Chapter Text
"The pancakes are going to get cold."
The prompting, however gentle, still made me flinch. Michael's voice hit the human ear as a slow, soothing baritone. I could still recall the ringing authority of the Almighty in it. Could still feel the unpleasant echo of pure, searing recrimination as Father pronounced his judgment.
But worse than that was the entirely human power of his voice. To Molly, it was familiar and beloved, a sound that translated to peace and safety. Trust in that voice had etched itself into her marrow, which had made him dangerous to my ultimate design. All my pretty whispers and lies couldn't prevail against his simple, steadfast faith and love he engendered in her. Even now, when I had little to fear from him, the voice raised my hackles. I doubted we'd ever be bosom friends, regardless of how things played out with Molly.
"I know."
I still didn't move. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a thin slice of the room beyond. A pulse of warm nostalgia shot into my veins when I spied a foot dangling from the bed. I knew the shape of it. The gentle way it arched. How it felt to guide it forward, a graceful tango of consciousness with my host.
My host. My Molly.
"I thought you wanted to go in," Michael said in an undertone.
I did. I wanted to shove the pancakes into his hands and fling the door wide. I'd traveled across space and time, carved away my power and my purpose, and I'd done it for her. A painfully brief span of years and then she'd be gone, wrested from my grasp by violence or the inevitable creep of age. But...
"She could hate me," I whispered, unable to meet his eyes. The pancakes looked unimpressed by the confession. "I'd deserve that, after everything I've done."
I'd hurt her often. Purposefully. Ached to consume her, one mote at a time, until her will was pliable. Imagined untold perversions I would enact on her when Hannah and I had her firmly in our grasp. I'd sabotaged her friendships. Conspired with her enemies. She could hate me. She should hate me.
And the thought that she might turn from me again was a weight of iron in my stomach. This mortal body could express its displeasure in so many ways. Panic was a noose around my throat. My eyes itched, a precursor to tears.
It was utterly beyond my control. In some ways, I was little better than a squalling infant. This world was unfamiliar and frightening, and I wanted nothing more than to return to the shelter of a parent's arms. But my dad had decided to be a deadbeat long before I'd chosen my path. I couldn't count on him for comfort, then or now.
"She won't hate you."
But she could. That was the thing about choice. Having agency also meant enduring risk. Uriel had fashioned me from stardust and bound me into this flesh forevermore. Only a small portion of me could fit. I could feel my full self if I tried. Feel the absent portions of my grace like deadened limbs. I was incomplete, a mere shadow of what I'd been, and it could all have been for nothing. She could still walk away.
"But if she does?" I asked, daring a sidelong glance. Lines creased the skin around his eyes as he smiled.
"Then you two will have to talk it out like mature adults. But she doesn't abandon people lightly. If it's something you both want, you'll make it work."
I wasn't sure what I might have said to that, because the self-righteous son of a bitch used my frozen moment of surprise to press the door open. Hard. The sound of impact was enough to rouse Molly. I had half an instant to consider what was coming, and every nanosecond buzzed with the all-consuming panic of it. Every square inch of my flesh wanted to squirm away from the specter of rejection. I'd already been turned away, just as I'd warned her.
Not good enough. Again.
My voice failed me, terror wrapping like whipcord around my throat. I could only stand uselessly in the open doorway and stare as she emerged from her tangle of sheets, fabric pooling around her waist. Her hair had adopted the sheen and texture of dandelion fluff after a near-fatal feeding. It had whipped into wild tangles as she slept. Her eyes were still soft with sleep as she turned to face me.
And froze. Emotions flickered across her face. Shock. Disbelief. Grief. Hope. Fear. My guts writhed, a thoroughly alien and unpleasant sensation brought on by this sheath of nerves and impulses. Flesh truly could be a horror at times.
Tears beaded on her lashes. Fell.
Breathing hurt. This vessel was imperfect. Small. It felt too much and not enough. It acted on impulse without checking in with its intellect. I didn't remember crossing over to her. I didn't remember setting aside the stack of pancakes in favor of pulling her into my arms.
I just remembered the tentative brush of her fingers against my waist. Her hair was a sweetly scented fall of silk against my cheek. The sound of her voice when she breathed my name.
"Lash?"
"I'm here."
"For how long?" she asked.
"As long as you want me," I said. "If you want me. I'm afraid I'm more high-maintenance than when we last met. This mortality business comes with all those pesky biological necessities."
"You're human?" Molly asked. "How? Why?"
"The two can't become one flesh without the...well, flesh. It's a magical exchange of sorts, and not one I'd undertake without your permission."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you're going to make me wait until marriage?"
"Oh hell no."
I was reformed but there were limits.
Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably. I fought not to snicker. There was still something intensely satisfying in making a Knight squirm.
Molly shot him an irritated look over my shoulder. "You know I'm not a virgin, Dad."
"That doesn't mean I need to hear about your...exploits. There are some things a father shouldn't know. Or hear. Or barge in on. Which is why you'll be sleeping in separate rooms until one of you moves out."
Molly looked like she might argue. I cut across her with an easy smile.
"Of course, Mr. Carpenter. This is your home after all."
We couldn't be chaperoned forever. There would be opportunities elsewhere. The weight of her hand in mine almost made this flesh feel natural. The burden of a human heart was heavy, but her touch made it bearable. I forgot that I was a half-dead creature, my grace festering somewhere outside of my body. I let myself feel my smallness.
This body was especially waifish and folded easily into the steady strength of her. Molly was bigger than I remembered, too. Her arms crushed the air from my lungs. My heart ached like a struck anvil with every pounding beat. Even love came with an edge of pain. Typical humanity.
"So you'll stay?" she asked. "You promise?"
As long as you live.
"I promise."