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go_exchange2017-12-24 05:46 am
Happy Holidays, macdicilla! Part 5
25 December 2020 (N. S.), the epicentre of noise complaints in Mayfair, London
“All right, already, I’m on my way!” Crowley yelled, turning down the radio with an irritated thought. The doorbell had been ringing for three hours straight, but now that he actually opened the door, he found nobody there – only a small package was waiting for him on the threshold.
“Sorry mate, you’ve got some terrifying friends,” the note read on its top. Then the little box started vibrating as the phone inside began to ring.
Curious and annoyed in equal measure, Crowley picked up his cell.
“Oh, finally! Is it you this time, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked impatiently on the other end of the line.
But just… how dare he?!
“It’s me,” Crowley answered coolly. “What do you want?”
“Oh, thank goodness. What was this nonsense about giving up your phone? How was I supposed to reach you?”
You were not.
“What do you want?” Crowley repeated irritably.
“Just, can we meet at nine in the park?”
“St. James’ is sort of busted, Aziraphale.”
“Is it? Really? Eh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. So, does nine work for you?” the angel pressed. Good to know that he didn’t care about any part of the world as long as he was comfortable. So maybe Crowley shouldn’t be this offended that the blessed creature had forgotten the Arrangement’s anniversary. But one still had to admire the thickness of his skin. Not a quip from him for over two months, and now he wanted to do Christmas?
“Not really,” Crowley only said. He had plenty of plants to spill the rest of this rant to.
“Oh, well. Um. But didn’t you want to… Are you sure you can’t make it at nine, my dear?”
So he actually remembered, just didn’t bother to show up?! That was even worse.
“Don’t ‘my dear’ me. I can’t make it and I won’t. And that’s that.”
“All right, all right, de-… Crowley. Eight, then?”
“Nope.”
“But you said-“
“Look, Aziraphale. If you want to meet so badly, we can do it right now, or you can just forget it.”
“I, uh… one and a half hours? Yes, I definitely need one and a half hours still.”
“Why, where are you?” Crowley asked, his curiosity winning over even his hurt feelings. He sort of envied the run-of-the-mill demons who did not have to deal with the latter.
“It’s not… it’s really not important. Please, Crowley? I can’t make this any faster.”
“… fine. Half six, the usual entrance. At least I’ll avoid the late carollers.”
“I wouldn’t call this late…”
Of course you wouldn’t, you bastard.
“Was there anything else?”
“No… just… are you quite all right, Crowley? You sound so strange…”
As if you cared.
“I’m fine,” he replied. His pride wouldn’t let him say anything else. “See you in one and a half hours. Don’t be late.”
Not anymore than you already are.
“I’ll try my best-“
“Good,” Crowley mumbled, and hung up the phone.
He was momentarily astonished to find St James’ Park restored to its former glory underneath an ever-growing layer of snow.
“Oh Lord heal this park?” he asked in spite of himself.
“I couldn’t very well let it stay all burnt down like that. Especially not for this,” Aziraphale replied.
Now that Crowley took a closer look, the angel was looking… weird. He couldn’t quite say sharp or elegant, not in a tartan suit. Only the style of his attire suggested that had probably been the intention – but the pattern and the colour scheme were just too distracting. Additionally, he seemed to have properly dusted himself off. Crowley would have bet anything that he had even tried to groom his wings.
… which was all well and good (albeit baffling). But where on earth had his eyebrows gone? Books did not tend to burn those down, and as far as Crowley knew, books had been the only company his counterpart entertained these days.
“What hap-… nevermind. What do you want?” the unsettled demon asked.
“Er… Shouldn’t we go inside first? I’ve made some plans…”
“Honestly, at this point I’m not interested in your Christmas plans, Aziraphale.”
“Christmas plans? No, no, no, it’s not about that at all. I’ve got plenty of time left for that.”
“If you call tomorrow plenty of time.”
“… tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked back, utterly baffled by the absolute simplicity of the statement. A look of horror passed through his face, and his eyebrows would have arched halfway up the sky, had he still had them at the moment. “That would explain the decorations…” he mumbled, still grappling with some barely comprehensible idea. Then, without warning, he grabbed Crowley’s hand.
“Aziraphale! What are you doing?! Let me go!” the demon demanded, but the angel summarily ignored him. He pulled up Crowley’s black sleeves, and prodded his fancy watch until it finally showed him what he was looking for. Namely, that the current time and date was 17:33, 25.12.2020.
