it a tug. Their hand points emphatically in the exact direction of the library, and his hidden gaze follows it.
"Do you want me to follow you?"
They nod. Yes, yes they do. There is so much they want to show him; so much they know he will be excited to see. V1 is practically bouncing on their heels when he nods in answer.
"Very well. Uh, just a moment while I put my boots back on."
He ducks inside. V1 is about to follow when the contents of the opposite kitchen counter, poking out just from around the corner of the dividing wall, catch their attention.
All his recorded possessions, save the broken projector he'd, thankfully, thrown out, have been moved from the garage to the apartment. On top of that, with the further evidence of cleaning the interior, scattering dust and letting in streams of sunlight through the glass doors, he plans to set up residency here.
V1 allows themselves a bit of pride, knowing now that their persistent care was having even more of a positive impact on him. Didn't need sleep, indeed.
They've only taken the route thrice now, but they lead him to the library with precise movements, accelerated by their sense of excitement. Gabriel keeps up with a frightening degree of speed, soaring alongside them with every jump and wall-bounce and slide across unbroken polymer. When they finally skid to a stop in the front courtyard, the archangel lands right beside them not a second later.
The faceplate of Gabriel's helm lingers upon the flickering letters upon the stone sign, before wordless following them through the door. They hear him let out a hum of sympathy as he navigates the many broken bodies that litter the floor of the atrium.
V1 guides him swiftly to the terminals across the main hall. Their metaphorical breath holds as they hit the switch once again, and let it out in a silent whirr when it powers on smoothly. They hope it holds out long enough for them to find a working holopad.
"Oh," Gabriel breathes, gaze rapt upon the grainy holos as the menu for the book inventory unfolds before him. "Incredible. I knew that Mankind had found a new way to store information, even after they had forgone the written word. But to have so much kept in one place..."
Well, admittedly, that had backfired spectacularly when global Wi-Fi went down, entire cities were torched, and machines left no stone unturned in their hunt for blood. Servers like these are a veritable goldmine.
Gabriel says no more on the topic, for something catches his attention in the list of books. V1 feels strangely smug at the surge of interest he displays. It would not be a difficult feat to teach him how to obtain this information. They would need to find a holopad for him to use first, though.
But that wasn't what they had brought him here for. No, their true gift to him, something like their own attempt at an olive branch, lies upstairs.
He starts as the holos abruptly vanish beneath his fingertips, courtesy of their own tapping at the power button.
"V1, what--wait, I thought you-"
The warmachine shakes their head, and beckons to him to follow once again. A huff leaves him as they turn away striding towards the dusty, carpeted steps.
"As impatient as ever." They hear him mutter, before his heavy boots trudge after them.
It's only a single flight of stairs, cut in half at the center by a small landing turning left. Upon reaching the top, they emerge into a darkened hall that turns to the right after ten steps. At the very end is a cracked, wooden door, distant sunlight streaming through in a thin sliver.
A bronze, burnished plaque sits in the upper center, glinting in the glow of their optic: Sumadi Baton Private Collection, it says. They look back at Gabriel as he stops short behind them, visage fixed on the contents of the plaque.
"A 'private collection'? Is this a gallery?"
They shake their head, but give him no more time for guesses. Instead, they stride right to the polished handle, and tug it open. The indirect light coming from the opposite end of the atrium floods into the hallway, glowing upon the dusty but soft carpeting.
In between all of that, books.
Rows and rows of books stretch between the doorway, the many seats and tables and couches meant for respite, and the tall windows that allow in the still-rising sun. V1 lingers by the doorway as Gabriel stumbles in behind them, clearly at a loss for words. Only to come out in a jumbled mess when they at last return to him.
"I... when did--oh stars when did you--V1, this is--"
As Gabriel whirls around to stare at them, the feathers on his glowing wings quivering with excitement, and they can't help but flare their own with pride when the happiness in his tone reaches their processors.
"This is incredible! When did you find this?!" And then he's off, afterimages trailing in his wake before catching up to him by the shelves, tugging out the first hardback he can get his hands on and skimming through it swiftly.
"In excellent condition, too. Someone must have taken care of these... "
He turns back to face them, clutching the open book with trembling hands. Yellow tinges the edges of his wings. They don't think they've ever seen him so excited before. Not even when they would find him seeds.
"Thank you, V1. For showing me this."
They cross the stretch of carpet to squeeze at his armored bicep, for just a moment. But before he can turn his attention back to the vast trove of knowledge, ripe for the parsing, V1 slips a spare satchel out from their wing, and offers it to him with a knowing lilt of their helm.
In spite of the clear skies that had heralded the day, rain chases the two of them back across the city when they depart the library, and overtakes them by the gardens.
Clutching his bag of treasures closer to his bulk, Gabriel swoops towards the patio, and hurriedly tugs open the glass door. Moments later, V1 is sliding under his arm into the dry apartment in a blur of blue and gold. They come to a halt right by the far end of the couch, dripping water from every gap in their plating.
"I never thought I'd look forward to the end of the monsoon season." He mutters, dismissing his wings before stepping inside. Behind him, there's a splash as the liquid soaking his feathers hits the concrete surface.
V1, meanwhile, simply shakes themselves dry, scattering raindrops all over the nearby furniture.
