Tifa met me at the door to Seventh Heaven. “That explosion. That was you, wasn’t it?”

I was tired and sore, but I took a perverse pleasure in the fact that she’d known. Obviously not everyone thought I was as useless and weak as Shinra seemed to. I must have smiled at the thought.

She grabbed me and pulled me inside, then pushed past me to look into the street. Apparently satisfied no one noticed me, she shut the door. “This isn’t a joke! I know people who live in sector eight! What were you thinking?”

“I was attacked,” I told her simply.

“You’re doing a wonderful job of proving your innocence,” she muttered, turning away and heading toward the bar.

“You’re doing a wonderful job of convincing me to help your little terrorist club,” I snapped after her. She stopped dead and looked sideways at me. I knew I needed whatever help I could get just then. I fought off the urge to push her further.

She sighed at me. “Look, you’re trying to get out of Midgar, right? Shinra’s going to be all over the slums in no time after that show.”

I crossed my arms. “Are you suggesting something?”

“I can help you get out.”

“I can do that myself.”

“I can do it without you needing to kill anyone else,” Tifa answered. Though she was probably a head shorter than me, she glared as if we were eye to eye. I felt like she was daring me.

Practically, I knew that fighting my way out of Midgar was unlikely to work. I was exhausted from the stunt I’d pulled in eight and I’d lost the only cure materia I had, so the cuts I got from those Turks were slow to heal. At least the bleeding had stopped.

There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered me but, despite the nickname, I’d become far to aware of my mortality over the years. A good soldier also knew when the fight wasn’t worth it.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked her.

Tifa frowned. “We have to get you through the gate in sector five.”

“How are you going to manage that? I’m all over the news.”

“The great General Sephiroth is, yes,” she murmured as she thought out loud, “but your look is very iconic — your hair, your sword, all that. Change it up a bit, and no one will look twice!” By the time she finished, she sounded very pleased with herself. I wasn’t quite as sure.

“Change it up? How?”

“Let me dye your hair.”

I must have stared at her dumbly then, because the idea was utterly foreign to me. I knew what hair dye was, obviously, but the idea of dying my own– well, it had come up once before, shortly after the war, when people were talking about ‘changing my image’. I think the idea was on the table for all of two minutes before my look of scorn caused the image consultant to shrivel up and die or something similar.

“Are you sure that will work?”

“It’s a start, at least. You won’t look like yourself.”

I didn’t tell her how appealing I suddenly found that idea. Instead I nodded, and followed her up the stairs. I sat at her direction on a stool in a bedroom. I guessed it was hers; it wasn’t fancy but looked comfortable, with an almost antique quilt on the bed and walls decorated with photos.

“Ready to start?” she asked cheerfully when she emerged from the bathroom, her dish-gloved hands carrying a bowl of dye. The process of coloring went smoothly, and I was surprised how pleasant the feeling of someone else working their hands through my hair was. Tifa made more than enough nervous small talk for both of us, and I was in a relaxed enough mood to let her ramble.

When she was done with me, I put on my glasses to look in the mirror while she held my long hair behind my head.

I saw the Professor staring back at me. “Holy White–” I swore, turning away in surprise. Tifa must have misread my reaction because she frowned at me.

“You look normal. It’s quite a shock, I’m sure.”

“Cut my hair,” I told her without looking back at the mirror.

“Good idea,” she answered, deliberately ignoring my anger. She pulled out a pair of scissors and went to work. I was surprised how much weight fell away, as if it were more than just hair she was trimming.

When she finished, I didn’t recognize the face in the mirror anymore. It was a relief. I could have been any random salaryman in Midgar with that hair. She ruffled her fingers through it as I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to get used to it.

“So where are you heading?” she asked finally.

“Nibelheim,” I answered without thinking.

“There isn’t much out there that’s worthwhile.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I grew up out there.”

I shook my head, noticing how different it felt without my hair following after me. “It’s where I was told to go. That’s all I’ve got to go on.” I shook it again just to feel it.

Tifa shrugged. I stood up and watched stray hairs fall to the already dusty floor.

She told me to step into the shower and get as much of the excess dye out of my hair as possible. She didn’t want to take the chance that any suspicious guard might notice something. I did as she instructed despite the fact that the shower head was almost exactly at my eye-level and it was an awkward process. The warm water felt soothing against my muscles, and when the hot water ran out, the cold woke me back up to alertness. When I stepped out, I found that Tifa had laid out a light shirt and denim pants for me. The pants were a bit short, but the waist and the shirt were far too large. I imagined they must belong to someone from her organization.

Pulling them on as best I could, I put my glasses back on and checked the mirror again. Definitely not the Professor, thank god. I made my way downstairs in search of my hostess.

“Who’s that tramping around upstairs?” I heard someone ask far too loudly to be conversational.

“Just– some guy,” Tifa answered. “I don’t need you rent-a-cops in here scaring away customers.”

“Customer, huh?” the way he drew it out, I could almost hear him leering. “Maybe we’d better go look and make sure.”

Figuring I’d save them the trouble and test my new disguise at the same time, I finished tucking my shirt in as I arrived in the main room. I didn’t know the MPs, but that was really no surprise.

“Thank you for letting me use your bathroom, ma’am,” I said to Tifa, ignoring the MPs entirely. “Mind if I order now?”

“Go right ahead,” she answered, glaring at the men. The looked at me for about a quarter of a second and then turned back to Tifa. I could see the relief on her face, probably the first time she’d ever been grateful for people staring at her breasts. Or maybe not – maybe one of her functions in the AVALANCHE cell was as a distraction

I ordered a bowl of noodle soup and made small-talk with Tifa until the MPs got bored and left, threatening to keep an eye on her.

“Are the MPs really that careless these days?” I asked her after they’d gone. I didn’t take my eyes off the door, sure as I was that they would be reappearing any minute with backup.

“Down here? That was a little ruder than average but yeah, pretty much,” Tifa answered.

“Damn, no wonder we could never seem to root you terrorists out,” I stepped up to the window. I had to see for myself that they’d really left. They had.

“Watch your language,” she replied. “You’re a terrorist too, now.”

“I keep forgetting,” I answered, letting my tone slip back into sarcasm when she didn’t really deserve it.

“I don’t see how. You hurt more people in a day than I have in years,” she snapped back without missing a beat. I started to argue with her, but I couldn’t come up with a response. She was right, really.

I sighed. “You win. Odds are I’ve killed more people in day here or there than you have in your whole life. The whole fight’s a blur anyway. What are they saying about it?”

“Four tenants and ten squatters in the University Arms died in the fire,” Tifa said. “No reported fatalities from Shinra personnel, but they never report that. At least four of them were carried away unmoving, according to AVALANCHE’s sources.”

“How many sources do you people have?” I asked, now purely curious.

Tifa shrugged. “A few, mostly rumors. A lot of our members do outreach work, and they hear things. Who do you think is down there cleaning up right now, treating burns and putting people up for the night? Not Shinra. Us.”

