The Last Time... Who: Sam Delacroix and Mihangel Walsh When: 11 years ago Where: A hidden cave off of the bay What: Back scene of the last time Sam and Mihangel saw each other
Though San Francisco had some nice and even overly warm days, this was not one of them. And still generally, by night, the air was chilled and the breeze coming off of the sea carried in a fog. It was by kismet alone that they had found this cave in the rocks of one of Marin's farthest beaches, and they hadn't given it up ever since. It was their refuge, their place of peace and silence. Their single promise of privacy. It took a careful climb across some ragged rocks after a long drive or walk down the beach to reach the cave. Sam had told him to meet her there tonight as soon as he could. Apparently, she had news to give.
Inside, over three years of use now, the cave had been made rather more comfortable. They'd purchased a water proof bedroll and several water proof sleeping bags which, when they left, were always meticulously zipped up in plastic for the extra protection. There was a small cooler always stocked with some sort of drink and even a bottle of whiskey they'd managed to sneak down. Gas lanterns completed the interior decoration, casting extremely dim light across the fog but at least making it possible to see. She had hung one of the lanterns on a small jutting rock outside the cave, making it a bit easier for him to see when he made his way there. Hopefully he would get her note. Hopefully he managed to come.
Sam, for her part, was sitting upon the triple folded sleeping bag she usually used. She wore a pair of simple black pants and a neat, button down white shirt. She looked several years older than her simple 18 years of age, but then both of them never looked their youth. Across her white shirt she had a warm leather jacket, worn in attempts to battle the chill and fog of the night time beach. A cigarette hung from the corner of her lips. She smoked it absently as she looked over the open letter in her hands. Her acceptance to the police academy. She started in two weeks. It was all truly happening now and she would be gone from this life style in the next few days. She just had to tell him. Of all people, he would be the hardest to leave.
If asked, Mihangel probably wouldn't have been able to say when it was exactly they had started to have their clandestine little meetings out by the sea. It had never been said, that they needed to keep quiet about their relationship, but that was exactly what they had done thus far. It had all started out those many years ago, a dubious thing to have happened at his mother's funeral, of all places. It was a tentative and slow thing, but it seemed inevitable that they grow closer, and it was only a matter of fact that they would be each other's first... well, first everything. Mihangel had taken Sam's words those years ago to heart, clearly, possibly in the wrong way, but who was there to tell him how he should act and feel? He had changed a lot, but then again, he was surprisingly unchanged.
In any case, the cave was like a home away from home for Mihangel by now. It was true that he had no especial love for the sea, but there was just something about the fog and the undeniable excitement of having something different that made the cosy little cave appealing to him. Normally, however, they would just show up there, if they didn't go there together. One would always know when the other was there, for some reason. Understandably. Mihangel was suitably curious about Sam's note to him.
The wind made his long, gray coat flap about him as he picked his way down the familiar zig-zagging way to their cave. His hands were empty safe for a new bottle of whiskey, having left his books and the like in the car parked a little ways from the beach. Classes had been cut, of course, but he could easily catch up, that he knew without a doubt. Everyone else seemed simply uncaring about such things.
On his way down, Mihangel couldn't resist speculating at and guessing what Sam might have to tell him. Things had to be either very good or very bad––he cursed how he couldn't tell just like that because of his emotional investment in all of this. And he was still capable of seeing it that way, which said a bit about how his emotional discipline wasn't something skin deep. A part of him insisted that it was probably something bad; Sam seemed to be distracted as of late.
Mihangel took the lantern Sam had hung outside down as he stepped into the cave. He looked as serious as usual, but after he settled down next to her, after he had put the bottle of alcohol down beside a foot, he plucked the cigarette from between her lips deftly and then greeted her with a kiss. "You sent me a note."
