Solomon was listening. Silent, but listening, staring into space. Even if he'd wanted to answer, he wasn't sure he'd be able to. His gut had tightened and yet his chest felt warm, uncertainty and hope in equal amounts. His eyes were even burning slightly. He wasn't sure if he should believe it. What was there to be proud of? This was just a practical measure, for his own survival. An ... well, Solomon had never really considered himself an honourable man. More honourable than some.
But a man could be honourable and still not be good.
And he wasn't sure what to do with such a firm and steadfast assertion that God had something in him of which to be proud.
For a long moment there was silence except for a shocked, in-drawn breath. With a blink Solomon turned to look at the priest, frowning slightly as he registered O'Reilly's shocked expression. What could possibly have caused that, given the man's words just a moment ago?
Solomon was about to say something when the door opened, and the sorcerer closed his eyes and mouthed something that could have been either a curse or a blessing. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," said another voice, another very familiar voice, quiet but warm with something Solomon didn't dare believe was pride. A chill ran all through him, but not a chill either--something in-between, not entirely unpleasant, that made his skin goosebump. He swallowed hard, drew in as much of his composure as he could, and turned his head to look at Saint Gabriel.
The Archangel had come in behind Skulduggery, still moving slowly, but his eyes were on Solomon and the way his face was lit up with his smile ... There was pride, Solomon realised with a jolt in his stomach. Pride and affection and a kind of everlasting joy that took Solomon's breath away. The sorcerer could see others behind the Archangel, but it was almost impossible to look away from that expression.
Saint Gabriel passed Skulduggery, leaning for a moment on the bundled-up skeleton before arriving at Solomon's bedside, the one across from Father O'Reilly. He took Solomon's hand, sat on the edge of the bed, leaned forward as if Solomon was the only thing that currently existed in his world. Part of Solomon wanted to pull away from that contact, from the expression on Saint Gabriel's face, partly because something like that hadn't been directed at him in centuries and partly because he still wasn't quite sure why the Archangel should even bother.
The rest of him wanted it, rather like he'd wanted, even in his terror, to reach out for God. In the end the sorcerer's hand twitched and then settled into the Archangel's grip.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier," Saint Gabriel said. "I had to deal with a Remnant."
... Well. That would explain it. Solomon grimaced. "The world's better off with one fewer of those."
"No arguments here." Saint Gabriel's lips quirked and then eased, and even though the Archangel had stopped smiling his face still shone with that quiet joy. Mostly. Now that the Archangel had stopped smiling, now that Solomon wasn't in the middle of a breakdown, he could see the pain-lines around Saint Gabriel's eyes. And yet, at the same time, there was a kind of understated intensity there. A knowing. "Paddy's right, you know. It isn't over yet, but the steps you've taken are steps for which very few have any strength. Of course ..."
And here, while Solomon was still trying to figure out his turbulent reaction to this, Saint Gabriel threw an exasperated look over his shoulder. "Of course, if you're as much like Skul as I suspect you are, getting that through to you is going to take a bit of work. It's a good thing I'm so patient."
The last was added with a flash of an impish grin, and despite himself, despite everything, Solomon laughed. And it didn't sound bitter.
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But a man could be honourable and still not be good.
And he wasn't sure what to do with such a firm and steadfast assertion that God had something in him of which to be proud.
For a long moment there was silence except for a shocked, in-drawn breath. With a blink Solomon turned to look at the priest, frowning slightly as he registered O'Reilly's shocked expression. What could possibly have caused that, given the man's words just a moment ago?
Solomon was about to say something when the door opened, and the sorcerer closed his eyes and mouthed something that could have been either a curse or a blessing. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," said another voice, another very familiar voice, quiet but warm with something Solomon didn't dare believe was pride. A chill ran all through him, but not a chill either--something in-between, not entirely unpleasant, that made his skin goosebump. He swallowed hard, drew in as much of his composure as he could, and turned his head to look at Saint Gabriel.
The Archangel had come in behind Skulduggery, still moving slowly, but his eyes were on Solomon and the way his face was lit up with his smile ... There was pride, Solomon realised with a jolt in his stomach. Pride and affection and a kind of everlasting joy that took Solomon's breath away. The sorcerer could see others behind the Archangel, but it was almost impossible to look away from that expression.
Saint Gabriel passed Skulduggery, leaning for a moment on the bundled-up skeleton before arriving at Solomon's bedside, the one across from Father O'Reilly. He took Solomon's hand, sat on the edge of the bed, leaned forward as if Solomon was the only thing that currently existed in his world. Part of Solomon wanted to pull away from that contact, from the expression on Saint Gabriel's face, partly because something like that hadn't been directed at him in centuries and partly because he still wasn't quite sure why the Archangel should even bother.
The rest of him wanted it, rather like he'd wanted, even in his terror, to reach out for God. In the end the sorcerer's hand twitched and then settled into the Archangel's grip.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier," Saint Gabriel said. "I had to deal with a Remnant."
... Well. That would explain it. Solomon grimaced. "The world's better off with one fewer of those."
"No arguments here." Saint Gabriel's lips quirked and then eased, and even though the Archangel had stopped smiling his face still shone with that quiet joy. Mostly. Now that the Archangel had stopped smiling, now that Solomon wasn't in the middle of a breakdown, he could see the pain-lines around Saint Gabriel's eyes. And yet, at the same time, there was a kind of understated intensity there. A knowing. "Paddy's right, you know. It isn't over yet, but the steps you've taken are steps for which very few have any strength. Of course ..."
And here, while Solomon was still trying to figure out his turbulent reaction to this, Saint Gabriel threw an exasperated look over his shoulder. "Of course, if you're as much like Skul as I suspect you are, getting that through to you is going to take a bit of work. It's a good thing I'm so patient."
The last was added with a flash of an impish grin, and despite himself, despite everything, Solomon laughed. And it didn't sound bitter.