She was making too much sense now. No wonder so few sources ever came forward about AVALANCHE compared to the other anarchist groups that popped up over the years.

I was so busy thinking about the failures of intel that I didn’t realize what she’d said about the apartment building at first. “Wait. The Arms burned down?”

“You didn’t notice?” Tifa asked, exasperated.

“As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t. There was a lot of fire getting flung around, and I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but if I’d noticed it was on fire I’d have-” What would I have done? Gone up to Hojo’s apartment again? Tried to save something? Irena had taken everything I’d planned to take with me aside from the journal. I reached for it in my pocket and felt a surge of panic when it wasn’t there, then remembered these were borrowed clothes.

“Are you okay?” When she spoke, I realized I’d gone off in thought in mid-sentence.

“Honestly? No,” I told her. “Where are my clothes?”

“I put them in the wash. Everything smelled like a barbecue. The stuff that was in the pockets is next to the machine if you need it.” I relaxed a little, but was surprised to realize I was still upset about the building being burned. I wondered if this was what I would have felt at the Professor’s death if I’d known then.

After thirty years in SOLDIER, grief was still a rare emotion for me.

I went back over to the counter and my noodle soup, which had congealed into a lukewarm mass while I was arguing with Tifa. I poked it with the spoon.

“Oh, don’t eat that. I’ll make you a sandwich,” Tifa said, shifting back into her hostess voice. “Your laundry should be done soon and we’ll get you on your way.”

The sandwich was good, and as soon as I started eating I realized I was starving. Yet another side effect I’d happily lived without – I was getting too old to have my metabolism messed with. I accepted a second sandwich without complaint, however.

As I finished up the lunch, another official Shinra news report came on the small screen in the bar. I must have been watching a bit too intently because Tifa reached up and turned it off.

“Remember, you’re a totally harmless person now. Your ID should be arriving any time now, and then we can go.” Following her directions, I retrieved my clothes from the laundry machine and changed out of my borrowed ones. The old Turk uniform felt more comfortable now and smelled less musty, but I still felt strange wearing it. I took the jacket back off and studied the leather coat, which was unwashable and still smelled like sweat and charcoal. There were a few holes. More than that, just looking at it put me back in that mindset, and I needed to be as far away from it as possible.

It was going to have to be the Turk jacket. I picked up the journal to put it in away and noticed a few other things beneath it. A telegram, by the look of it, a small box, and a Shinra ID card in the old style – it didn’t even have a chip in it and was probably older than me.

Valentine, Vincent it read, with an employee ID number and Turk clearance beneath it, and a small, faded photo. He had to be the one Lucrecia had referred to. Now at least I had a face for the name, though I had no more idea how to free him or what I was freeing him from.

The telegram, when I unfolded it, was stiff with age. RETURN TO MIDGAR IMMEDIATELY FOR REASSIGNMENT. it read. Apparently he hadn’t made it.

The box held a woman’s ring with a small diamond-cut green materia set in it.

I closed the box and put it, the telegram, and the journal in the jacket’s pockets.

Masamune sat on the windowsill; I considered it. The sword was all but a part of me, but that part of me was the most identifiable. All the hair dye in the world would be for nothing if it was recognized. There was no way I could sneak it out of the city. Logically, every reason suggested I should leave it behind.

I still wanted to bring it. Shaking my head, I left it where it was.

“Can you keep an eye on a few things for me?” I asked Tifa as I re-entered the main room.

“Your sword?” she asked. “Thank god, I was afraid you were going to want to drag that thing along with you.”

“It’s not just any sword,” I answered, feeling defensive. “I need to know it’ll be safe.”

“I know a thing or two about contraband,” Tifa smiled. “It’ll be okay. You’re planning to come back, then.”

“To the city, yes. I haven’t decided how I feel about your group yet.”

“I think they’d feel a lot better about helping you if you were—” Tifa fell silent as she heard footsteps on the stairs outside. I stepped away from Tifa and wondered if the MPs were returning.

The young woman who’d been here yesterday walked through the door, followed closely by a large black man. He was broad and solidly built with an old fighter’s look to him – one of his hands was a prosthetic, and he didn’t hide it. When he got closer I realized he was taller than he appeared; his width made him look shorter. His hair was shot through with grey and he looked tired as he scanned the room, his eyes passing right over me.

“Did you get it?” Tifa asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I hope this sucker’s worth it.”

“I hope I’m worth it, too,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

The man looked at me in surprise. “Damn, Tifa, that’s some good work. He don’t look nothing like himself.”

Tifa smiled even as she shook her head. “It’s a rush job, Barret, very basic.”

“Fooled me,” Barret said, coming up to me for a closer look. “So you’re the one great Sephiroth who set eight on fire?”

“Not intentionally, but yes,” I answered.

I saw the punch coming and decided not to react. Fighting here and now would serve nothing, and the man and his group were doing me a favor. It was quite a punch, but I’d expected as much from the way he was built. I was just glad he hadn’t used the metal one.

“Barret!” Tifa shouted.

I shook my head, as much to clear some of the pain as to quiet Tifa. “It’s fine. I may have deserved it.” The pain was a good sign. It meant the mako was clearing out of my system.

“More than maybe,” Barret added.

“That was the only free shot you get,” I said to him, wanting to make sure this didn’t go any further. “Most people don’t get that much, but it would be bad form to repay my debt to Tifa by destroying her bar.”

Barret glared at me for a minute, but seemed to consider it. “Fine.” He handed an envelope to Tifa. “That should get him at least as far as Costa del Sol.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” I bit the words.

“This is a favor for Tifa, not you,” he answered.

Tifa dropped the dishrag on the counter. “Place is all yours, Marlene. I should be back in an hour or two.”

“You sure you’re okay going along?” Barret asked her, and I didn’t think he was worried about her ability to get back to the bar.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, and I followed her outside. “We’re going to take the fastest route I know, which also happens to be pretty quiet. I don’t know if they’re still expecting to find you downplate or not, but I’d rather not take chances.”

I nodded and let her lead. I wanted to ask her questions, but I couldn’t quite put them into words, and I was busy enough trying to imagine how a normal person should be walking. I slouched a bit, rolling my shoulders forward, and tried not to be so conspicuously tall.

She didn’t make small talk. “Is something bothering you?” I asked her.

Tifa shook her head. “I just don’t usually chat a lot in public. You never know who’s listening.” I guessed she didn’t want to accidentally detour into a political argument. We reached the sector five gate soon enough anyway. There was a line to get out of the city, and at the head I could see a pair of MPs checking paperwork.

The MPs at the gate were jumpy and distracted. Ahead of me, I heard someone get mouthy with one, and get cuffed for his trouble.

“Just look at that,” Tifa grumbled. “They don’t have to act like that.”

The line crawled forward. Someone else didn’t present his papers fast enough and got pulled out of line.

“The irony,” Tifa whispered, “is that it’s nearly impossible to put the proper documents together legally anymore. Even honest people buy fakes.” Was she serious or exaggerating? I couldn’t tell. I fiddled with the envelope she’d handed me, looking at the papers inside. I wondered if I looked casual.

