Chapter 4: Forbidden

The first real memory Zadkiel had was when he was promoted to Watcher from one of many mindless foot soldiers in the Caretaker's army. Humans had only one language then and they'd built a city with a tower meant to stretch all the way to the heavens—if the heavens could be reached at 260 ft. This was the first time Zadkiel noticed a difference between himself and the other angels: where they followed the Caretaker blindly in their outrage that humans would do such a thing, Zadkiel questioned everything even as he kept those questions to himself.

He was terrified he might end up like Lucifer.

Or worse. At least Lucifer had his creation to keep him company, Zadkiel would be alone.

That fear followed him when the Caretaker promoted him as a reflection of His mercy when he confused the human language and forced them to cease their building of the tower rather than striking them down completely.

Zadkiel later learned they were not His creations to strike down despite His claims otherwise, but that was not information a Watcher should operate on, so he quickly forgot.

#

Decades later, the Caretaker sent him to meet Hagar. He watched as Sarai had her switched mercilessly; she would've gone until Hagar passed out except that she seemed rather intent on staying awake through it, staring with cold anger back at Sarai the entire time. Then there was a pause in the lashings and Hagar bolted, fleeing into the wilderness where she kept going until she came across a small spring along the route to the city. She looked a mess, her raven hair wild around her shoulders, mercury eyes flashed in the dark like an animal, and her pallor particularly corpse-like for the desert wilderness; she was otherworldly and the most tempting treasure. He revealed himself when she paused to drink from the spring.

"Hagar, Sarai's maid." He didn't miss the way her ashen face twisted at that title, "Where have you come from, and where are you going?" She looked up at Zadkiel with mercury eyes but didn't flinch even as he stood before her, pure unveiled divinity.

That piqued his curiosity.

"I am fleeing from the presence of my mistress Sarai," she finally answered, as if daring him to argue with her.

He did, that's what he'd been sent to do.

It felt all wrong, but he'd never admit that aloud.

"Return to your mistress, and submit yourself under her hand." She looked about to argue so Zadkiel continued, "He will multiply your descendants exceedingly so that they shall not be counted for multitude," his voice softened, less commanding and more coaxing as he saw something like wary surprise flicker in her mercury eyes, "You are with child." Zadkiel saw her already fair skin pale further at those words, a hand going unconsciously to her stomach, "and you shall bear a son. You shall call his name Ishmael because the Lord has heard your affliction. He shall be a wild man; his hand shall be against every man and every man's hand against him." A scoff escaped Hagar's lips at that as if to say of course that's how it'd be, "And he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren." Hagar seemed to take some comfort in that.

"Brethren," she murmured the word as if thinking it over. Then she glanced back in the direction she'd come from Abram and Sarai before fixing him with a level stare. "Will you help me?" Zadkiel faltered at the question, losing his composure for a moment.

"Help you with what?"

"Ishmael," she glanced down at her stomach, "I'm going to need help I can trust to raise him into someone worthy of the Lord's blessing," there was something almost mocking in those last two words but he convinced himself he'd misheard.

#

Contrary to her words, Hagar did most of the work raising Ishmael herself, only calling Zadkiel to teach him religious things that she claimed to not know, though she called him to teach the boy fairly often. He liked to think they'd gotten quite close in their time together. Then one day she called him and he found them in the desert wilderness with empty flasks and desperation coloring her voice. He appeared before her, immediately assessing her state before looking for Ishmael; he found him nestled in the shade of a bush a bowshot away. Hagar had a light pack, a bow, and a quiver of arrows on her as if to make it clear they were leaving, off to survive—or not—on their own.

Things were simply more inclined toward "or not" at the moment.

She teetered when she saw him as if the relief let the strength in her legs go out and he rushed forward to catch her.

"What ails you, Hagar?" He tried not to let slip his deeper than surface-level concern, "Fear not, for God has heard the voice of the lad where he is." She scoffed and he wondered if she was asking if He'd heard hers too as she retrieved Ishmael from the shade, "Arise, lift up the lad and hold him with your hand, for I will make him a great nation." Zadkiel steadied her for a moment, covering her eyes with one callused hand.

"What are you—?" When he uncovered her mercury eyes again, there was a well of clean water beyond his shoulder and he could almost feel her sigh of relief. "I could kiss you right now," Hagar smiled and as if to prove her point pressed her lips lightly to his quickly flushing cheek. Then she went to fill their flasks with clean water and left Zadkiel to shake it off.

"What ails you?" He repeated and she looked up again.

"You don't already know?"

"He does not share with me everything, especially if I do not need to know."

"But you want to know." It wasn't a question but Zadkiel still nodded. "You are a very strange Watcher," her voice was quiet and he almost questioned it. "Sarai—" she stopped, muttering something he didn't catch under her breath before continuing, "Sarah couldn't stand the sight of Ishmael now, not now that she has Isaac. She had Abraham send us away and the nadl waqih actually went through with it." She was angry he realized, angrier than he'd seen her since Ishmael almost burned himself as a toddler playing too close to the fire. He opened his mouth to speak but Hagar lifted a hand to stop him, "Do not give me that speech about Ishmael having manifold descendants, that sort of stuff does not matter to me." Zadkiel closed his mouth.

"You said you lived in the wilderness before becoming Sarah's slave," he finally said after a moment, glancing toward the bow on her shoulder.

"I did, that's how I know it is no place for a child barely fourteen."

"He has you," he pointed out before she could get too far down that track, "and you have me, for as long as I can manage." Then he fell silent again as he realized something that left him feeling cold with fear.

He'd beyond gotten attached to this human.

He'd come to love her.

#

All of those battles and Zadkiel had never been afraid, but now he was doing something as foreign and forbidden to him as this and he was terrified. He was hesitant to touch Hagar, a part of him frightened he'd accidentally hurt her when she was so very fragile. Mercury eyes glittered at him from the dim light, something almost reverent in them when they looked at him and he felt himself crack and give in, fingers brushing the raven hair back from her cheek. Then as if a dam had broken somewhere inside him, he was tracing her, his fingers skating across surprisingly pale skin as he suddenly couldn't get enough of the feeling of her beneath his palms. He would've been content—happy even to leave it there, but he found her fingers feathering in his silver-white hair, carefully avoiding his halo, and guiding him down to meet her. Her lips pressed soft and refreshing cold to his, tender and patient before he seemed to come alive, pressing back almost hungrily as something inside him woke up.

He wasn't sure if he liked it, but it felt so right he couldn't help himself.

Now he feared he'd forever be homesick for her.

And she was so painfully human.

So painfully fragile.

#

Hagar was crying. Zadkiel could hear her voice from Heaven, listening to her mix of rage and grief. Ishmael was gone; the Horseman of Death had claimed his soul the night before while he slept, there were worse ways to go. Still, Zadkiel could sympathize with Hagar; he'd been quite fond of the boy as well.

"Please Zak." He heard his name from her lips and started to go, but the Caretaker's hand had settled on his shoulder in restraint.

"You are to have no more contact with her," He commanded, "her usefulness has passed." Zak heard his name on Hagar's lips again and every fiber of his being wanted to go to her.

But he couldn't go against the Caretaker's command.

So he only watched her grieve from beyond the Moira.