'My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey in my own salvation, and your eternal slumber.'
For the first time in years, he was granted the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet. Xander smiled faintly at the almost forgotten feeling, rocking back of forth on booted feet, his deprived senses heightened to an astonishing degree. The wind played with his overlong silver hair, tossing it to and fro, sending shivers racing across skin that for eight long years had felt absolutely nothing. The fresh spring breeze was accompanied by the unmistakable scent of Bally Whites, and a pang of nostalgia hit, so strong that it was all he could do to remain upright. While he and Raphael had never actually shared Bally's 'dumbapples', he and Zacky had, and it was one of his most cherished memories.
He felt a pang at the thought of their steady, long-dead friend and quickly thrust it away. Now was not the time to be distracted by such emotion. There was too much to be done. He closed his eyes just long enough to hunt out another, subtler, more distinctive scent, and his knees nearly buckled as he found it. Spicy, faintly sweet, with the hint of cinnamon he remembered so well, yet it carried an undercurrent of darkness that he had always associated with Raphael, and that darkness stirred him to the depths of his own blackened soul.
Raphael.
"I'm home," he murmured, his eyes fluttering open as he sighed with contentment. What was left of Bally surrounded him in a veritable forest of vegetation. The 'dumbapple' trees had regrown, their quick growth probably due to the high levels of Michael that coursed beneath Bally's earthen roads. They arched improbably high overhead, each bearing more of the sweet fruits than they ever had in the past. Some of the trees twisted in their ascent, curving over the remains of Bally's buildings, incorporating what once been metal and wood into their Michael-laced trunks.
Xander reached up and snagged the closest apple, not bothering to check for imperfections before lifting it to his lips. He sank his teeth into the sweet fruit, laughing softly as the juice caused his taste buds to explode, wondering why he had never sampled the delight with Raphael when he had had the chance. He chewed happily as he strode through the remains of his lover's hometown, charmed once again by Bally's stunning simplicity, although he could see why Raphael had so longed to escape it.
This simple, lovely little hamlet was too quiet, too plain for his passionate, vibrant friend. Raphael Rhapsodos had been meant for greater things. The tranquil life of a wealthy landowner wasn't for him. Raphael had yearned to be a hero, to be seen as something more than he believed he was. Instead, he had taken second place to a man he had envied as much as he'd loved.
And Xander had been too arrogant to see it. Not until the end, when Raphael had bluntly claimed that he had stolen what rightfully his, had Xander had even an inkling that his very existence had thwarted his lover's ambitions. To this day, Xander didn't know what he could have done to change things. Raphael had meant everything to him, and he had never tried to hide his feelings. Well, not more than he normally had. He hadn't been the most open of men, and perhaps, that was what had doomed his relationship with the fiery TANTARA.
If only. . .Xander sighed, this time a bit sadly. Yes, he had been arrogant, both in his own abilities and in his power over Raphael. He had been so certain that, no matter what problems rose between them, he could fix them by simply kissing his lover into submission. In hindsight, he knew that using Raphael's own passionate nature against him had been a mistake. He had left the other man feeling as though he were a puppet, dangling by strings his coolly passionate lover controlled with embarrassingly little effort.
He smiled wryly at the thought, only absently noting that he was drawing closer to the orchard Raphael's parents had owned, thinking of all he had never revealed. If only Raphael had known how strongly he affected him, how close he had come to losing control during their fights, how hard it had been to keep his own cold fire banked in the face of the other's overwhelming ardor. Would Raphael have treated him more kindly, had he been privy to the truth? Would he have understood that Xander's need to be loved was nearly as great as his own? Or would he have scoffed and dismissed such a notion, assuming that the great general was merely paying lip service to his own emotional needs?
Perhaps, he thought as he came to a sudden, abrupt stop, he would soon find out. There, in the overgrown orchard, standing before a dilapidated windmill, was a figure he knew all too well. Tall and slender, the graceful lines of his back were not concealed by the atypically dark clothing he wore. Much like his own chosen attire, Raphael was clad from neck to foot in smooth, supple black leather. It was so unlike his usual scarlet attire that Xander found himself frowning as he took a step forward.
"So, you came."