It didn’t matter. All of the MPs’ attention was on the same mouthy guy ahead of us, who was yelling now and had been pulled aside along with the man with the incomplete documents.

“I did my time in SOLDIER!” he was yelling. The line trudged ahead to fill his place. “And I got sick for my trouble! Now we’ve got two-bit wannabes like you harassing innocent people-” He broke down in a coughing fit.

“Joe, let it go,” a woman still in the line begged him.

“I will not!” he shouted, but clearly one of the MPs begged to differ, because he hit the veteran in the back of his head with a rifle. The man went down in a heap. Beside me, I felt Tifa tense.

The woman rushed over to him, only to be pushed away by the same MP. The line was getting louder. People were starting to shout at the MP, to leave him alone or get the line moving. The MP was yelling back and waving around his rifle a little too freely.

“This doesn’t look good,” Tifa said.

“I wish I had–”

“Your sword?” Tifa shook her head. “You’d probably do more damage here than you did in sector eight, and you’d never get out.” I knew she was right, but it galled me just the same. I wondered how long it would take me to put the MPs down, if I had to, without any weapons on me. I guessed about ten minutes, assuming I had to fight all of them, but Tifa was right. It would get messy fast no matter how it went.

“How do you stand it?” I asked her. The MP’s partner finally came around and shook his head, telling the brash one to stand down.

Tifa shrugged. “We make a difference when we can. We don’t waste people needlessly.” With that, she stepped out of line and slowly approached the MPs. I studied her. She walked casually, but she was clearly showing that her hands were visible and empty.

“I’d like to help him,” she said, facing the calmer MP. “I know first aid.”

The first one started to say something, but the second stopped him and spoke from behind his faceplate. “Please do. It was an accident.”

Nobody in the line believed it was an accident, but Tifa didn’t argue. She knelt beside him as his companion worried, cleaned the wound and held it shut while she applied a light cure spell. The man, Joe, groaned and looked up, eliciting a happy shout from the woman.

The second MP took off his helmet and thanked Tifa. “Sorry about that,” he said to Joe and his wife. “The situation’s got everyone pretty tense.” Because they’re looking for me, I thought, surprised how disconnected I was from the conclusion.

In a minute, Tifa was beside me again. “It’s not usually this bad,” she told me.

“I hope not. It’s embarrassing.”

“It is?”

“A few days ago, these men were my responsibility.”

Tifa nodded thoughtfully. “One last thing before you go.” She pressed a PHS into my hand. “Just in case. Call if you need anything, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” I told her as we reached the front of the line.

“Can I see your IDs and travel passes?” the MP demanded. He was the one still in his helmet, and I briefly thought about putting my fist through the face plate. Instead, I handed him my documents.

“And you?” he asked Tifa suspiciously.

“Just seeing him off,” she answered, calm.

“Quite a girlfriend you’ve got there,” the guard told me, handing me back the travel pass. He studied the ID, and then my face, a minute longer. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Hard to tell when I can’t see your face,” I said, hoping it sounded funny and not sarcastic. “I used to work with the MPs, though. Long time ago.”

He laughed and pulled off his helmet. He didn’t look much older than Marlene back at the bar. I recognized him then, though I couldn’t remember his name – Denton? Denzel? – I’d spent some time in the gym with his unit a few weeks ago, trying to get a feel for how the MPs were doing. Ironic, probably.

“I don’t think so, old man. You’d have been long before my time. Never mind, say goodbye to your girlfriend and get going.” He handed me back the ID.

“Good luck, honey,” Tifa said, kissing me on the cheek. Before I could say something ridiculous in response, she pushed me forward and I stepped past the MPs.

I looked back just before I went through the gate, but she was gone.

I’d been sneaking around for nearly two weeks now, hoping to catch Vincent and Lucrecia together. I was going to expose Vincent’s secret if it killed me; I couldn’t let this go on. And so it was a small triumph when I found them together in the lab after hours, her seated at her desk, him close behind her and apparently whispering in her ear.

He was bent over her and I could see, finally see the damn fangs extended and gleaming in the sick makou glow. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing lightly – I hoped she’d just fallen asleep over her work again, and that I hadn’t missed something worse.

“Step away from her,” I ordered, using every ounce of will I had to keep my voice from shaking. This was the confirmation I’d been waiting for. I was right, but the knowledge was sick and hollow.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said without looking up. His voice was cold as his veins.

“She’s my fiancée, Vincent. Of course it concerns me.”

“She broke that off, if I recall correctly.”

“That was your mind control games. She’s been practically sleepwalking for weeks now. I’m not blind and stupid, you know. Even Gast can tell she’s sick.”

“Go ahead and tell yourself that,” Valentine murmured, then leaned forward again. I panicked as he reached her neck.

“Look at me, dammit,” I snapped at him. My hand twitched and the gun fired, grazing his shoulder.

That got his attention.

“How dare you?” he growled, pushing Lucrecia out of the way like a rag doll and coming toward me. I fired two more times, panicking, and I think I also screamed. Heart, I thought desperately, aim for the heart. I fought for control and just before he was on top of me, I fired the last three shots.

I felt his hands, claws really, rake across my shoulders and chest, and figured it was over… and then he dropped to the floor. I pushed him onto his back and he coughed violently, spraying blood on my face and shirt. I started back, but instead of attacking he went limp. Two of the shots looked like they might have got his heart. The other three were more in the shoulder or arm, but all things considered, two out of five wasn’t bad.

The bleeding stopped almost instantly. I waited to see if his body would crumple to ash or something, but it just lay there. I hadn’t been sure it would kill him, but it was still a little disappointing as the adrenaline wore off. I felt like all I could smell or taste was reduced to Vincent’s blood on me, metallic and sour.

I picked Lucrecia up and laid her on the couch. She moaned but seemed to be sleeping, not in pain, so I turned back to Vincent. I dragged his body down the hall to the storage room and the coffin I’d found in there last week. Luckily he seemed very light, some strange vampiric side effect.

Laying him in, I couldn’t help but arrange him a bit. It wasn’t rational, but… human nature, I guess.

At least I still had human nature. I glared at him and thought about Lucrecia. Unable to resist the temptation, I slapped him.

I thought I heard him hiss in response. I slammed the coffin shut and grabbed the nails and hammer I’d left in the hall, nailing the lid in place as tightly as I could. I locked the door behind me. I hid the key.

With any luck, I told myself, that would be the last I ever saw of him. Back in the lab, I checked on Lucrectia and then pulled my shirt off to treat the wounds Vincent had given me. I started to wipe the wounds clean.

They were gone. The bloody taste in my mouth was suddenly overwhelming. I ran over to the sink and threw up.

I stood there, retching, for hours.

The worst part was always waking up. It was that half-lit place where he still thought of himself as the hero, but saw the hospice around him and didn’t understand.

