There was an odd kind of hopelessness in Skul's soul. An awareness, now, of what faced him, of the darkness inside him that the skeleton may have been growing to take for granted in some small fashion. The knowledge that he couldn't do this alone.
Yet it didn't quite feel as though Skul had quite realised that that meant he could and should let others help him not to be alone. That only made Gabriel more determined than ever to make sure Skul had even just one person, for as long as he needed.
The Archangel could have removed the problem. He'd known it when he touched the detective's soul that he could change what bound Skulduggery to his skeleton. He'd also known that to do so would remove Skulduggery's reasons for redemption, would steal his driving force, and Gabe couldn't do that. If it happened, when it happened, when Gabe was able to offer it, it would be at Skulduggery's choice.
The guilt wasn't unexpected. Gabe wished it wasn't there, but it wasn't unexpected. "How could I not?" he whispered, his thumb brushing the line of Skulduggery's cheekbone. "When you're in so much pain, how could I not?"
He might have said more, but the depth of Skulduggery's promise silenced him, and for several moments Gabriel could only look at the detective. Skeleton he might have been, when Gabe looked into Skul's face, he saw him as he was, as he should be--the man. The man concerned for him, an Archangel; so concerned that Skulduggery would seek out a God he didn't even believe in, would face down Lucifer himself, if only it meant keeping Gabriel safe.
And he meant it. Gabriel could see that too, the way Skulduggery's soul grew stronger and more crystalline at once, every fiber of his being focussed on that promise. He would do it. For Gabe.
It meant that when Fletcher's voice sounded Gabriel took a moment to respond, because he was too busy being overwhelmed, yet again, by Skulduggery's fierce protectiveness and loyalty and love for a being he hadn't believed in a few months ago. Skulduggery loved him not because he felt he had to due to Gabe's being or position at his Master's side, but simply because he wanted to. And in the face of the darkness he fought every moment of every day, he was unable to grasp the magnificence of that in himself.
Gabe's eyes shone brightly with tears of grief and gladness at once; then he tore his gaze from Skul's, dropping his hand from the detective's face. Skul's injury wouldn't pain him for a while yet--hopefully more than long enough to get him to Kenspeckle.
"No," Gabriel said, his brow crinkled with worry and his voice still a tad strained despite the fading pain in his jaw. "I was just trying to ease Skul's pain. What's wrong, Fletcher? Did--"
He'd already taken a few awkward steps closer, assuming that Fletcher had come back for a reason, because something had happened, when he realised that couldn't be it at all. There was nothing urgent in Fletcher's soul. Something sheepish, something uncertain, but at the same time something ... determined. Fletcher had come back.
Fletcher had come back not because he needed to, but simply and purely because he wanted to.
"You came back," Gabriel whispered, and there were tears of gratitude in his eyes. He stepped forward again, until he was within reach of the teen and could hug him tightly, fierce pride in his voice. "Thank you, Fletcher. Thank you." A moment later Gabe pulled away, still with his hand on Fletcher's shoulder, and half turned to Skulduggery. "Skul's jaw needs tending to. Would you mind terribly taking us to Professor Grouse?"
~~~
For the first three hours of Solomon's scouring China's library, the Necromancer had been bored beyond words. He had heard that the library reflected its owner's moods, and once he remembered that, it explained why he couldn't find a scrap of a note on Saint Gabriel or even Christianity. The only reason Solomon hadn't left was because he was determined not to let China drive him away so easily.
Then, quite suddenly, things had become markedly less boring. There hadn't been any warning; none at all. It felt like there should have been.
With a high-pitched whine every single sigil in the room had blazed to life--literally; like brands, they flared red-hot and then crackled and died, leaving behind an ashy burn. Magic had crackled through the walls and over the bookshelves; books had been flung everywhere by a magical gale, shooting from their shelves. Some had exploded. Others had burned, set alight by the sigils. Of those dozen or so sorcerers in the library, two had been burned, one concussed by a flying tome and the rest left shaken and confused in a library left hazy with magic and ozone.
It was utter upheaval of a like that threw Solomon back to the days of the war. He had, in fact, instinctively defended himself against the flying books with Necromancy, and afterwards the way his skin crawled made him wonder if it hadn't been better just to let himself be injured.
After that, driven by curiosity, he had been among those volunteering to help clean up the library until China returned. The work had avoided being tedious by the fact that each book needed to be accounted for, damaged or no, and Solomon had occupied himself with observing the patterns which had arisen between those books untouched, burned or exploded--while keeping an eye out for books that might service him, of course.
At the same time he watched through the open door for China's return. He didn't see her, however; he heard her, the sound of voices, of movement inside China's apartment. With a glance at her aide, Solomon slipped out of the library, taking but a moment to compose himself before strolling in through her door.
His heart beat fast. Something had happened. Something huge. Solomon didn't know which emotion was predominant--satisfaction that China Sorrows might have been taken off her pedestal and terror for exactly what she'd seen or endured.
