"But the carnival is perfect for dressing up," Gabe said innocently with wide eyes, aside from the flash of a wink he tossed toward Fletcher. "No one's going to look twice at anyone dressed weirdly there. And I'm sure it'd entertain Allie."
Her name has resonated so loudly in Barney's soul it was really rather impossible not to see it. "But yes." He grinned at Fletcher, squeezing his arm again. "After dismantling bombs, we can all go. It can be a celebration."
And that was when the door opened.
~~~
Then why do you believe in Him? Solomon almost asked, except the words drowned before they reached his lips. He knew. He knew because, like Father O'Reilly, he had been just as faithful. Because he had believed in something wholeheartedly, something for which he needed no proof. That's what faith was.
It had taken an angel, and Archangel, to uproot Solomon's own belief. A real angel. That was the concept that filtered through Solomon's detachment, through his semi-awareness. It wasn't as if he had no control over his body; it was more that his mind had decided to separate from his consciousness and work of its own accord.
"I saw an angel last night. An Archangel. Saint Gabriel," Solomon said with that same fragile calm. "He told me I should think hard on the path I was on. I'm still not sure why I wasn't smote, to be honest, but he said smiting wasn't really his thing." He was staring at the cross, past the cross, through the cross. "It wasn't a vision. It was too real. Too ... painful. He's very bright, you know. The shadows he casts are brighter than the physical light around him."
And then the Necromancer laughed, a strange, brittle laugh. "I stopped believing in angels a long time ago, and now suddenly I find they're real. Is it possible to be faithful when you have proof? Does it count? I doubt it."
There was resignation in his voice. He was doomed.
no subject
Her name has resonated so loudly in Barney's soul it was really rather impossible not to see it. "But yes." He grinned at Fletcher, squeezing his arm again. "After dismantling bombs, we can all go. It can be a celebration."
And that was when the door opened.
~~~
Then why do you believe in Him? Solomon almost asked, except the words drowned before they reached his lips. He knew. He knew because, like Father O'Reilly, he had been just as faithful. Because he had believed in something wholeheartedly, something for which he needed no proof. That's what faith was.
It had taken an angel, and Archangel, to uproot Solomon's own belief. A real angel. That was the concept that filtered through Solomon's detachment, through his semi-awareness. It wasn't as if he had no control over his body; it was more that his mind had decided to separate from his consciousness and work of its own accord.
"I saw an angel last night. An Archangel. Saint Gabriel," Solomon said with that same fragile calm. "He told me I should think hard on the path I was on. I'm still not sure why I wasn't smote, to be honest, but he said smiting wasn't really his thing." He was staring at the cross, past the cross, through the cross. "It wasn't a vision. It was too real. Too ... painful. He's very bright, you know. The shadows he casts are brighter than the physical light around him."
And then the Necromancer laughed, a strange, brittle laugh. "I stopped believing in angels a long time ago, and now suddenly I find they're real. Is it possible to be faithful when you have proof? Does it count? I doubt it."
There was resignation in his voice. He was doomed.