Michael's Wish, Fin

After a good meal, Michael and Morgan situated themselves together in the rarely used main library. Morgan was showing signs of fatigue, but sat arrow straight at a writing desk and placed a dented, muddy, blood-caked microcassette recorder on the desk. He opened the device and shook out the cassette. “Michael, this is to answer the question you unfailingly ask after any of my absences.”

He carefully placed the tape on desk surface. “Any other questions should wait until I have had a chance to rest.”

Michael vocally nodded and pocketed it. Morgan stretched out on the library's old leather couch. As he closed his eyes, he mentioned, “I am running out of hiding places in my home.”

Michael dragged out an old steno-recorder. He looked at his brother as he put on the headset. The tape was scratchy and sounded overused:

Outside of Denville, found a car accident, used driver's cell phone to dial 911 then left.

Trenton, found a rape in progress, stopped assailant, left victim at ER, sustained knife wound

Philadelphia, rescued bystanders from shootout, two gunshot wounds

Leesburg, rescued family from housefire, first and second degree burns

Ardmore, prevented [.....]

Michael grimaced. He pulled the tape out. It had split. He tried splicing it. The small size made it difficult. After several attempts, he finally got it in useable condition:

Mogadishu, ushered refugees to Red Cross encampment, abrasians, cuts, ordnance blast taken in chest and abdomen

*loud squeal*, liberated diamond workers, broke third finger

swept mines near Pakistani border, right earlobe avulsed

rerouted lava flows in Spice Islands, no injury... possible heat stroke

attempted to smuggle family out of North Korea, tank or mortar fire to the lower ribs

Michael snapped the machine off and sat in stunned silence. This was how Morgan spent Christmas. While Michael sat here in a palace and enjoyed family, friends, food, presents, pageantry and love, Morgan bled.

Michael knelt down next to Morgan and looked at his sleeping visage. His hand reached out and stroked his brother's hair. Morgan roused as teardrops hit his face. “Michael, is something wrong?”

“No, Morgan. There is nothing wrong, nothing wrong with you at all. If this is how you want to spend your holidays, I will never complain about you being away again.”

“I did not succeed in Korea,” Morgan stated sadly.

“It doesn't matter, Morgan. The road to heaven is paved with your blood.”

“It's not heroic. I'm not risking anything.”

“Yes, it is. You may not be risking, but you are sacrificing. You're not immune to pain, loneliness, suffering, hunger, blood loss, heartache. But every year, you go, don't you?”

“Yes, but do not make it out as more than what it is. I am only balancing my karma and I am still seriously in the red.”

“The whole omniverse is in the red, Morgan. It's not just you. What does any iteration of humanity hone but worlds of warcraft? The only advances most races make are based on hating and hurting others.”

“As Guardian of the Dragon Summoner, I should at least be able to keep my own brother from crying.” Morgan placed a hand on Michael's face. “Please, smile. I made this choice to salve my own soul. Someday it may be like yours.”

Michael felt his lips rise at the corners. He shook his head disbelievingly. “I remember when we were little and you thought Jesus was a human reference to me. Is that what you mean?”

Morgan sat up. He was smiling himself. “Mother was insulted that I referred to you as a human demi-god. She would not let me celebrate his Mass as a result. I found my own way to celebrate both him and you, though.”

Morgan could feel Michael's surprised expression. “Is that why?”

Morgan smiled wider:
“Freude, schöner Götterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuer-trunken,
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binden wieder,
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder,
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.”

Michael relented:
“Mortals, join the mighty chorus
which the morning stars began;
love divine is reigning o'er us,
binding all within its span.
Ever singing, march we onward,
victors in the midst of strife;
joyful music leads us sunward,
in the triumph song of life.”

(Merry Christmas and thanks to TVTropes.org, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Edgar Allen Poe, and Beethoven for the inspiration.)