"Well," he said calmly, resting his cane lightly on the floor, "there have been extensive developments here. How has your morning been?"
no subject
Yet it didn't quite feel as though Skul had quite realised that that meant he could and should let others help him not to be alone. That only made Gabriel more determined than ever to make sure Skul had even just one person, for as long as he needed.
The Archangel could have removed the problem. He'd known it when he touched the detective's soul that he could change what bound Skulduggery to his skeleton. He'd also known that to do so would remove Skulduggery's reasons for redemption, would steal his driving force, and Gabe couldn't do that. If it happened, when it happened, when Gabe was able to offer it, it would be at Skulduggery's choice.
The guilt wasn't unexpected. Gabe wished it wasn't there, but it wasn't unexpected. "How could I not?" he whispered, his thumb brushing the line of Skulduggery's cheekbone. "When you're in so much pain, how could I not?"
He might have said more, but the depth of Skulduggery's promise silenced him, and for several moments Gabriel could only look at the detective. Skeleton he might have been, when Gabe looked into Skul's face, he saw him as he was, as he should be--the man. The man concerned for him, an Archangel; so concerned that Skulduggery would seek out a God he didn't even believe in, would face down Lucifer himself, if only it meant keeping Gabriel safe.
And he meant it. Gabriel could see that too, the way Skulduggery's soul grew stronger and more crystalline at once, every fiber of his being focussed on that promise. He would do it. For Gabe.
It meant that when Fletcher's voice sounded Gabriel took a moment to respond, because he was too busy being overwhelmed, yet again, by Skulduggery's fierce protectiveness and loyalty and love for a being he hadn't believed in a few months ago. Skulduggery loved him not because he felt he had to due to Gabe's being or position at his Master's side, but simply because he wanted to. And in the face of the darkness he fought every moment of every day, he was unable to grasp the magnificence of that in himself.
Gabe's eyes shone brightly with tears of grief and gladness at once; then he tore his gaze from Skul's, dropping his hand from the detective's face. Skul's injury wouldn't pain him for a while yet--hopefully more than long enough to get him to Kenspeckle.
"No," Gabriel said, his brow crinkled with worry and his voice still a tad strained despite the fading pain in his jaw. "I was just trying to ease Skul's pain. What's wrong, Fletcher? Did--"
He'd already taken a few awkward steps closer, assuming that Fletcher had come back for a reason, because something had happened, when he realised that couldn't be it at all. There was nothing urgent in Fletcher's soul. Something sheepish, something uncertain, but at the same time something ... determined. Fletcher had come back.
Fletcher had come back not because he needed to, but simply and purely because he wanted to.
"You came back," Gabriel whispered, and there were tears of gratitude in his eyes. He stepped forward again, until he was within reach of the teen and could hug him tightly, fierce pride in his voice. "Thank you, Fletcher. Thank you." A moment later Gabe pulled away, still with his hand on Fletcher's shoulder, and half turned to Skulduggery. "Skul's jaw needs tending to. Would you mind terribly taking us to Professor Grouse?"
~~~
For the first three hours of Solomon's scouring China's library, the Necromancer had been bored beyond words. He had heard that the library reflected its owner's moods, and once he remembered that, it explained why he couldn't find a scrap of a note on Saint Gabriel or even Christianity. The only reason Solomon hadn't left was because he was determined not to let China drive him away so easily.
Then, quite suddenly, things had become markedly less boring. There hadn't been any warning; none at all. It felt like there should have been.
With a high-pitched whine every single sigil in the room had blazed to life--literally; like brands, they flared red-hot and then crackled and died, leaving behind an ashy burn. Magic had crackled through the walls and over the bookshelves; books had been flung everywhere by a magical gale, shooting from their shelves. Some had exploded. Others had burned, set alight by the sigils. Of those dozen or so sorcerers in the library, two had been burned, one concussed by a flying tome and the rest left shaken and confused in a library left hazy with magic and ozone.
It was utter upheaval of a like that threw Solomon back to the days of the war. He had, in fact, instinctively defended himself against the flying books with Necromancy, and afterwards the way his skin crawled made him wonder if it hadn't been better just to let himself be injured.
After that, driven by curiosity, he had been among those volunteering to help clean up the library until China returned. The work had avoided being tedious by the fact that each book needed to be accounted for, damaged or no, and Solomon had occupied himself with observing the patterns which had arisen between those books untouched, burned or exploded--while keeping an eye out for books that might service him, of course.
At the same time he watched through the open door for China's return. He didn't see her, however; he heard her, the sound of voices, of movement inside China's apartment. With a glance at her aide, Solomon slipped out of the library, taking but a moment to compose himself before strolling in through her door.
His heart beat fast. Something had happened. Something huge. Solomon didn't know which emotion was predominant--satisfaction that China Sorrows might have been taken off her pedestal and terror for exactly what she'd seen or endured.
"Well," he said calmly, resting his cane lightly on the floor, "there have been extensive developments here. How has your morning been?"