[completed/closed] Characters: Uriel (flamethrown) & Death (nonspared) Date/Time: August 20th Location: Iriy, their home Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Some blood and gore Summary: Mostly this: poor Uriel.
That morning, there had been a sense of discomfort. Uriel couldn't place it, nor could he determine a reason for the discomfort in the first place, but something seemed off. Unnatural. Even dressing and readying himself for work seemed distressingly odd. Nevertheless, he'd finished dressing, kissed his sleeping wife goodbye, and left the house feeling like a stranger in his own skin. Like a snake trying to crawl out of its scales.
The day was long and torturous. That lingering feeling had remained, a daunting presence in the forefront of his thoughts, and so he'd done his best not to let it distract his work. There was no apparent explanation for it after all, so there was little point on dwelling on it. Perhaps it was just one of those days. Everyone had them, he reasoned with himself, and there wasn't any excuse for thinking otherwise.
An hour and a half earlier than when he intended to be home, his schedule cleared up, and it was time to leave. The sun had yet to even disappear from the sky as he drove home in silence, fingers wound tight around the steering wheel. For a good ten minutes, he remained in the car after parking, his thoughts left to their devices. Odd how the feeling of discomfort hadn't since subsided. It was like he was supposed to know what it was, yet couldn't.
Uriel was quiet upon opening the door, despite not being aware of whether or not his wife would be home. He was a person who always did things quietly and calmly, after all -- it was how he was programmed. The keys were quietly pocketed as he made his way toward the kitchen, his coat still wrapped around him. "Death?" he called out. For whatever reason, the name itself provoked a very strange thought process. Horseman was the first thing that came to mind, but he pressed the heel of his hand to a temple to will it away.
What was going on?
For well over a week, her head had been aching over knowing what state she was in. She didn't quite understand why being a host to a child was bothering her until that morning, a good hour after Uriel had left and she was sitting up and enjoying her tea, when things clicked into place.
The first thing she did was claw at her abdomen, teeth bared while making savage little growling noises. It made sense why she was uncomfortable. Something was leeching off her - her, Death. The taker, the selfish one. Something she could not get at without possibly putting herself in a position of dying was taking from her and depending on her. And she could barely maintain a healthy interest or care with pets.
This was ridiculous and entirely the fault of her--
Archangel husband. Remembering him gave her pause. What was she going to do about that? She had little issue with them in fairness. They tended to be the more stable side when compared to the tricky and less dependable demons. Perhaps then, things would not be so bad. Only the matter of the child (a small swipe of her nails went across her abdomen). The man simply had to be kept in the dark for as long as possible.
She'd been in the middle of her work in the bathroom, a room that wasn't locked because her husband was reliable about his timing. That and everyone in the house knew what she was doing. Her hair tied back and up in a simple knot atop her head, long gloves covered her arms up to nearly her shoulders. And with a leather smock over her clothes to keep anything grisly from staining them, Death was free from the concern that any part of the dead man would leave this room with her. Sliding her hand in deep into the slice she'd made, she felt around gingerly for the organ required.
Normally the surgeon they employed would handle such a task and it would be done away from home but she had been surprised that day by the arrival of this individual. Her bad mood, of course, had triggered her guest's demise. Not in a position or having the help then to have the body dragged over to the building to properly remove his insides, Death had gotten the corpse to the bathtub.
Her husband's call had not gone unnoticed and she had started to draw her hand back when she felt the glove snag on something. Brilliant.
The quiet was expected as Uriel stepped through the rest of the house, peeling off his coat in the process. Death herself was always reliable, but he didn't always know where it was she went. She was free to go where she pleased, however, as it was on her own time. It never bothered his work, and they functioned well this way, each doing their own thing. They were both people who understood the need for a schedule, particularly him, the workaholic.
A shuffle from the bathroom had him pausing as he passed by. Listening for it again, he heard nothing, but to be safe, he leaned in closer and softly rapped his knuckles on the door. "Death?"
"A moment, Uriel," she called out all while tugging on the glove, hearing it resist as it remained hook on bone. Settling on the decision to yank hard once with the second choice of just removing the glove if that fail, Death steadied herself, took a breath and then drew back her arm suddenly.
