Occassionally Gabriel knows he should go somewhere. He'll be working in his rooms and his resonance will go off telling him 'that way, that way, that way'. He doesn't know if it's prophecy or simply a Superior benefit. He has never bothered asking either of the other Ofanite Archangels if it happens to them. Janus would most likely not answer, and Oannes...

Oannes...

So he follows his sense, the tugging tight in the center of his wheels and whirls away from his Cathedral, across, searching - there. He should have known.

Janus sits there, in Vessel-seeming, feet trailing in the water. He is heartbreakingly still and Gabriel spins for a moment in consternation. It is the first time Gabriel has seen Janus in a year.

The first time anyone's really seen him in a year. Dominic's people had kept an eye out, though Gabriel had reassured him that Janus was not the type to go wrong. He simply needed to outrun what had happened.

"He can't do that," Dominic had said. "It's done.

"I know," Gabriel had said, and brushed a whirl of flame across Dominic's white forehead. "Yet he can't help but try. It's what he is, Dominic."

Gabriel descends to the Grotto and circles Janus, silent and sympathetic, waiting for him to speak. They are both Ofanite; he won't last long before he cracks and words come spilling out.

Janus cracks.

"Oannes isn't coming back, Gabriel."

"I know."

"He's gone. He's really gone."

"I know."

"That *bastard* Belial-"

Gabriel feels sick in his Heart. How can he say, how can he tell anyone, that he felt it? Felt Belial's triumph, felt the mad crackling cackle as it spread along the horizon, set the ocean on fire? All he can say is, again, "I know."

Janus is on his feet in an instant, hands balled. The winds pick up; he needs someone to lash out at. Gabriel knows. He is too much like Janus himself.

"You know, you know, you know," Janus rants. "You *know*! How can you be so calm?! He was there, he was with us, and now he's gone, YOUR opposition killed him, he's gone and he's NOT coming back!"

Gabriel hears unspoken words and doesn't know if it's the Belial noise he can hear at the edge of his being, or prophecy, or just a guess at what Janus will not say: It should have been you fighting Belial. Should have been you dead out there.

There's the spark of anger he's never been able to defeat. He reaches out and grabs Janus, whirls him into the air he's so fond of. Rages, voice gone deep and moaning like wet wood burning, "I am not calm, I am *not* calm!" Janus's vessel's hair sparks and fries in Gabriel's sudden heat, but Gabriel does not - cannot - dampen his rage. "Do you think you're the only one who loved him, Janus? Can you honestly *believe* that?"

Janus's voice is hollow. "He was the waves to my wind."

"And the water to my flames! When my control burned to ash, *he was there* and *holding* me and taking me deep to cool and dampen and I cannot, now, I cannot, my rage eats at me and I can't *stop* it-" Gabriel feels the fear now; he's been forcing calmness all the time, fearing just this very thing. His rings tighten on Janus as panic and anger swell in equal amounts; can't stop, can't stop, can't redirect, rage is all there is - "Janus, help me!"

Janus tries. For what it is worth, he tries, puts his arms around the coil and, voice ragged, says "Shh. Shh."

Shh, shh, shh, what kind of help is that? It's pointless expecting the wind to tame the flames, Gabriel thinks, wrapping around Janus and rocking him, wailing. Pointless. All he can do is feed them. The tears spilling down Janus's face evapourate and Gabriel rages. He can't even hold onto the salt of tears in Oannes's memory.

They rock together in mourning and nothing can bring Oannes back between them, there is nothing left, and Gabriel knows, with sudden terrifying clarity, that it will all get worse from here.

"Shh," Janus whispers, stroking Gabriel's flames, "Shhh."