Cloud shook his head to clear it. The hospice didn’t go away. He wondered briefly if Shinra had captured him again before the headache set in and with it, the knowledge that Shinra didn’t have to capture him. He tried to move, but he was held tight. Wet, freezing fabric… cold packing.

He heard a door open and twisted his head, trying to see. White uniform and blonde hair came into view, long straight ponytail he locked the door behind him.

“Seth,” Cloud muttered.

The blonde turned and walked over to where Cloud lay. “Oh, good, I’m not Sephiroth anymore. You’re back.”

“So let me out,” he glared up at the nurse.

“Now Cloud, you know better than to give me orders.”

He knew he couldn’t do anything and he hated it. “Are you going to let me out?”

“You get to earn your way out,” Seth said, brushing his hand over Cloud’s cheek and then reaching for his belt. “Are you going to follow directions?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Cloud answered, and then he couldn’t speak.

++

“Good morning, Cloud.”

“Good morning, Professor.”

“And where are we today?”

“In the hospice,” Cloud answered, rolling his eyes.

“Ah, good, I’d hoped we might be here today. Have a seat,” Isaac Hojou invited his patient to the couch. “I was wondering how you’ve been getting along with the new people in the ward.”

“You mean Doctor Reeve?” the younger man asked as he sat down.

“It must be very strange for you, to have one of your doctors end up a patient,” Hojou said to him. “How do you feel about it?”

“He’s a traitor,” Cloud spat.

“Is he?”

“But he’s a traitor to you people, so he’s on our side now,” Cloud continued, more thoughtful. “We can’t trust him, but he can be useful.”

“That’s a very… mercenary attitude,” Hojou smiled.

Cloud raised an eyebrow at the professor. “Sometimes I think you’re trying to encourage me.”

“Encouraging you to talk, my boy, nothing more.”

++

“Hi, Cloud.” She spoke fast, as if she was hoping to get each moment over with. Rather than walk up to him, she stood behind and slightly to the left of the armchair he was perched in.

“Hey, Tiff,” he answered without looking up from the window. He’d been on the verge of slipping away all morning, he could feel the mountains outside of Nibelheim trying to close in on him. The fields outside were flat and sparse and staring reminded him where he was.

Professor Hojou had told him this was essential to getting better, learning to hold everything back.

“Am I Tifa today? Or Tiffany?”

“What does it matter to you?” She was quiet long enough for Cloud to spot a squirrel outside and watch it run all the way from the dumpster to the tree line.

When she finally spoke, her voice was very quiet and very sad. “When I’m Tifa, I’m pretty.” Cloud looked up at her as she smiled awkwardly, the skin around her mouth still too stiff with scar tissue to allow her to show her teeth properly. He almost pushed her away, but he knew how the tears would gather on the thickly scarred skin and he hated the way it looked and the way it made him feel.

It was, after all his fault. He closed his eyes and relaxed, lettings the other world snap into place around him, Hojou’s orders be damned.

When he looked back up at her, she was whole and smiling properly, no burn marks marring her face or neck. “You’re always beautiful to me, Tifa, you know that.”

She hugged him tightly. “Oh, Cloud.”

“There’s no time for that, we need to go up to the reactor and check out those rumors.”

Tifa hesitated for a minute and then nodded, resolved. “Whatever you say, Cloud. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“By the power of eternal love and revenge, I am the Magical Soldier Turk Valentine!” His blood-red skirt flapped dramatically in the wind as he posed, his hair flowing backwards.

The Shinra agents gasped in the darkness. “Is it true?” asked the blonde. “Are you really the Magical Turk Valentine? They told us you were dead!”

“Alas, I am not dead, though I pine for my dear, lost love. It might almost be better if I were dead. But no, I was betrayed by Magical Soldier Scientist Hojo and locked in a stasis for thirty years!” The Shinra agents gasped.

Magical Turk Valentine looked at the ground angstily.

The blonde agent stepped forward. “Help us, Magical Turk! Restore our pure assassins’ hearts, for we were once Magical Soldier Turks like you!”

Valentine looked up at them and nodded. He pulled his trusty Sniper Wand out of the air and spun it before firing a blast of energy at each of the Shinra agents. The cried in pain and fell to the ground, where their navy suits of corporate ownership faded into blue sparkles and reformed as cute uniforms with short skirts.

“I feel… clean again! I am the Magical Soldier Turk Elena!” the blonde cried, standing.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” said the redhead as he tried to pull his skirt down to a decent length. “I mean, I’m the Magical Fucking Soldier Turk Reno? Who’s idea was this shit?”

The third former Shinra agent looked at him and shrugged, saying nothing as he adjusted his sunglasses and the plunging neckline of his fuku.

“Come, Magical Turks,” Valentine said as he struck a dramatic pose. “We must confront the Magical Soldier Scientist Hojo and stop him from destroying the world!”

“Huh,” Cloud said as he watched them run off. “And all this time I thought Sephiroth was the only one with that fetish.”

I followed her there, leaving half a town mourning. I was armed with desperation and a knife. The desperation was more useful.

The sight of each youkai disgusted me. I didn’t care if they were threats — the were all complicit in the kidnap of my lover. Guards, servants, aristocrats, babies. They bled just as easily as the humans.

The guards put up a good fight and I was exhausted when I found Kanan, finally, in a dungeon below. She wept. She apologized.

Kanan stabbed herself, and there was nothing I could do before a remaining guard put his sword through my back.

***

Kanan stabbed herself, and there was nothing I could do. Laughter echoed behind me.

I watched as the youkai prince’s blood spilled out over me. My eyes followed Chin Yisou for a long minute, but the youkai said nothing.

In the end, he only looked disappointed.

“So it’s a myth after all.” Then there were claws and magic and I was on the stone floor, staring at Kanan’s body as I bled. Desperate to get away from her and from my guilt, I dragged his body outside into the rain, but only made it a few feet beyond the castle before I died.

***

I watched as the youkai prince’s blood spilled out over me. My eyes followed Chin Yisou for a long minute, but the youkai said nothing.

Then I felt it start, my muscles rippling under my skin, fingers stretching like they were being pulled on, and strangely worst of all was the painful itching in my ears.

“So it is true,” the prince said with a smile. “Better kill you before you get the chance.”

Then I was lying on the cold stone, and he was standing over me. He turned away in disgust.

The last word I heard before the darkness fell was “monster.”

***

“Monster,” my brain was screaming in Kanan’s voice. “Killer.” “Youkai.” “Genocide.” Her eyes and her words and her dagger all bored into me as I stumbled through the rain.

If I didn’t think about it, maybe my ears would be normal, and my hands wouldn’t be claws, and my muscles wouldn’t be crawling under my skin and my sister– lover– sister wouldn’t be dead. Maybe. Just keep walking.

It was a refreshing walk in the rain, really. I was doing so well not thinking that I didn’t hear the footsteps, just the dark laughter as Chin’s magic finished tearing me to shreds.

***

It was a refreshing walk in the rain, really. The night was warm and the rain was just cool enough to temper the heat. I could almost forget the jagged hole in my torso and the innards I could feel pushing against my fingers as I held it closed.