There was a sudden snapping sound, too sudden for her, forcing her into a stumble and inelegant and hard landing on her backside. It wasn't all as when she felt her arm come free a chunk of something also did, opting to fly out and back to strike the closed door with a wet thwack. Red dotted the white floor, indicating the path the projectile had taken and she looked over her shoulder to face it, grimacing as she felt the dampness of blood droplets on her cheek as well. Urgh.
There was silence on Uriel's end as he did as bid, fingers resting against the wood of the door. It was when he heard the snap that his senses were alerted to something being very wrong. At the sound of the thud, he hesitated, hoping it wasn't going to be his wife in some wounded state. Rather than waiting to be allowed inside, he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob.
The angel wasn't entirely sure what to react to first, upon opening the door. Whatever had hit the door left a bloody smear along the floor as it was pushed to the side. His line of vision was led to the blood drops, which he followed to his fallen wife, and then finally, the tub. Uriel had often seen corpses in his line of work, both fresh and old. But for one to be cut open in his bathtub was something new entirely.
Not a word or sound left his lips as he finally turned his gaze to her. For the first time in what felt like a while, he was utterly speechless.
"Oh, honey, you shouldn't have done that." Dry, mocking with an aching bum, that's what she was at the moment. One hand on the edge of the bathtub, sure to leave a bloody print, Death pulled herself up to be steady on her feet. "And don't concern yourself with me. Or what's in here. Laura will bleach it and make it usable again."
Even as those words were spilling from her lips, she was calculating whether she could bring him down, how many steps it would take him to get to the nearest exit if she couldn't and what could be used as a weapon should he be more trouble than he appeared to be.
"We had an intruder. I was taking care of it," she added, curious to see just how he would react to that.
Words continued to fail Uriel as he watched his wife rise, that discomfort returning full blast, and it had nothing to do with the body or the fact that Death was playing surgeon in the bathtub. There was something he needed to know, and again Horseman came to mind. He closed his eyes for a few moments, processing the information. An intruder. He had no reason to doubt his wife, but something was off, and the fact that he couldn't stop thinking of her as The Horseman Death was making things rather difficult.
"Did you call the police?" His eyes met hers. "And did he hurt you?"
Well, better to humor what felt so much like a lie rather than outright blame her for something that felt so unnatural.
The corner of her lips lifted, a laugh threatening to rise up bit was smothered for the sake of the moment. She took a few steps to approach him, still gauging to see how he would react. Though she thought to give him the illusion of safety by locking her hands behind her back, she knew that if he turned to go she would need them. Whether he recalled anything or not, she wasn't sure if it mattered. On one hand, it would be more of a shame to have to kill an archangel. On the other, maybe an archangel would understand these things had to happen. And that this place wasn't real.
"There's no one that can really hurt me, Uriel. I'm Death. Named bizarrely yet fittingly. He came to me, found me when he shouldn't have, all to plead his case as to why I shouldn't take his home. As you can see, I ended up agreeing. I took his life instead." By accident but it was true enough. She stopped less than a foot from him. "It's not the first life I have claimed. It won't be the last. Do you understand?"
Uriel watched her every move, not wasting another second looking at a dead body. Enough of those were seen at work, even if this situation was far more complicated than witnessing a room of corpses, or a fresh one on his table. This was their home away from work. That work had come home with him, or from what it seemed, home with her, was unsettling.
Unsure of what emotions were plaguing him, he continued to hold his wife's gaze. The blue of her eyes was far more subdued than his own, with a touch of green to them. For how long had he looked into her eyes and believed she was doing clerical work for her father? That she was tying up loose ends, working for him like an ever dutiful daughter? Did her duty to him include taking lives as well?
He took in a quiet breath, processing all this. And the moment he opened his mouth, he remembered.
Business had a way of mixing with home life. In her most true of states, there was no home life. She had existed for one purpose and nothing more. She had to wonder if he understood how that was or if angels knew something about living together and whatnot.
As he seemed to be going through something, Death allowed herself observation before she began to peel off the gloves, dropping them to the floor. A cool bare hand reached out to catch him by the chin in a firm, no-nonsense grasp.