Sam couldn't resist a slight smile as he pulled the cigarette from her soft, unpainted mouth and leaned over to steal a kiss. At least she smoked menthols, they gave her a rather peppermint taste to her smoky breath. She leaned up, returning the kiss warmly and reaching her free hand up to brush against his cheek, pulling him in for a second brush of their mouths. Once he pulled away, she carefully took her cigarette back and looked from his handsome features to the folded letter in her left hand. "Yeah. I... we need to talk." No good conversation ever started like that. Even her voice betrayed her, a slightly worried, sick twist to her stomach coming out in the slightly faltering tone of her husky voiced words.
"I wanted to tell you first. Hell... maybe only you." Sam danced around the issue for a moment or two, a surprisingly rare event for her. Normally, she was as straight forward as they came, but she worried about him. She worried about this whole situation. He was the only one that made the decision hard, but she had to do it. She took one last breath of her cigarette then tossed it through the fog towards the ocean beyond the rim of the cave. It probably didn't make it the whole way, but the water dripping would take it there eventually.
Being pulled back in for that second kiss made Mihangel smile, and of course he responded eagerly. It was hard to tell which one of the two was more passionate about their relationship, but Mihangel acted most definitely different from the way he normally was. In some fashion, he had learned to accept the separation between his own personal life and life as a part of the Walsh family, though it would have seemed like a rather roundabout and strange way to most people.
"Very bad news, then," he said under his breath, more to confirm his earlier thought than to guess at what Sam wanted to say. She usually didn't dither with her words––in fact, it seemed more as if she was determined to be as bluntly direct as possible most of the time. There were times when he thought that she was deliberately trying to remind him of his nigh-habitual lies, and then at other times, it was simply another part of her rough-edged charm.
Letting her take her cigarette back, Mihangel rocked back on the heels of his feet before settling down comfortably next to her, their shoulders pressed together companionably. "Tell me, then," he said easily, prepared to hear whatever she had to say, ready to reserve judgment and curb assumptions. Outside, the fog seemed to thicken, become denser, until it completely obscured the sea, reducing it to a bodiless and relentless roar. Only the sharp, salty smell reminded him of where they were. He reached beside him and then unscrewed the cap of the bottle of whiskey, but didn't take a drink. Not yet; it was balanced in his lap.
Sam silently handed the letter in his direction, but she spoke as he did it, so he wasn't mystified by the document now in his hands. "I got accepted to the San Francisco Police Academy. I'm... I'm going. But if I do this, I have to completely go. No lingering back with the family, no juggling this magic shit and duties as a cop. I'm leaving the family. I guess that's it. That's the news. Good news for me, really, but... " She finally looked up, staring into his eyes for a few moments. She wouldn't turn away from this. He of all people deserved to know forward and honestly, face to face. "I couldn't leave without telling you. Sometimes I thought you were the only thing that kept me sane." She admitted quietly, nervously waiting for his response.
She needed a fresh cigarette. Now having said it all it was like waiting for the executioners rifle shots across a field. She reached her slender fingertips into her pocket and pulled out a fresh menthol, slipping the filter between her lips and then grabbing her lighter so she could strike it up. She took the flame, letting it lick across the end of her cigarette as she breathed in deep to start the cherry going. Her eyes never left his, though. She waited in sickly silence.
All he did was eye the piece of paper she was holding out to him with a degree of wariness. Yet another note? Only one way to find out; Mihangel didn't say anything as he accepted the letter, eyes already scanning it even as she spoke. If he had nothing but her words to go by, he might have doubted his hearing, but here it all was, in black and white. Somehow, having it all printed out on a piece of paper made it all the more real. With a calmness that he wasn't feeling in the least, Mihangel folded the letter and passed it back to Sam. She could look all she liked, because there was nothing on his face to give away his feelings about all that.
"Congratulations." It was hollow and not a bit cold. Formal; he knew how much she had wanted all this, but he wouldn't deny the fact that he was selfish and–– Mihangel felt betrayed, and yet, he couldn't say that he hadn't expected any of this. In fact, he was supposed to expect this, since Sam had more or less hinted at doing such a thing for as long as he had known her. Leaving all the family and magic business behind, that was, not specifically the police force.