I stumbled over a root, pitched forward and caught myself. The force carried on, though, and I felt something warm and slippery slide through my fingers.

I reached for them, but I was too weak and instead I followed them forward. This time I could not catch myself.

Mud, blood, and warmth ran together.

***

It was a miserable walk in the rain, really. My hair was sticking to my neck and my clothes were soaked and I hadn’t even gotten laid. The whole night was a waste and now…

Now there was something lying in the middle of the path. The fuck?

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body. A dead one. Fuck. Better keep going.

***

Now there was something lying in the middle of the path. The fuck?

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body, a live one. Barely. I knelt down to see what was wrong with him.

“Let me die,” he croaked, his eyes closed.

Looking around to see that the road was deserted, I stood back up.

“Whatever you say,” I answered, and left him there.

***

At first I thought it was a tree or something, and then I thought maybe it was an animal and I should be careful. It might maul me or something. It didn’t seem to be moving, so I tried to get a closer look.

It was a body, a live one. Barely.

I picked him up as carefully as I could, considering he was bleeding and rain-soaked and cut open and shit.

I dragged him home, though I dropped him once and nearly did it again. Got him into bed, blood all over my blankets.

In the morning, he was dead. Fuck.

***

I dragged him home, though I dropped him once and nearly did it again. Got him into bed, blood all over my blankets.

In the morning, he opened his eyes and wished he was dead. Wonderful gratitude for the guy who saved his life, don’t you think?

I spent a couple days nursing him as best I could. Yeah, me nursing, fucking laugh riot. One night when he was feeling better, I took the bowl from him and caved to curiousity.

“So what happened to you?” He didn’t answer, but in the morning he was gone. I never saw him again.

***

In the morning, he opened his eyes and wished he was dead. Wonderful gratitude for the guy who saved his life, don’t you think?

I nursed him anyway, curious as hell where he had come from, but I didn’t want to make him nervous.

He was nearly mobile by the time the knock came on the door. It was just some priest and his follower, nothing special.

When the priest asked about him, I let him in. I mean, fuck, he’s a priest, right? And I just met this guy. What am I supposed to do?

The stains he left never came out.

***

When the priest asked about my guest, I didn’t want to answer him. I wasn’t sure why. I guess I just didn’t like the idea of some religious bureaucrat telling me how I should do things. I gave him the cold shoulder, but in the end it didn’t matter. My guest took matters into his own hands.

It was his choice, I told myself.

I thought about him as I cut my hair. As I went out. As I hit on the girls less than usual. I guess, unconsciously, I was waiting for him to come back.

Much to my surprise, he did.

The older woman looked a little embarassed as a small child passed them and sloshed milkshake on the door. “Sorry about the, um…”

“Ambience?” Shannon interrupted, grinning at Gabriel.

“Oh, it’s fine, ma’am,” Gabriel answered, forcing himself to look away from Shannon and at her mother instead. Apparently having taking his comments last night to heart, she’d arrived with her mother and brother today wearing a perfectly demure sundress. The collar was high, the sleeves went down to her elbows, the hem fell below her knees, and any minister Gabriel could think of would have approved of it.

Yet Shannon managed to wear it in a manner that Gabriel imagined would make Jezebel proud.

“This place was always Petey’s favorite, before,” she continued, either not noticing or ignoring the way her daughter was looking at the priest as the group got in line.

“Welcome to the Burger Barn, can I take your– Peter? Peter Finley?!” and then the clerk was calling over half the staff of the kitchen.

Shannon leaned over to Gabriel as her mother summarized what had happened the night before. “People’ve been doing that all damn day, everywhere he goes. Got a lot of news coverage when it happened, lots of people raised money to pay for the hospitals, and you know how small towns are. I’m surpised Ma can still find people who haven’t heard it yet.” Gabriel could only nod, an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach.

The manager of the Burger Barn, apparently a friend of Shannon’s from high school, insisted the meal was on the house. The women ordered first, then Gabriel, and finally Peter stepped up to the counter.

“Anything I want?” he asked, staring at the menu hanging overhead.

“Yeah, you go ahead,” his mother answered.

“I want…” he paused, obviously thinking, “a cheeseburger, and another cheeseburger, and fries, and chicken thingies, and a milkshake, and another cheeseburger, and can that be with extra pickles and ketchup and no onions?” The women behind the counter smiled and said wasn’t it nice and sent them all along to a table with promises of bringing the food out when it was ready.

There was a moment of awkward silence as they slipped into the booth.

“So, Peter, how are you feeling?” Gabriel started.

“I’m good but I don’t remember not being good and it’s kinda hard to get used to walking like my legs don’t work all the way but the doctor says that’ll go away as long as I just keep walking.” He was staring out the window, still talking, but mostly watching people go by outside.

“Doctors said they can’t figure out why he’s better, just that he is,” his mother said, talking right over her son’s monologue.

“What happened to him, ma’am?” Gabriel asked, trying to focus on her words and listen to the stream of observations coming out of Peter without his eyes slipping over to Shannon and her sundress. Did everyone in this family specialize in sensory overload?

“Well, the accident paralyzed him, but–”

“Wait, paralysis? As in medical, physical damage?”

“Yeah, but that all seems healed now, doc said.”

“But– spinal cords don’t just grow back!” Gabriel sputtered.

“You’re the faith healer, reverend,” Shannon winked.

Gabriel stared at her blankly, jumping when the staff arrived with the food. Peter was still staring out the window, but he looked back when he caught the scent of the cheeseburgers.

“ride my bike again except ma says I won’t fit it now and these smell really good and are all these burgers mine oh awesome I love cheeseburgers with pickles and cheese”

“They said his emotions are picking up where they left off, he’s like an overgrown twelve year old,” Mrs. Finley was continuing.

Shannon was doing things to a milkshake straw that would have been grounds for stoning in ancient Israel.

Gabriel found himself hoping his head would just explode and get it over with.

“Danny!” Peter shouted suddenly. Gabriel turned to look at him and then face where he was looking, but before he could figure out what was going on, Peter was climbing like a monkey over his lap and out of the booth. He ran across the restaurant and into the arms of a tall man in blue jeans and a cloak standing in the Burger Barn’s doorway.

“Hey, Petey, good to see you’re feeling better,” Danny said, lifting the boy into a hug and offhandedly carrying him back to the table. “Too bad I had to hear about it in the paper instead of from my mom.” He was looking at Peter and Shannon’s mother as he spoke.

“If you ever came by the house anymore, maybe we would,” Shannon spit. Gabriel noticed that she slid herself between Danny and her mother. While they argued, Gabriel gently tugged Peter out from between them and distracted him with another cheeseburger. He was trying to keep an eye on the two people following Danny — one a boy about his age in a denim vest with bright red hair and a pentacle necklace, the other a girl in all black who seemed to be frowning at Gabriel in particular.

The girl circled around the booth and stood behind Gabriel. “Interesting show you put on.”

“You were at the revival?” he asked in surprise.