"When I want to see into someone's head, I often have Ivan cut their heads open. Let's not go down that route with you. Let's have you share what you're thinking. Are you surprised? Thinking about how maybe this makes sense? Did you ever have a clue? To what this family is? Or are you wondering on how to get out from here? You won't but it would be good to know whether I'm right or wrong here."
It was probably not the best of times to remember he was an archangel. For memories of New York, of his angelic brothers, of his family to all come crashing down on him while he was attempting to grasp all he was seeing and hearing now -- it was enough to give someone a headache. But Uriel wasn't going to run from the truth. He wouldn't doubt it or question it. This was how it was: they were back in Zurvan under different circumstances, playing different roles, and this was his.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to have a headache later when all it crashed back down on him.
This was the Horseman Death, rider of the pale horse. He was Uriel, the Lord's fire. How had it come to this point, that they would be married, these two of all people? No, no questioning -- he knew whose doing this was, even when he wanted to believe it was Father who had begun this all. Surely Father had a plan, to allow these beings to inflict these circumstances on them, but he hadn't heard from Him in so long, he wondered if he would even hear from Him again.
Uriel stared deep into his current wife's eyes, not moving from where he stood. He wasn't an idiot -- he knew if he tried to run, she would cut him down, even if he was both taller and stronger. Getting away from her would mean going on the run. It would mean risking the safety of his family here, who he had no doubt Death could reach. This was his problem, and he would have to resolve it on his own. There would be no running today.
"I never doubted for a moment that you were loyal to your family, and that you would do anything for them," he began, "but I never believed it would go this far."
If asked about why them, Death would have pointed out that God had a sense of humour and enjoyed variety. And then would have pointed out numerous things that were bizarre that naturally went on in the world.
"This is the family business, Uriel. Beneath what the common people see, we siphon from them everything. They bring it on to themselves through their own bad judgment." Releasing him, she gestured to the corpse. "He lost it all to us. Now he's giving even more for his mistakes." Anymore detail than that was not necessary.
"You were my cover. Someone I need so no one would wonder why I hadn't married. You did the job and I had no complaints about you. The sex was acceptable, you were not over-ardent in affection as some husband could be and, overall, you gave and I took. That was an acceptable arrangement for me." A small pause was slipped in before a frown marred her features. "The child will be an issue, however. Should it survive. I am not happy about that."
Everything was slowly registering as she went on: he had been used for her own purpose. As far as he was aware, nothing had been real. Had the affection been real? Had everything been a lie? Uriel had allowed for the marriage because it wasn't something that would encumber him when it came to his work. He'd been happy with someone to share his life with. Had she ever been happy, or was the entire marriage just a sham?
He might've had something to say had she not mentioned the child. All that had registered suddenly paled in comparison to the admission that had his heart skipping a beat. This information took precedence. A--
"-- I'm sorry?"
And if he had actually asked, Death would have required a moment to think, to dwell on what answers would be appropriate for the moment. Some may need modification as one could not lower guards or offer an idea of vulnerability to anyone. Not that she believed she could ever do.
"You should be. Was that predictable of me to say?" One index finger wiggled at him. "You're a healthy male." Then her other one wiggled. "I, in this life, a healthy female." The tips of those fingers met. "This led to something I should have prevented but as I was unaware of myself I did not think to. At the time, I only thought that maybe children would have completed the illusion of my being a settled down family woman. I was going to tell you but I never got around to it.
"However, none of that really changes that there is a bun in my oven and you are the father. Congratulations, non-fallen. Will you be requiring a chair to sit on? A cigar? Or that premature? My father smoked the day I was born but I see no reason why you shouldn't now."
Death was fully aware there was a touch of acid in her tone. As she had spoken, her mind had gone back to review the fact that something would be stealing from her. Her fingers at ceased to touch, her hands at her sides as fists, nails biting into the flesh of her palms. She wasn't made to carry life despite the biological sex she was. This was against her nature, as much as it was against his to procreate.
This was not what Uriel needed. He would've preferred a chair, certainly, but for the moment he would remain standing, though not to prove a point. A cigarette might have been nice, but in Zurvan he had never picked up the habit, and he'd been looking to quit back home. The offers were considered, and then banished from his thoughts.
He wondered what his brothers would have to say about this. Or worse, God Himself. But he hadn't heard his Father's words for so long now. He always watched, always saw the deeds His children committed, but Uriel would've much liked some counsel right about then.
