"Is he going to be okay? They've been in there an awfully long time..." Duo muttered, not really expecting an answer -- Lucifer had vanished to do, well, whatever it was that he did, and Solo wasn't really paying much attention. "And just what the fuck did Raphael do to him, anyway?"

"Do you really want to know, or was that a rhetorical question?"

"YAAAH!" Duo yelped, jumping about a foot off the ground before whirling to face Mastema. "Fuck, make some noise when you move, man!"

"Hn. So what are you two doing in human form, down here? Must be uncomfortable," Mastema asked, leaning against the wall in what was obviously meant to be a casual pose but which ended up looking more like he just needed the wall's support to stay on his feet.

Knowing Mastema, he'd refuse to sit down until Duo did, so the violet-eyed American slumped down in a chair and waited for the dragon-winged demon to join him. "It's a bit nerve-wracking, I'll admit, to be in Hell while I'm still living, but Idriel was throwing a hissy fit over being down here and wouldn't let Solo take over until I took over from Max. So, here we are. And yes, I really want to know what's wrong with Heero."

Settling his wings over the arms of the chair, Mastema nodded, silent for a moment. "Well, first you have to understand something about the basic nature of angels -- the older we get, the more powerful we become. There are only three angels older than Raphael: Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel."

"So, as Max gets older, he'll be able to control shadows, like Lucifer does, instead of just moving through them?"

"Maybe," Mastema replied thoughtfully, "but it's rare for two angels to have exactly the same powers, and I don't know how much the normal way of things applies to Max. He is, after all, the Antichrist. I think it more likely that his powers will be over dimensions... time and space... reality."

A feeling like static electricity flowed through the room, raising the hair on Duo's arms, and something seized hold of his mind. He felt his mouth open, and a voice that was his/not his echoed through the room, resonant with power, "It is not yet time for us to have this knowledge."

For a moment, Duo's stomach lurched and his senses distorted, then everything snapped back to normal.

"It's a bit nerve-wracking, I'll admit, to be in Hell while I'm still living, but Idriel was throwing a hissy fit over being down here and wouldn't let Solo take over until I took over from Max. So, here we are. And yes, I really want to know what's wrong with Heero."

Settling his wings over the arms of the chair, Mastema nodded, silent for a moment. "Well, first you have to understand something about the basic nature of angels -- the older they get, the more powerful they become. There are only three angels older than Raphael: Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel."

"So, what were your powers like when you were younger, compared to now?"

"At first, I could only blend in with the background, like a chameleon... and then I could become invisible... now, if I want to, I can become incorporeal -- walk through walls, and whatnot."

Duo nodded, gnawing absently at a stubborn little hangnail. He started a little as a golden-skinned hand filled his field of vision and gently pried his finger away from his mouth.

"Stop that, before ya end up drawin' blood," Solo chided, coming to sit down in the last of the three chairs. He didn't let go of Duo's hand, though.

Rolling his eyes, Duo smiled fondly at Solo, then turned his attention back to Mastema. "Right. Back to Raphael."

"Raphael is primarily a healer. Now, the way it was explained to me is that the body, on some level, "remembers" every injury that has ever been inflicted on it. A really good healer can sense those "memories," and see if maybe some old injury was imperfectly healed and causing complications with a new injury. But Raphael is so far beyond every other healer that he can not only sense all those old injuries... he can un-heal them," the green-haired demon explained with a shudder.

"Shit... and considering how badly and how often Heero has been injured..." Duo let the sentence trail off, echoing Mastema's shudder.

Mastema nodded, his expression a little distant as he murmured, "But Heero's tough. He'll pull through. He has to."

*****

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Michael exploded, exerting every bit of his willpower just to keep from killing Quatre.

"I..." the blond angel started, his blue eyes angry and defiant, until Wufei jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow and glared hard enough to burn holes through solid steel.

Obviously, he should have kept a closer eye on the insane little blond. And now... and now... "Thanks to your unauthorized attack, Lucifer has taken his son down to Hell with him, where we can't reach him!"

That, at least, seemed to get through to the Arabian angel and Quatre wilted visibly, stuttering an apology. A little too late to be sorry, wasn't it? Maxwell was out of reach and everything he'd planned was in ruins. Well, almost everything.