He could deal with this in a mature fashion. Mihangel just looked at Sam wordlessly, eyes opaque, then took a drink straight from the bottle he was still holding. He tried to piece together a sentence that would be somewhat reasonable, but he tossed that idea out the window and spoke frankly instead, never mind how he would sound like, "Do you seriously think that you can run away from what's in your blood?" That came out with more anger than he had intended. He took her hand, a small gesture that said, wait, and it did take him a few more seconds before he went on, this time in a voice that was more subdued, "Sorry about that. Sorry."
It was his turn to keep his eyes on her; "I know what it means to you, Sam. Hell, we both knew that it would come to this eventually." His body was turned towards Sam's, and his free hand was sifting through her loose hair, but he didn't know how to put into words what he did want to say. He had never been good with words when they did mean something. "I don't know what to feel. I'm happy that you're doing something you want to do. You're leaving all the things you don't like." He stalled again, not for dramatic effect, but to try again to find the right words. In the end, he brushed her cheek with a thumb, lightly, "I won't ask you to stay... but you know how I feel."
He might not be daring to show how he actually felt, but Sam knew. Perhaps she was projecting, or her gifts just let her sense it, or maybe they had even developed a bond that went beyond the physical. Either way, her heart hadn't broken over this new development until this moment. Her throat tightened and she reached a just slightly trembling hand in the direction of the letter as he handed it back to her. She couldn't look up to his eyes again. She just unfolded that letter, staring down at the San Francisco Police Department letter head. Gazing over those words which she'd waited for so long to hear. It gave her strength she might not have otherwise.
His first outburst made her eyes shut, doubling the size of that lump that had formed in her throat. She shook her head, waiting for him to go on, but soon enough she managed to get words past the tightness of her heart. "I would rather go now, while I am civil with things, than stay and hate it because it took me from my heart! This is what I need to do, Mihangel. You know that. This is my calling. This is my future. It... it might not end well, but it is where I was meant to be. Trust me in this. Trust my heart. Do you trust me?" Sam then tossed her eyes back in his direction, those strong gray irises suddenly rimmed in red with tears. He had possibly never seen her truly cry before, but the moisture was there now. This was a fearful desperation and a passion of the likes he had never seen from her.
"Mihangel, this is my path. One I must forge for myself. Off the string of destiny. Off... off the plan. I will not fall into that pattern and never truly live my life. I will not surrender to the lies in my head. This... this is -mine-. Just as you were..." She caught herself, the past tense shocking her before she ever thought about it. "...Are... mine. Just as we were never upon the path, because we bring destruction to our kind. We bring... death, to join like this. But we dared. We tried. And look what has come of it! I must try again. I must escape... follow my heart, not my pre-plotted life. I will not give into fate when I can fight it. I will not allow myself to wallow here, slowly hating what I once loved because it kept me back."
It wasn't until he could only see Sam, right next to him but blurry because of the screen of fog that had trickled in, that Mihangel realised how quickly his control was just slipping away. He had not visibly reacted much, but because more of his concentration had gone to dull his body language, his magical abilities took their place instead––weather manipulation had always come easily to Mihangel.
He kept his hold on Sam's wrist, wordlessly telling her what his clumsy words didn't seem to be saying well. It was a fortunate thing that their relationship had never been based on what either said. "I know the logic, I know the reasoning. I know how you feel about all this, and you know how differently I feel." Perhaps it was unfair of him to compare their situations, because as similar as they seemed, they were completely unalike, but Mihangel went on, anyway, honest as he was careful to always be around her, "All that you hate about this life, you cannot just exscind––they are a part of you. Follow your heart if you will, but don't do this just because you want to run away."
The last came out unintentionally accusative, which was painfully obvious to Mihangel so that he leaned in closer, offering his embrace as an apology, "I do trust you. I'm not questioning you, I'm just..." His eyes were quite dry by contrast, but there was a weird little twist to his lips, as if he was trying not to wince. He pulled back, arms loose around her, meeting her eyes again, "I wish I weren't yours. I could be completely happy for you, and I could support you fully in leaving." As for the rest of what Sam had said, Mihangel didn't offer his own response. Just as he could not subscribe to how she wanted to break free of her family completely, she could not agree to how much he was prepared to do for his own. Thankfully, their differences had yet been truly put to the test. Yet being the operative word.