“Oh, fuck.”
2 January 2020 (N.S.), a definitely closed bookshop in Soho
Crowley had just left after their prolonged New Years’ celebrations, and Aziraphale remained alone in his bookshop (more of a personal library, if he was honest). Free to think of what this year would bring. Entirely free to realise that in December, it was going to have been one thousand years before that they made their Arrangement with his beloved demon. Oh, yes, this was going to be a good year.
21 May 2020 (O. S.), a (just now) closed bookshop in Soho
Aziraphale had only two major problems, really. One, that he couldn’t be sure Crowley would be interested in celebrating the anniversary of their Arrangement. Anniversaries as such were, after all, an entirely human concept. Both of them had been accused of “going native”… but were they native enough for this? And if so… how was he going to give the perfect anniversary gift to Crowley?
What the perfect gift for him would be was not even a question. Aziraphale had all the information he needed to determine this, ever since the fifties. Even if he took a while to put it together.
No, the problem was not the what. Rather, the how. He had been trying to figure it out for months, labouring over obscure and badly written books in every moment of his time when he could be sure Crowley wouldn’t see it. But he had made very little progress – until he remembered to convert certain dates to the appropriate calendar system. Chronological and numerological references started to make much more sense after that. Aziraphale even managed to narrow down the problem to following the life and travels of one Christian Rosenkreutz, which was supposed to provide him with a pattern, which was a code for the ingredients of the spell he had been after all this time. Sometimes, Aziraphale thought, humans tended to overcomplicate things. Rosicrucians, especially. But if they were the best-documented group dealing with celestial harmonies, he was left with no choice but to trace their footsteps. Even if it meant that he basically ended up living his life according to the old Julian calendar. That way, at least, he would never forget the conversions.
12 August 2020 (O. S.), Canterbury
Forget a twisted love of triply obscured references in Rosenkreutz’s life. Feigning sleep this night was by far a greater challenge for Aziraphale then deciphering those historical codes. Crowley had just brought him to the very place the Arrangement was forged – a glaringly obvious hint, if there ever was one.
“So he remembers! It’s important to him, too!” Aziraphale’s enraptured thoughts were singing. “We must celebrate – it must be perfect! Oh, I have to, I have to, I simply must figure this spell out!”
30 August 2020 (O. S.), a nearly always closed bookshop in Soho
After talking to Crowley, Aziraphale didn’t let go of the phone for the rest of the day. First, he called Anathema, offering her all the feathers and even reading privileges in his collection, if only she would help him.
“Calm down, Aziraphale,” Anathema said. “We’re friends, right? You don’t have to bribe me to get my help. Not that I’m refusing the feathers, mind you.”
“Thank you, dear girl. I just… this is very important.”
“Tadfield kind of important?” she inquired worriedly.
“No, no, not at all… This is… this is for personal reasons.”
“Colour me intrigued.”
“I have been working on a surprise for Crowley… You see, we have an Arran-“
“-gementsary coming up in December. I know.”
“Arrangementsary?” Aziraphale echoed. (He quite liked the word.)
“There is an ongoing debate whether Pepper or Adam coined the word, but basically… it’s contagious.”
“Has a nice ring to it.”
“Aaand with that comment, you just ensured Newt won fifty pounds from Brian. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome? I guess?”
“Brian bet him you wouldn’t like the word. Not archaic enough for you, or something. Anyway, what do you need help with?”
“Oh, yes. The spell.”
“You can’t do it yourself?”
“No, that’s not what I meant, sorry. I found a spell – a potion, to be exact – which I want to give Crowley for our… what was it? Arrengementsary. I’ve been working on it for a while; however, I don’t have enough time to gather all the ingredients. Some of them are quite obscure. I thought maybe you could help me out?”
“Sure thing. I’ve got enough family connections – it shouldn’t be a problem. Just give me the list.”
29 November 2020 (O. S.), a not just nearly always closed bookshop in Soho
Less than two weeks left until the big day, Aziraphale was impatiently staring into the cauldron in the back room. He'd had to make a few changes to Rosenkreutz’s instructions in order to speed up the brewing process, and he would still be cutting it close with the finishing date. He did not like that one bit.
And he was missing his beloved demon.
At first, he had been happy when Crowley announced he was leaving town: much easier to keep a secret that way. Especially when Aziraphale could barely spend any time in London, either. Sure, he had asked Anathema to help him gather the rare earthly materials, and she of course did admirably… But ichor and comet dust were just the simplest things he couldn’t ask fundamentally human witches to try and obtain.