Rising from his chair, Michael paced the length of his office slowly, barely aware of the two young angels still sitting on the far side of his desk. "The situation is not, perhaps, as hopeless as it seems," the redhead said softly, more to himself than to either Wufei or Quatre.

Wufei spoke up anyway, "Do we move up the declaration of war, then?"

Startled, Michael looked up, then nodded, "Precisely. Quatre, you are to remain with the non-combatants -- help the MindHealers in any way you can. Wufei, your role will be to ensure that Maxwell dies in this battle. If you can capture Duo and get him to safety in the process, so much the better, but your first priority is to see to it that the Antichrist does not survive the war."

The onyx-eyed angel frowned slightly, but acquiesced after a moment's hesitation. That hesitation worried Michael, though, and he made a mental note to instruct Wufei's second-in-command to kill the Chinese ex-pilot if he showed any sign of wavering. Nothing was more important than pulling a victory out of this mess.

*****

"Duo, he wants to see you now..." Mastema said softly, closing the infirmary door behind him as he came back out into the waiting room.

"So he's really okay?" Duo asked hurriedly, sitting up straighter in his chair. Solo mmphed, jostled by Duo's sudden movement. He cracked open one amber eye to give his lover a bleary look, then drifted off to sleep again once he was sure that nothing had gone wrong.

The barely-there light in Mastema's green eyes and the subtle upwards curve of his thin lips were, Duo was fairly sure, the stoic demon's equivalent of a normal person's wild grin. "He's tired, but he should be back to his usual, grumpy self in a few hours."

Intense relief flooded Duo and he was frozen for a moment, staring at Mastema and grinning fit to crack his face in two. Then it sank in that Heero had specifically asked to see him, so maybe he had ought to get up off his ass and go in there.

Pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light of the infirmary, Duo took a slow look around the room. Shadows danced over the stone walls as light from the waiting room crept in under the door, and the sheets on the narrow beds were all charcoal gray. Heero was visible, at first, only as a small shock of pale skin, stark against the dark blankets, and then he sat up a little and the sheets slipped down to expose a long expanse of his bare chest. "You came..."

Surprised, Duo moved further into the room and sat himself down in the chair waiting beside Heero's bed. "Of course I came. Why wouldn't I?"

Heero looked down at his hands, his strong fingers twisting the bed sheets into little seashell spirals then smoothing out the wrinkles, over and over. "I can understand you forgiving Trowa... Mastema... but me? I hurt you. I... hurt you." The former Wing pilot looked up and, even in the dim light, the pain in his dark blue eyes was clear, sharp enough to cut.

"I'm not denying that..." Duo started, struggling to find the right words. It was always like this -- when he needed to say something important, words always deserted him, and he ended up babbling about inconsequentialities. That wasn't going to work this time. "But I've had to do a lot of thinking, these last few days. Because of... Max. Everything has changed, you know? And, I have to wonder, if I had still been with you that night, if it had been you and not Idriel who was the first to face Max... well, I don't know what would have happened, but I doubt either one of us would be here to talk about it."

Prussian blue eyes widened and Heero bit his lip. Obviously, he hadn't thought of that.

"So, I dunno, maybe it was meant to be this way, you know? Even then... it still hurt. A lot. But... but..." Duo closed his eyes for a moment, letting what he felt just wash through him, tasting the different emotions, hoping, waiting for some sort of clarity, some way to explain. "But during two long years of war and missions, and darkness and pain, when I groped for warmth in the night, when I needed someone to hold me and make me feel like everything would be okay... you were there. You did that for me. And then, over the last year, when I needed someone to understand what it was like to just suddenly be thrust into a normal job, a normal life... you were there, too. You were my best friend. I'm not willing to turn my back on all that... to lose you... just because you made one stupid, hurtful mistake."

Heero's fingers walked slowly over the surface of the blankets, tentatively reaching for Duo's, winding around the American's small hand in a gentle grip, squeezing lightly. Duo squeezed back and smiled tremulously, his eyes burning, his throat closing up for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, Duo forced himself to continue, "And I can't deny that part of me wanted vengeance, wanted to see you hurt as much as I had... but not like this. Because of me, because of knowing me, loving me... you almost died. If you'd never known me, you could have lived happily ever after, had a normal life, a peaceful life, instead of sitting here in Hell's infirmary, recovering from having your internal organs liquefied."

