In a nondescript building somewhere within Ohio's numinous fringe, a burly angel stands just inside the door of a nondescript room containing only a chair and a table; arms folded, face set in the belligerent nonexpression of guards everywhere. His sword, point to the floor, pommel under the palm of his clasped hands, smoulders threateningly.
"I was only shoplifting a Mountain Dew," Bernadette says, sitting in the uncomfortable chair, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. Her wrists are cuffed with a single, shining, unbreakably holy hair, tied off in a neat bow. "I don't think that calls for two angels to arrest me. Do I get a phone call? I think I'm entitled to an old lawyer, a young lawyer, and to be sick on someone. Something like that."
The angel ignores her.
"I'm already exiled to Ohio," she mumbles. "This is cruel and unusual."
The angel has been ignoring her for two hours.
"How long are you going to make me sit here to soften me up? I'm already softened! Look at me! I tempt YouTubers, I'm not a hard case!"
"We're waiting for Special Angel Djulnael," the guard says, sounding bored.
"Back home, they made me wait, too," Bernadette says. "To be thrown in the Furnace, Destruction Itself. You ever think about that? Parallels? Ask yourself who the real villain is?"
"No," the angel says, still bored, and goes back to ignoring her.
Eventually, probably responding to some inaudible choir or fanfare, the door guard perks up and silently leaves the room, not even bothering to tell Bernadette to stay put; not long after that, SA Djulnael arrives, exhausted-looking, rumpled, and nursing a cup of gas station coffee.
Bernadette pulls her knees tighter to her chest.
"Hello, Naarth," she says, managing a lopsided smile. "Managed to throw suspicion on Jamdaggu alright, then?"
Djulnael makes a deeply unhappy face. "He's fine," she says. "Look, I'm sorry, this was all — this op was to nail Malharaxxus for trafficking infernal weaponry out of hell. It's been a long time in the making. I didn't mean for you to get — I didn't mean to get you — ah, fuck, Bernie."
"I know," Bernadette says. "You were just there, and I was just there, and it happens. You weren't on a mission from Upstairs to hurt me."
"I'm sorry about—" the angel waves around vaguely.
"It seemed a bit much for shoplifting."
"Ohio was supposed to be my emergency exit if things went bad," Djulnael says wearily. "Caused a bit of excitement."
"I was taking the fall for you," Bernadette says quietly. "You could have just—"
"Fuck off, Bernie." Djulnael seems to really look at her properly for the first time since entering the room, makes a noise in her throat, and approaches as though expecting Bernie to flee, or bite. She reaches from arms' length to tug on the bow keeping her wrists fastened.
"I knew it was you," Bernadette says. "For ages. You talked a good game — the lesbian bed death with malice aforethought bit was good, very demon. But you didn't feel right." She touches her chest. "Or. You know. Too right."
"Ten thousand year long game, eh?" Djulnael says, lifting the corners of her mouth in the deadest smile imaginable.
"Me or you wasn't a choice any more," Bernadette says in a small voice, in the direction of her lap, rubbing her wrists as the angel's hair uncoils. "Guess it's all fucked now, if you're here? At least you can go be an angel. Must miss it."
"Can't miss it. Never stopped being one." Djulnael runs a hand over her face. "It's messy, but we got her, plugged the supply. Cover down there is blown, by now, so you're right I can't exactly keep up being Golnaarth."
"You must miss home, though."
"I miss," Djulnael says bitterly, "the fucking puppy we never had. Though I've lied about everything, all along, so why would you believe me."
"Naarth," Bernadette says. "I knew you were an angel. I was going to let them throw me into the Furnace to keep you out of it."
"That just means you meant it." Djulnael shrugs tightly. "Doesn't mean you believe I meant it."
"Well, the guilt doesn't actually take ten thousand years, good to know." Bernie stands, carefully unthreatening. "I don't want your guilt, Gol— Djulnael. I don't fucking care. I miss you. I miss you."
Djulnael sniffles, and lets it happen when Bernadette carefully eases up to her, puts arms round her waist and her head on Djulnael's shoulder, and relaxes into her.
"What were you shoplifting Mountain Dew for, anyway," Djulnael says eventually, fingers tracing aimless patterns up and down Bernie's spine.
"Oh," Bernie says sleepily. "...I was gonna huck it at a deer."
i never thought she could be the angel.