"Machine!" He scolds them from where he's leaning down to remove his boots. They at least have the nerve to look a little sheepish as they set their own satchel, full to bursting, upon the low table. Gabriel just shakes his head, leaving his greaves on the scratchy welcome mat he pilfered from another apartment.
"Well," Gabriel slides the door shut, adjusting the heavy bag of books from where it hangs on his arm. He just hopes the straps don't rip. "Make yourself at home, I suppose. It's likely that this won't stop for a while."
V1 is already way ahead of him, seating themselves comfortably on the dusty carpet with their back to the table. Without looking, their green arm reaches back and up to snatch a book from the top of their collection.
Gabriel sends one final, contemplative look back out at the storm. He had hoped to be finished with cleaning the apartment today, but the kitchen rugs have been condemned to the patio for the time being. They'll dry quickly in the sunlight whenever it returns.
In the meantime...
Gabriel slips out of the living room and into the kitchen. An array of objects now cover the plaster countertop, recently dusted thanks to the small collection of cleaning supplies he'd scavenged. Everything else he'd been keeping in the garage (sans his gardening tools) is here now.
Setting the satchel at the far end, Gabriel begins pulling out his selected books one at a time, checking over each one for any water damage before setting them beside the first three, in neat stacks of six.
The last one he keeps in hand, and brings it with him back to the living room. V1 is fully engrossed, barely even looking up from the material to acknowledge him as he seats himself on the opposite couch.
Neither of them are large enough for him to recline comfortably, but that matters little to him when he flips open the cover, drinking in the author's notes before reaching the beginning chapter.
And for a time, Gabriel forgets they're there, the world narrowing down to the text, the occasional turning of a page, and the endless rainfall outside. He feels relaxed, more at ease than he has in... well, maybe years now.
The dull thump of a book cover snapping closed interrupts his thoughts, and a single eye wanders from the start of the fifth chapter to its source. The machine has closed their book; he can see a single marr in the pages from where they had folded the corner. Gabriel ponders finding them a bookmark of some form before he realizes where their half-lidded gaze rests.
He lifts his helm to fully face them.
"Yes, V1?"
Their wings twitch once before rising to their feet, the book being set down on the table and promptly forgotten about. He briefly catches the sight of the book's cover, one of cursive letters, and two humans entwined in an embrace, before they're approaching him with intent in their steps.
He's hit with the vague memory of their hands on him, stemming from a half-remembered dream during his time resting. How long had it been since they--it had been the furthest thing on his mind when they reconnected, did they really want to--
V1 doesn't touch him, but they get right up into his space, staring up at him with a single head tilt. Apparently the sight of their dimmed optic has long since conditioned arousal to begin pooling in his stomach, smoldering like a glowing coal as his body is reminded of its unsatiated hunger.
"Forward as ever, aren't you?" He can't quite cover how flustered he feels from leaking into his tone. "If you are--that is to say, I wouldn't mind if we--whoa!"
V1 doesn't even let him finish before their hand is snatching up his own and dragging him bodily in the direction of the bedroom. Caught off guard, Gabriel barely manages to keep pace with the machine, even with his longer strides. After a close call with the doorframe, V1 all but shoves him onto the mattress.
"Don't tell me that book put you in a mood--" He tries, only to suck in a sharp gasp as the machine climbs eagerly atop him. He'd forgotten how warm they are, plating eagerly pressing to his own as their hands wander across his chest, and a metal knee pushing his thighs open. Heavens have mercy, he's missed this.
But something about this is... different.
It's something about the way V1 pushes their body into his palms, allowing them to roam the plating, tracing over plastic veins, servos hidden beneath wires, the blades of their wings, finally. It's something in how they twitch and jolt and, eventually, begin to fall apart beneath his touch. It's something from the rush of headiness he gets, watching them come on his fingers alone.
It's something about how V1 pulls him in again, bodies quickly entangling, and gives him everything.
At some point, Gabriel opens his eyes, and finds that the rain has stopped, and the neons are beginning their dance through the open window, granting him a full view of their senseless show. He's exhausted. How long had they been rolling around in bed for?
Overheated metal still clings to his sweaty skin, the hum of internal mechanisms dying away into silence. The machine's helm is tucked between his pecs, and staring up at him with a still-dimmed optic. His arm encircles their lower back, keeping them there. Hands that once swung a sword with the intent to kill now find the ridges of V1's spine and rub each one lazily.
It's getting dark, they'll likely be heading back soon with their books in tow. Perhaps he could simply teleport them back; they hardly, if ever, stick around before nightfall.
Just as this thought crosses his mind, V1's head unexpectedly shifts, tilting to the side. He's about to release them when the plating around their optic simply nuzzles into his flesh. Then they settle, like they've found the most comfortable spot.
And he watches as the light behind their lens fades out, their mechanisms wind down, and they fall right asleep.
Heat prickles across the visage beneath his helm. That they should display such trust so soon. Right where they lay, warmth rises up, burrows into his heart, and settles where he's most vulnerable still.
Gabriel sinks into the mattress, hand still stroking their lower back with an easy affection, and turns his gaze away to watch the city lights dance in all their silent splendor. He's not quite ready to give a name to this feeling, sprouting from the ashes from where once his faith had rooted, and unfurling in the presence of trust and affection.
But it has time to grow now; all the time it could ever need.