His voice rougher than usual, Heero said sharply, "Don't be stupid!" He shook his head, his eyes glittering with suspicious wetness in the half-light. "You did more for me than I can ever, ever repay. You were the first person who ever loved me, you know. I'd rather be dead than have never known you."

At a complete loss for words, Duo just stared at Heero until he found himself being pulled into a rough hug, Heero's face buried in his hair. Nuzzling against his best friend's shoulder, Duo sniffled and felt a cool wetness pooling beneath his cheek. "I'm not crying," he insisted huskily. It seemed important that Heero know that.

"Of course not. Me, neither," Heero replied, his own voice shaking ever so slightly.

Suddenly, it all seemed very funny, and Duo started to laugh. Maybe he was a bit hysterical, but the longer he laughed, the more his stomach seemed to unknot, and the faster the tension seeped out of his shoulders. After a few moments, Heero started to laugh, too.

"I'm sorry... really sorry... to interrupt, but..." Mastema cut in, standing in the now-open door, reduced to a vague silhouette by the light streaming in from the waiting room. "Lucifer's called an emergency Council, and he wants both of you there."

His laughter dying on his lips, Duo pulled away from Heero and dried his cheeks. "Emergency Council? Why... what emergency?"

Mastema looked away for a moment and when he finally replied, his voice was all but dead, "Michael has sent us a formal declaration of war."

*****

Slipping past another knot of eagerly babbling angels, Raphael hurried down the tunnel that led towards the vault. Everyone else seemed thrilled to be preparing for war -- after all, they'd been waiting for this chance since the day Lucifer Fell -- but the blue-haired healer wasn't even remotely sure that this was right. In his nervousness, his footsteps seemed to echo especially loudly, and the soft clicks of the lock opening seemed to retort thunderously through the empty hall.

Brushing his fingers lightly over the mirror's frame, Raphael whispered, "I'm sorry, old friend, but I haven't time to properly greet you today. I need you to show me the Antichrist."

Raphael watched his reflection dim and vanish, waiting for the mirror to display something... anything... but it remained dark and blank. "You can't show me, is that it?" The mirror flushed pink in response. "Because... because he doesn't exist yet, does he?" the healer asked, finally giving voice to his suspicions. "It's too soon, isn't it? Lucifer's son is still just a child..."

The mirror's surface flashed pink again, and Raphael pressed his forehead against the cool glass. It wasn't time. Michael had declared war, and it wasn't time. "He has to know all this... doesn't he? Why? Why is he doing this?" the lilac-eyed archangel murmured to himself, pushing away from the mirror again.

He hadn't really meant it as a question for the mirror, but Raphael got an answer, anyway, and not one he had expected. Gabriel... and Lucifer. Raphael frowned, not understanding what was being displayed, at first, and then he cocked his head to the side and... "Oh! Good Lord... enough, I've seen enough, I get it, they're lovers," the healer babbled, feeling his cheeks heat with an embarrassed blush. Lovers, and flexible.

Now the question was, what did Gabriel and Lucifer's love life have to do with Michael? A sick feeling coiled in Raphael's gut, burning like bile, as he asked faintly, "Michael has declared war... out of... jealousy and spite?"

The mirror turned pink.

Too many questions tumbled through Raphael's mind, and he felt his knees go weak. How could this be happening? And what could he do about it? Pacing, a few steps one way, turn, a few steps the other way, never getting so far from the mirror that he couldn't see it, Raphael wracked his brain for a potential course of action. Could he just... confront Michael? No, of course not. Insane or not, Michael was the ruler of Heaven, and any open conflict with him would just result in Raphael's... Falling...

Whirling to face the mirror again, Raphael blurted out, "Why hasn't Gabriel Fallen by now? If he loves Lucifer, why doesn't he join him?"

In the mirror, a younger Lucifer stood facing Gabriel, the feathers of his wings just beginning to blacken at the ends, his white hair already liberally streaked with black. The expression on Lucifer's face was one of pure anguish as he exclaimed, "Why, Gabe? Why won't you come with me? You feel as I do, I know you do..."