“It’s important to study the enemy in his native habitat,” she answered.

Gabriel wasn’t sure he’d understood her. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Hera doesn’t lie,” she answered and stepped back to the red-haired young man, who looked more bored than anything. Gabriel almost continued the conversation, but he had no idea what to say.

“It’s not devil worship!” Danny shouted suddenly, banging on the table for emphasis and drawing Gabriel’s attention back to the argument.

“Stop it stop it stop it,” Peter screamed.

Shannon was on her feet, pushing her older brother away from the table. “You come strutting in and play dad one more time, Danny, and so help me I’ll make sure you’re not equipped for fatherhood. What did you think was going to happen when you came in here all holier-than-you, anyway?”

“I thought I would see my brother! Whether you like my life or not, I’m still family.” He was more than six inches taller than his sister, but even staring down at her, it was clear she was the one in charge of the argument.

“If you want to be family, you should do it all the time. Funny how you’re all worried about seeing him not but you didn’t much bother when ma and I were taking care of him.”

“That’s not– I couldn’t– he was–” Clearly frustrated, Danny balled his hands into fists at his sides. The red-haired boy stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, and in a moment, Danny took a deep breath and began storming out.

“Danny, be polite,” the girl hissed as he passed her.

Danny bit his lip, but turned to the shellshocked Gabriel. “Thank you for helping my brother.” He hurried out of the restaurant before Gabriel could reply, the other two following close behind him.

“Hell of a family reunion,” Shannon muttered as she sat back down. She picked up her milkshake and took a sip, only to find it was empty.

She looked over at Peter. “Oh was that yours? I was hungry.”

“Dammit, Petey, you’re awake one day and you’re already eating my desert again,” Shannon grumbled. She sounded like she was trying to be angry and was just too tired. Gabriel excused himself to the counter and returned with two fresh shakes a minute later. Peter dug into his, but Shannon looked at him for a long minute before she accepted it.

This time, when she smiled, it seemed almost friendly.

Gabriel woke up wondering how much time had passed, but he quickly recognized the backstage area and the sound of the crowd nearby. He was relieved that he hadn’t been out long.

“I dragged you back here when you passed out,” his assistant said, answering Gabriel’s question before he asked it. Gabriel found himself feeling slightly dizzy as he stared up, watching the man adjust headset and glasses that had been knocked askew.

“Should I go back out, Hunter?” Gabriel sat up, holding his head.

Hunter shook his head and smiled. “Minister’s sending them home with a nice prayer and collection plates on the exits. I can’t remember the last time you got that kind of reaction out of a crowd!”

Gabriel nodded. “And the kid?”

“Mother’s taking him to the doctor tomorrow, she’ll bring him by after that. Go lay down, Gabe, I’ll handle the cleanup out here.”

He really should go out there, but he did have a hell of a headache. Grateful for for the opportunity to escape the crowd for the rest of the night, Gabriel reached for his cigarettes and pulled them out. He started to ask Hunter for a light, but the man already had a lighter ready.

“You know me too well,” the preacher told his assistant as he stood up. Hunter just smiled before disappearing into the emptying hall. Gabriel dragged himself back to the RV he and Hunter shared on the road, stopping outside long enough to regret not having the strength to finish the cigarette, and put it out before going inside. He dropped his jacket and shirt onto the floor and managed to get one of his shoes off before collapsing onto the bottom bunk.

Gabriel woke up to a sharp rapping on the door of the RV. There was no light coming in the windows, but he looked at the clock. Eleven. That meant a few hours of sleep, anyway, and his headache had mostly subsided.

“I’m up, you can come in!” he yelled, expecting Hunter to slip in with notes or questions. As he sat up, however, the screen door snapped noisily shut behind a young woman.

“Do you always greet your callers half-dressed?” she asked with a grin.

Gabriel blushed just a little and reached for his crumpled shirt on the floor. “I was expecting someone else.”

“If you’re busy, I’ll scoot on out,” she said with a quick turn.

“No, no,” Gabriel stopped her, standing to turn on the lights. “I mean, I’m not expecting anyone, I just really wasn’t expecting you. I mean… can I help you?” He could tell now that her hair was red, and she was wearing an amount of clothing that might be called indecent for a preacher’s bedroom.

She laughed genuinely, a sound not at all like bells or the gentle things womanly laughs are normally compared to, and held out her hand. “I wanted to thank the man that healed Petey.”

“Petey?” Gabriel echoed in confusion, taking her hand.

“Peter Finley, my brother. The kid in the wheelchair.”

“Oh! Yes, hello.”

“And I’m Shannon Rose. I’d apologize for not being at your sermon, but I’m not much for churches, Reverend,” she slipped her hand back out of his. After a minute’s decision, she strode to his bed and sat down.

“You can call me Gabriel,” he answered, looking awkwardly for someplace proper to sit. He settled on folding down one of the dining benches.

“Sure thing, Gabe,” she answered, looking around. “I figured a guy like you’d have fancier digs, like the guys on TV.”

Gabriel shrugged and changed the subject. “How’s your brother doing?”

“Talking up a storm, if you’d believe that. Petey hasn’t said a thing in years, suddenly he’s yapping on about everything that wanders through that head of his. Says he saw the sun and he followed it out of the darkness. Now what do you make of that?” As she talked, she sprawled across the bed like it was a couch, kicking her sandals up on the headboard.

Gabriel couldn’t tell whether her question was rhetorical or not. “God manifests in surprising ways…” he began, but she was shaking her head.

“I told you, Gabe, I ain’t fond of churches.” She sat up, and in a minute she was practically in his lap. “I just wanted to thank you.” He started to pull away, but her lips were cool and on his cheek, and then she was laughing again.

“I’m not going to seduce you… tonight,” she winked, grinning. “I thought it was just the Catholics who couldn’t have ladies.”

“It is,” Gabriel sputtered, “but I’m supposed to be courting before I have a girl in my lap.”

“That so? You need a nice girl, is that it?” Shannon looked him over thoughtfully while he tried to form a coherent response.

“I like a challenge, preacher man. I’ll see what I can do.” She walked out without a goodbye, and the screen door snapped shut behind.

“You’re on in a minute, Gabriel.”

The blond man nodded curtly in response and stubbed out his cigarette against the side of the soundboard.

“What’s next?” he asked, sounding bored.

“Faith healing. The ushers are already lining them up.”

The preacher nodded again, turned on the microphone attached to the lapel of his white suit, and stepped into the stage light just as the local Baptist church’s choir was finishing.

“Brothers and sisters in Christ!” he began, hating this part of the service. Once, back in the old days with his dad, back when he believed in healing, it had been his favorite part. A lot had happened since then, including Gabriel’s introduction to the idea of plants in the audience who faked illness. He’d made his handlers swear never to do that again, but he still worried they were using them and not telling him.

The first few people in the line were stepping awkwardly onto the stage as Gabriel went through his usual speech about faith healing — that it was the power of God working through him, not any skill of his own, and that not everyone would be healed. Maybe he said it to help people understand if they weren’t healed. Maybe he said it to cover his ass. If there was a difference, he tried not to think about it.