It would all be worth it, though. The look on Crowley’s face on the Arrangementsary… it would be the happiest memory for both of them, Aziraphale was certain. And in order to make it so, he had spent a considerable amount of time talking with Adam and his friends over the phone – whenever he was in an area with any reception. They all had families, after all: they could tell him much more about annual celebrations than his imagination, and provided much more reliable information than most books he had encountered on the topic.
Armed with their advice and the potion, when it would be ready, simply nothing could go wrong.
12 December 2020 (O. S.), a very unalterably closed bookshop in Soho
Crowley was acting very strange. This was not at all how Aziraphale had imagined their phone call should progress. And now… he had one and a half hours to perform an incantation over twice as long.
He sort of expected the resulting explosion.
25 December 2020 (N. S.) / 12 December 2020 (O. S.) , St James’ Park, London
Crowley was no expert at dealing with breakdowns or panic attacks, especially not when they were happening to other people. He still saw it best to get the wide-eyed (and still comically eyebrow-less) angel into the park, away from prying eyes. They sat down on a bench near the empty pond, and Crowley was gently trying to get his counterpart to talk. This had been going on for about half an hour, when finally, finally, Aziraphale broke his horrified silence.
“Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry!” he blurted, his voice low and strained and tearful. “I’ve ruined everything, I’m so, so sorry!”
“I… argh.”
Crowley needed a long moment to collect his thoughts. Deep in self-pity as he had been, his first instinct was to just confirm the angel’s words: “Yes, you have, you selfish idiot!”
An older, wiser part of him, however, pointed out that such a reply would have been a case of a pot calling the kettle black. A sappier, more human, and far stronger part of him added: and it would be a lie. Oh, and by the way, wasn’t it good to know that Aziraphale still hadn’t let go of his hand?
“No, don’t… don’t worry,” he ended up saying. “Just… angel, tell me what’s wrong.”
It took some more minutes for the shaken angel to find the resolve to do so. But once he opened his mouth, the truth just came pouring out, about everything. How he had been preparing for this day since the beginning of the year. How he had been working on a surprise. How he had asked so much from their friends. How he lived his life ingredient-hunting, and how he got stuck counting the days in the Julian calendar, because he was trying to trace the journeys of some fifteenth century doctor.
And that was it. All the reason for the whole December drama: Aziraphale had spent every waking hour working on numerological problems relating to pre-sixteenth-century human lives, and relating them back to present-day coordinates in space and time. So at some point, it became easier to just count the days according to the Julian calendar, and skip all the time demands and confusion of the conversions. Which meant that, due to the centuries that had passed since the calendar reform, the angel ended up numbering his days all wrong. To be more exact, he ended up thinking it was thirteen days earlier than it really was for the rest of the world – for normal people and man-shaped beings who used the Gregorian calendar.
This was decidedly weird, but relatively harmless. Until the very moment that Aziraphale entirely forgot that eventually, he would have to return to present customs, and restart counting his days in the Gregorian system.
It was probably not the appropriate reaction to his counterpart’s inner turmoil, but Crowley still broke out in laughter. Light-hearted, relieved, healing laughter that never wanted to end, and that made him bonelessly slide down from the bench, onto the snow-covered ground.
He felt like he could fly without wings, just float up into the sky in his boundless joy.
“Aziraphale does care,” he thought, “he does, he cares so much --- that he forgot. Not the anniversary. Just the rest of reality. He cares so much that he messed it all up, because… well, because. He is Aziraphale,” he concluded. “My beloved, featherbrained angel.”
“Are you…” said angel tried to ask, “Crowley, are you all right?”
The old serpent finally stopped shaking with laughter, and just grinned at his angel.
“Crowley, are you angry with me?”
“Do I look like I’m angry?” he asked, jumping to his feet. Aziraphale rose from the bench, too, and hesitantly looked him in the eye. (Well, at least once Crowley removed his sunglasses.) “No, angel, I’m not angry,” he said, solemn for a passing second. “I wouldn’t trade your birdbrained head for the world.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you!” Aziraphale cried out, and pulled him into an embrace so tight, so desperate, that it brought a blush to the demon’s face. “Thank you, Crowley. Just… thank you. I always knew you had a heart of gold, but I could never imagine anything quite this bright.”