Tracing the curve of Lucifer's jaw with one slender finger, Gabriel replied softly, "I do think you're right in this, love. I'd go with you if I could... but there are things I have to do here."

"What things? What is so important that you would... leave me...?" Lucifer asked, fingers clenching on Gabriel's arms as another streak of black appeared in his once-snowy hair.

"Leave you? Oh, no, Luce... not that, never that. We'll find a way... we can meet on Earth... in Limbo..." Gabriel trailed off, grief beginning to show in his eyes, as well.

"But why?"

"Because of Michael, love. With you gone, he is Eldest... and there's a wildness in him that I do not trust, something more than the impetuousness of youth. I fear what it might become, if he is left to his own devices," the blond angel explained tiredly, closing his royal blue eyes and shaking his head. "Raphael is too young... if I don't stay, who will watch over them all? Who will protect them, if my fears are not unfounded?"

Lucifer sobbed once, burying his face in the softness of Gabriel's robes. "Promise me that we will meet again, as often as we may?"

"I swear it. I love you..." Strong arms wrapped around Lucifer's waist and pulled him close and Gabriel kissed the top of his lover's head gently. "But I must stay... and you must go. Those who would follow you are waiting."

Kissing Gabriel tenderly, Lucifer whispered, "I love you, too," and then turned to stride out the door, his shoulders held stubbornly straight.

A single feather fell from Lucifer's wings and fluttered to the ground. Picking it up, Gabriel turned it over in his hands, his index finger tracing over the mottling of black and white. Gently, almost reverently, the blue-eyed archangel flattened the feather between the pages of a heavy book and slid the book back onto a shelf.

The scene ended, and Raphael pressed his fingers over his lips, as if to hold back the cry he felt building in his chest. He was terribly, terribly ashamed for having watched such an intensely private thing, but... but he'd needed to know. And now he needed to find Gabriel and warn him that he'd been horribly right, all those years ago.

"Thank you," he murmured to the mirror, then turned to leave... only to come face to face with Michael.

Michael's pale, pale eyes were blazing with fury, and his hand was clenched so tightly on the hilt of his sword that his knuckles were about to split from the strain. "Where are you going, Raphael?" he asked in a frightfully calm voice.

Swallowing hastily, Raphael tried to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice as he replied, "I was coming to find you. To let you know that... that Gabriel is a traitor."

"Oh, I already knew about Gabriel," Michael said smoothly, smiling a little and taking another step closer, almost touching Raphael. From this close, the healer could almost feel the dead-zone around Michael -- the emptiness that just swallowed up any hostile magic and any projectile weapon directed at the red-haired archangel.

"D... did you? Oh, good. Well, I should probably be going then... have to prepare for all the healing I'll need to do, after the battle, you know?" Raphael mumbled, knowing he sounded at least as sickly as he felt.

Strong, fine-boned fingers stroked down Raphael's chin, and Michael smiled again, his thumb brushing over the healer's lips. "You," he said conversationally, "are a rotten liar, as well as a traitor." The gentle caress suddenly became a painful grip, Michael's fingers instantly raising bruises on Raphael's fair skin as he pushed, hard.

The sound of glass breaking seemed to come from very far away, and Raphael welcomed the soothing darkness when it came to take away his pain.

*****

Michael let Raphael's body drop to the floor, scowling angrily at the shattered remains of the mirror. Two very useful tools, broken in one shot.

The slow, hesitant rise and fall of Raphael's chest drew Michael's attention, after a moment, and his scowl darkened. He'd meant to kill the impertinent little healer. He never missed. So why was the brat still alive? Perhaps it was just as well. He'd definitely cracked Raphael's skull, and even if the healer did somehow remember any of this when he woke up, he'd be more than dazed enough for one of Michael's MindHealers to... reeducate him.

Kneeling to make sure that the damage was not severe enough to kill Raphael any time soon, Michael only vaguely noticed as he put his hand down in the healer's blood. Once satisfied that Raphael would live through the night, Michael rose and left the vault. As an afterthought, he jammed the lock behind him so that if, by some miracle, the healer managed to wake before the battle ended, he'd not be able to get out and cause... trouble.