The first woman swooned, a man cheered, an older woman threw down her cane. Gabriel felt nothing but going through the motions.

“Psychological cues,” he said to himself. He wouldn’t let himself believe again.

As the crowd was getting into a shouting frenzy, Gabriel suddenly found himself distracted by a voice with a different quality. It wasn’t excited, it wasn’t cheering. It was pleading.

Gabriel stopped, gesturing for silence. It took several minutes for the crowd to calm.

“Please! Please, everyone be quiet. I’m hearing something.” As the people in line and the crew offstage watched in confusion, Gabriel jumped right off the temporary stage and into the crowd below. The people he landed near started to call out.

“Shut up!” he finally shouted in frustration. It came out louder than he intended through the speakers, hanging in the air, but it had the desired effect.

“Who’s calling me?” he asked, but the crowd just stared. They were starting to get nervous now.

“Who is it?” the voice was getting insistant, and Gabriel just wanted it to go away. He finally traced it to near the back of the auditorium, a boy in a wheelchair with a woman next to him. The boy was staring off to the side, and didn’t react when Gabriel walked up to him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Well, stop it.”

The woman started to step between Gabriel and the boy, “My son doesn’t talk, he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move–” but the preacher walked right past her.

Gabriel took the boy’s hand. “Stop calling out like that. It gives me a headache.”

The boy didn’t move. His mother was pleading with Gabriel to leave her boy alone, but he wasn’t listening.

Gabriel winced, the volume in his head having gone up a notch, and pulled hard on the boy’s arm. “I said be quiet!” The force was enough to pull the boy out of the wheelchair, and his mother dove forward, sure he would drop to the floor.

He stood, blinking for a minute, and looked at Gabriel.

“Hey, mister,” he said finally, then turned to his mom and smiled. She burst into tears, the auditorium burst into cheers, and Gabriel managed to stagger back to the stage before he passed out.

Gabriel was smoking angrilly, half-crushing the cigarette as he made tight fists, yet Uriah noticed that he went out of his way to keep the smoke downwind.

“That damned Jezebel,” Gabriel muttered. He’d arrived upset, asking at the front gate for Uriah, and never actually said what had happened. From the litany of womens’ names woven through his ranting, Uriah guessed it was about Shannon. Herodias and Salome. Delilah. Gomer the harlot. Eve and Lilith. The daughters of Lot. Bathsheba and Vashti, Adah and Zillah, Cozbi, Bernice; names Uriah had to think hard to place.

Uriah let him rant as they walked toward the lake, and said all the comforting things he’d learned, and tried not to think about how close Gabriel was standing. Eventually the anger turned to other subjects, and they passed the afternoon sitting at the edge of the water.

Near sunset, Gabriel stood to leave. Uriah smiled, wishing him well.

“I’ll see you next week,” Gabriel said instead of goodbye. There was no question, and he didn’t wait for a reply.

Uriah watched the sun set over the lake, and so didn’t see Gabriel turn around and stare after him before slipping out the gate.

The afternoon meetings became habit for them. Gabriel talked about Shannon a lot, though some weeks were better than others. He talked about Hunter and Shannon’s family and the attention that was both helping his church and annoying the hell out of him. They talked about other things too, books and their childhoods and God.

They talked about God about as much as you’d expect a pair of men who’d devoted their lives to Him to do: they actually mentioned Him very little, but the shadow was always there.

One day, Gabriel found himself waiting at the entrance for nearly twenty minutes before he was allowed inside. He felt like the priests who walked through the hall were watching him with suspicion.

“What’s wrong with these morons?” he greeted Uriah when the seminarian finally arrived.

Uriah blushed a little and dragged Gabriel outside before he would answer. “They caught three guys sneaking out to go to a gay bar in Manchester. They’re still deciding if they’re going to expell them.” He whispered as if simply repeating it was incriminating.

“And here I thought celibacy was starting to sound like a good idea,” Gabriel smirked as he followed the younger man to the lake.

Looking embarassed, Uriah smiled weakly. “I don’t think anybody really chooses the vows themselves. They just go along with the orders.”

“What kind of stupid rule is that, anyway? Most of the ministers I know manage just fine with families,” Gabriel asked as he climbed onto a flat, sun-warmed rock. He reached to help Uriah up.

“I got told that wives and families are too distracting,” he answered, taking Gabriel’s hand.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who comes out here for relationship advice from me. Doesn’t that take time away from your ministry?”

Gabriel glared in response, and Uriah couldn’t help laughing. “I’m not trying to be obnoxious about this, I’m serious. I can see their point.”

“So how do you feel about celibacy? Doesn’t it ever distract you?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you ever think about girls, or about how you can’t have girls, something like that?”

Uriah hesitated before shaking his head. “Not really, no.”

“You’re either lying or you’re gay,” Gabriel said with a sharp laugh. He expected Uriah would laugh too, but the seminarian was quiet. Uriah was staring out at the lake, looking nauseated.

“Oh. No wonder you were so nervous.”

Uriah said nothing.

Gabriel hesitated, but his curiousity overcame the tact his father had instilled. “So are all Catholic priests gay or something?”

When he turned, Gabriel expected an angry look on Uriah’s face, but he just looked sad. Gabriel felt suddenly defensive.

“I mean, that’s all you hear about, and what kind of man wants to go all his life without getting married?”

“The kind that wouldn’t be able to marry someone he was interested in anyway,” Uriah answered sharply.

It took Gabriel a moment to understand. “Oh. Oh, right. But it’s still a sin.”

“The act can be sinful,” Uriah’s tone was becoming more harsh, “one man lying with another, yes. But so is adultery and any other sex outside of marriage.” This last sentence was quite pointed and Gabriel found himself wondering what Shannon would say if he asked her to marry him. Would she accept? Laugh? He tried to picture Hunter asking her to marry him and had to laugh at the idea of Hunter getting married at all.

“You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?” Gabriel asked.

Uriah shrugged. “Studied it inside and out while I was a teenager, before I discerned for the priesthood. I looked for every loophole, every liberal translation.”

“And?”

“I’m here.” Uriah considered it an answer.

“You use the words, but I don’t think you believe them,” Gabriel said after a minute. “You say all the sins are equal, but you don’t even act and you hate yourself.”

“I don’t hate myself,” he answered weakly.

“So you don’t. Whatever you want. But I hate people that lie to themselves.” Uriah stuttered, but didn’t respond. Frustrated, Gabriel thought about trying to draw him out, but wasn’t sure the effort was worth it.

Gabriel untied his shoes, stuck his socks inside, and dangled his feet over the rock ledge. “I’m going walking.” He dropped the few inches to the wet sand below, enjoying the feeling of the cold water under his feet.

“This is nice. You coming?” Gabriel asked as he walked away from the rock.

“Holy shit!”

“Third commandment, Uriah,” Gabriel grinned, turning back. He was not expecting the shock on the younger man’s face. “What?”