"Sam, I want you to do what you think is best for you." The damp fog became denser, snuffing out even the light of the lantern inside their little cave. "Thank you for telling me." He pressed a kiss against her temple, and when he spoke again, his voice was very soft, his breath warm against the shell of her ear, "I will still be here when you come back."
Sam tried to continue to watch him, or the letter in her hand, but fog had almost entirely obscured the area around them. Part of her knew it was him doing it, whether he meant to or not. Oddly, that thought was a reassurance. As if she were entirely wrapped and drown in his powers as much as she was in the physicality of him. Numbly, she slipped the letter into her jacket pocket. It freed her hand to reach up to his waist and tug him just a bit closer. She didn't know what to say, but she did want to hold onto him for as long as she could. Suddenly, her free arm reached up and seized around his waist, dragging him tightly against her, her head buried against his chest. She allowed his other palm to linger against her wrist, her pulse racing beneath his fingertips, an odd contrast to her otherwise still and seemingly emotionless face. They both kept it wrapped up so tightly.
"I'm going, Mihangel. I have to go. It is what's right. I'm going because... because I want to. Because I'm following my heart. Not because I hate my family or my gifts. I don't hate them, but I won't let myself be ruled by them. So.... so I'm leaving." She breathed out, her voice shaken as she admitted those final words. She then brought herself to shakily stand. Her body didn't pull away from him, but she did stand face to face now. Her arm which hugged him previously lingered around his waist and her other wrist in his hand. She stared into his eyes, face to face now, her lips and nose close enough to share his breath in the dangerously dense fog all around them. "...This will not be the ending. I promise you that. Just... just a new road. For both of us."
He didn't know how long they just stood there, holding on to each other. It wasn't a fight they were having, and it wasn't one of those fussy meetings during which Mihangel was supposed to convince Sam not to do something she never had the intention of doing. What was it, then? A farewell, a foreseen ending, and any number of other things.
Mihangel had heard of people trying to memorise moments like the one he was having right then, commit to memory all the little details that might become lost completely. He told himself that he had no need for such a thing, because she was definitely coming back. He was that sure of it. Magic called to magic and she would not be able to stand living out there alone, cut off from them. The fear that she would actually find a better life, one without him, and be wholly contented and happy, ate at that, though, and revealed it to be the lie that it was. Clearly, he wasn't above lying to himself.
"I know you are, Sam. Go, then." He let her pull away. For as long as he had cared to search, there had never been a smidgen of doubt in her eyes. There were only the firmness, the conviction and the quiet strength there, even with the unshed tears, that had attracted him to her so many years ago. She said that she was following her heart, and her heart turned her away from him. It was comforting to be able to blame it on her that way, but he knew it to be the falsehood that it was. He knew her real reasons, he understood them, but he wouldn't accept them. He couldn't.
So, he was the first to step away, letting his arms fall from her body, letting go of her wrist. She had already walked away from him, never mind that she was still physically with him for a few more minutes. The fog was unnaturally dense now, but when Mihangel let go, it thinned down very quickly again, before clearing away from their little cave entirely. "Goodbye, Sam. We will see each other again." Forcing down the hollow numbness that was eating up his throat and burning a hole inside his chest, he turned around and walked out of the cave.
Sam stood there in silence, not having expected him to be the one to go, but he turned and simply left. He walked away, even if she was the one abandoning them. She stared at his back for as long as she could manage to see him through the thinning fog, but even that was not enough. The darkness of the night swallowed him soon enough and she was alone. Samantha had fought so hard to maintain her strength through the entire encounter, but now her heart was losing the fight. She sunk back down onto the edge of the bed roll where she had been sitting. No real sound touched her lips but the faint catch of her breath as her tears began to flow freely. The loss of him was a pain beyond any she expected from this situation. Beyond any she'd felt before, in truth. She sat there, her head bowed upon her knees, crying herself into strength.