Glad to be holding onto his coat with one hand, to be feeling something tangible and very real, the archangel slowly shook his head. "Why did you keep this from me? The child." Despite the utter confusion, his words came out as clear and tremor-free as ever.
Slim shoulders moved up and down in a shrug that she did not feel was half as casual as she would have liked. "As I told you, I never got around to it. It was a recent discovery. An explanation for that so-called illness from earlier. I managed to put things together after a while but figuring out how to tell you didn't come up."
The gloves off the floor were plucked up from the non-bloodied sections and she returned to the tub, tugging on the gloves as she did so. Nothing was really going to change the fact she had killed a man and was taking what she felt belonged to her now. No reason to really stop what she was up to either.
Funny how the smell of decay and death didn't turn her stomach as much as fucking turnips. Gingerly plucking up a flap of flesh, she added on, "How would you have reacted if you had been told without being aware of yourself? Do you know?"
As a doctor, the sight and smell of a bloodied body didn't deter him as much as it should have. Even so, Uriel didn't want to look on it longer than he had to, and so he kept his gaze the Horseman. Her words registered, but rather than processing them at first, he gave her a once-over, putting the pieces together in his mind. She was a Horseman of the Apocalypse, and he an archangel. Neither were meant to procreate. Neither were meant to marry either, or engage in sexual activities for that matter. Though they were far from the same breed, these similarities remained.
Khaos, surely, was having a laugh at him, wherever she was.
Going back to her inquiry, he slowly fisted the material of his coat. "That doesn't matter. How it could have been has no relevance now." He tongued the inside of his teeth, quietly watching her for a few moments.
Khaos was a bitch who had to die. For all of what she cursed them with. The marriage wasn't a big deal, Death had gotten past the idea of belonging to someone outside of the Horsemen because Uriel had never behaved in a manner vulgar like some husbands could have. The child was a big fucking joke.
"At this point, non-fallen, nothing much matters except that we both have been put in a position we don't want." Fingers sliding in again, she let the moist sucking sounds fill the gap between her reply for a moment. When she had found what she wanted, she proceeded to draw it out with care. "You know I will kill you if you dare attempt to turn me in or any member of my family. You should know that I will not forget such betrayal even if we return to NYC and you happen to live again. If I did not hold angels in higher regard than demons, you would be dead right this moment. Suffer through the indignities you have been buried under with some grace and sense and you'll never end up in this bathtub or under the skinny hands of Famine."
With a final wet noise, she freed her hand and the liver she had gotten a hold of. "Dinner will be in two hours."
The price of being a police officer was that Uriel had to deal with threats on a daily basis. Being in homicide meant that murderers would constantly threaten to have his head on a pike. This threat didn't throw him for a loop as it might have another, despite the very dangerous nature of it. He continued to watch her, silent in the meantime as she spoke. When she had finished, he appraised her with a cold stare.
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
Either way, he already knew the choice he was to make.
Death was all too used to delivering what she liked to call 'assurances' to those who needed them. It kept some in line and for others she could always say that she had fairly offered a warning (right before executing them).
Laying the organ into a container, she turned to face him. "It's a promise. I find that to threaten you would be almost an insult considering what you are." Blood-tainted fingers gestured to the room about them. "Let's not take this world more to heart than necessary. My family will resume our business, you will resume yours until we return. I advise you to consider the bigger picture, Uriel. You must live to do God's work. If you die here for something like this and you do not return, there is no promise you will return to your Father's side." Pale eyes narrowed, no smile curving her lips. "Sometimes, death actually takes hold.
"I am under enough stress, courtesy of your sperm. Keep that in mind as well."
And what was an archangel to do after being told such things? The prospect of never being with Father didn't alarm him. No matter where he was meant to end up, he was more concerned with the now rather than the future. But he had no intention of dying today. It was not his fate to end up dead by Death's hands.
He considered saying something in particular, but held his tongue in order to gather his thoughts.
"Very well." And then he was turning on a heel. "The body will be gone by the end of the night," were his last words before he made his leave. As fearless of death as he was, he understood a Horseman would keep their promises. It didn't frighten him, but if Death decided to take his life in the night, he would hope that in the very end, Father's face would welcome him home.