“Um… Gabriel, look down.”

Gabriel did so. He noticed that the water where he was standing was at least a foot deep. He also noticed that he was standing on top of it.

“What the fuck?” Gabriel waited for a minute, wondering if noticing would break the spell, like the coyote in cartoons who walked off a cliff. When he didn’t sink, he gingerly took another step. The water just… held, in a way he could pin down as any different than walking on a wet tile floor. Gabriel walked back toward the rock, watching his feet the entire time.

“Jump in,” he instructed Uriah. “I want to see if it’s just the lake.”

“I doubt it, but if you want, I will,” Uriah answered, taking off his own sandals. He rolled up his pant legs before hopping down, splashing as he landed in about three inches of water.

“So it’s just me.” Gabriel said the words slowly, not trusting them.

“Looks like it,” Uriah looked up at his friend. The few inches of water made the height difference between them even more pronounced.

Gabriel reached out to him. “Take my hand. I want to try something.” Uriah took his hand with hesitation, like he was meeting him for the first time. Like he didn’t know Gabriel at all… which he was starting to believe he didn’t.

“Now step up.” Uriah did as he was told, and found that the water suddenly held his weight.

“So that makes me Peter?”

“I suppose. But I don’t have a boat.”

“I’d rather be John.”

“Why?”

“He was the apostle Jesus loved.”

“Oh,” Gabriel answered, then thought about the words. “Oh.”

Uriah turned away, slowly sinking back into the water. Gabriel held his hand tightly, not letting the seminarian slip out of his grip. Uriah looked back.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Uriah kissed back, hard. He put his arms around Gabriel and tried to pull himself up, but ended up overbalancing Gabriel, sending him flailing backwards and landing them both in the water. They sat up, Gabriel spitting water and Uriah nearly sitting on him and apologizing profusely.

They stared at each other for a long minute.

“This is wrong,” Gabriel said, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.

“Utterly sinful,” Uriah responded. “‘Defiling oneself with mankind.’”

“‘Lying with a man as with a woman,’” Gabriel added.

“Leviticus 18:22,” the seminarian smiled. “And do you remember Leviticus 19:19?” Gabriel shook his head, wondering, as Uriah reached for his buttons.

“‘Thou shalt not wear a garment that is woven of two sorts.’ That shirt looks suspiciously like a silk-rayon blend. I’d better take it off to prevent you from sinning further.”

“It’s pure silk, actually,” Gabriel started to protest, but the buttons were already undone.

“‘All the townsmen of Sodom came to the house,’” Uriah pushed Gabriel back until he was laying on the sandy lake bottom, water lapping at his sides. He hesitated at the button on Gabriel’s pants, but there was no protest, and he continued. “‘They called to Lot and said to him, “Where are the men who came to your house tonight? Bring them out to us that we may have intimacies with them.”‘”

“So you’re a man of Sodom, Uriah?” Gabriel asked.

“A sodomite in theory, at least,” he answered, blushing, and Gabriel realized it was an admission of virginity.

“And a sinner?” Gabriel continued, even as he pulled the buttons loose on his shirt.

“Aren’t we all?” Uriah leaned down to kiss him again. He could feel Gabriel’s hands against his crotch, unzipping, and was surprised that Gabriel’s touch against his… his mind balked at the euphemisms he’d heard and settled on the romance novel-feel of member. Gabriel was reaching past his briefs now and Uriah realized he was having a hard time breathing.

“We have free will,” Gabriel said, gently pushing Uriah’s head toward his own crotch.

“We’re fallen men in a fallen world.” Uriah’s answer was mumbled against his body, and Gabriel felt the words as much as heard them.

“We can choose,” Gabriel answered, staring up at the blue sky as Uriah licked his cock. “‘The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and his bow and his girdle… Jonathan delighted much in David, and said Jonathan to David, “Whatever you say, I will do for you.”‘” Gabriel’s voice trailled off as he came, and Uriah coughed and spit in surprise.

“Still breathing?” Gabriel asked him after a minute.

“Yes, sorry,” Uriah apologized. “I think I ruined the moment.”

“Nah,” Gabriel smiled. “The afterglow, maybe, but not the moment.” Uriah blushed, and then blushed harder as Gabriel pushed him down into the water to return the favor. He tried to think of something sweet or brilliant to say, but his mind simply was blank as he dug his fingers into Gabriel’s hair and climaxed.

Uriah just lay there, staring up at Gabriel with the sun in his hair. “You look more like an angel than a Jewish king,” he said finally. “Like your namesake.”

Gabriel frowned. “I’m not an angel, believe me.”

“You walk on water. I think that’s close enough.”

“I don’t– I did walk on water, didn’t I?”

“You could do it again,” Uriah suggested, but Gabriel was hurrying out of the water like he’d been bitten, pulling up his pants as he went.

“I’d better get going,” Gabriel said, wringing out his shirt.

Uriah blinked. “That’s it?”

Gabriel shrugged and reached for his shoes. “What were you expecting?”

“Something… I don’t know,” Uriah buttoned up his shirt while it was still sopping wet, and it clung to his body. He shivered.

“‘I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan,’” Gabriel answered. “Put your sandals on.”

“Go home to your Bathsheba then, and don’t worry about me,” he said as he started up the hill.

“I didn’t mean–” Gabriel started to say, but Uriah didn’t turn. After a moment of watching him, Gabriel left for the gate.

“Rainbow! Can we talk to you?” The slightly nasal voice was cutting through the crowd. The Color Kids quieted instantly and turned toward the voice. Two men in trenchcoats were pushing through the crowd, not even trying to look like they belonged. One wore a battered grey hat, the other an eyepatch.

“Detective Mouse, Inspector Gadget,” Rainbow said to them with her best fake smile. The Color Kids disappeared into the crowd, all of them invisible except for Indigo, who was watching from about ten feet away.

“How’s business, Rainbow?” Gadget asked, adjusting his hat.

“What are you talking about, Inspector?” the girl answered. It was a game and they both knew it, but if Mouse was here, something serious was going on.

“Heard anything about some bad drugs on the street?” Detective Mouse cut in.

“Aren’t they all bad to you?”

“A couple of kids have been found dead lately with grey skin and hair,” Mouse continued.

“Grey?” Rainbow parroted, genuinely concerned and a little sick now.

“Yes,” answered the detective, his British accent creeping into his words. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

She shook her head mutely.

“If you hear anything, Rainbow, let me know,” Gadget spoke, in a much softer voice. She nodded and the men left.

Indigo stepped up behind Rainbow and put her hands on the blonde girl’s hips. “Are you okay, Rain? Do you need to sit down?”

Rainbow shook her head. “No. We need to do something. Somebody’s moving on our turf and hurting our customers. I’m not going to stand for that.” Rainbow’s hands were balled up into tight fists. It had been a long time since Indigo saw her that angry.

“So where do we start?” she asked, letting go of Rainbow.

“Let’s go see Care,” the blonde said. Indigo nodded and they headed toward the parking lot.