The slight pink coloration on Crowley’s cheeks? Was well on its way towards deep scarlet at this point.
“May I still give you your present?” Aziraphale asked once they let go of one another.
Oh, finally: the chance to win back the upper hand.
“No,” Crowley said, “only after I’ve given you yours.”
“You got a present for me?”
“Of course I did, angel. Why did you think I disappeared for two months?”
“But I… Crowley, you really shouldn’t have.”
“Hmmm… let’s just see if you’ll say the same once you’ve actually seen it.” Crowley smirked. Suddenly, he thought it very lucky indeed, that he had never removed the gift-wrapped tablet from his pocket. This way, he could just conveniently fish it out now, and hold it out for the angel to take. “Happy Arrangementsary- wait, bless it, I did not mean to say that-“
“Happy Arrangementsary to you, too, my dear,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. He carefully removed the bow, peered under the velvet cover… and forgot to breathe entirely.
Or to move. Or even say anything.
“Angel?”
Crowley actually had to prod his counterpart to get a reaction.
“Liber Razielis Archangeli,” Aziraphale whispered reverently.
“You angels and your fancy ways with words,” Crowley grumbled good-naturedly, and rolled his eyes.
“Where did you- How- I- This-“
“Breathe, angel.”
“Crowley, this is amazing. Thank you, just… thank you so much! They never let me look at it in Heaven, then it got lost on Earth, and it is absolutely wonderful-“
“Hold up, they didn’t let you take a look?” Crowley interrupted his counterpart’s excited rambling. “Why on earth not?!”
“I, er… well. If you must know, Raziel has never particularly liked me. Or Rahab. Not even before he fell and became known as Rahab. And I’m sure there are lots of others sharing the sentiment.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much. Rahab’s dead,” Crowley announced with all the nonchalance he did not possess.
“What? How?”
“Call it natural selection. Rahab might have been smart enough to know the Book had built-in defence spells, he could even activate them… but he certainly could not get through them afterwards. I’ll tell you all about it if you’re curious. Just-“
“… not today,” Aziraphale agreed. “Especially since I still owe you your present,” he declared, forcing himself to tear his awe-struck gaze away from the emerald tablet. With slightly jittery moves, he reached into his own pocket, and offered up a tiny black phial.
“Happy Arrangementsary.”
“That’s still a horrible word. But… happy Arrangementsary, angel.”
“Thank you, old Serpent.”
“So, what’s in this?”
“Our song, my dear. And everyone else’s, too.”
25 December 2020 (N. S.) / 12 December 2020 (O. S.) , St James’ Park, London
Crowley felt suddenly very dizzy.
“You don’t mean…” he began, cracked voice getting caught on dry, chapped lips.
“Musica Universalis,” Aziraphale confirmed.
“But. Angel. But demons can’t hear the Music of the Spheres.” Crowley finally managed to voice his protest.
“Well, I found a potion that can give you back the ability. It’s… funny, actually it’s based on a reworked fragment of the very same Book that you gave me.”
This only seemed to confirm that the potion was real. That it would work. Because – as Crowley had experienced first-hand – if there was anyone (other than God) who both knew how the very essences of angels and demons could be manipulated, and did it with terrifying ease… it was Raziel.
“How does it work? Do I just drink it?” Crowley asked hungrily. Then, because he recalled how exactly those first-hand experiences went, he added one more question. “Are there any side-effects?”
“Yes, you only have to drink it… and listen, I suppose. No side-effects are mentioned, and I don’t think there should be any, either. But if you don’t want to risk it-“
“Angel. Ssshut up,” Crowley hissed, his hands already closing around the phial with the same reverence Aziraphale had showed for the Book.
“Crowley, wait,” Aziraphale said quietly, which made his counterpart’s hand instantly freeze around the cork.
“What is it?”
“The… the Music. It’s not the same as you remember,” the angel explained reluctantly.
“How do you mean?”
“The Fall, it… it’s like a never-ending scream in the heart of the cosmos. It’s destroyed the harmony – no one can listen for too long. I’m sorry. It’s not something we usually talk about, but… Crowley, it’s not just the Fallen who lost the Music. It’s everyone.”
“I don’t care,” Crowley declared. Staring deep into his angel’s eyes, as if daring him to try and stop what was going to happen, he opened the phial, and downed the contents in one go.
For a moment, he felt as though liquid starlight had flooded his corporation – and then it spread beyond the physical constraints, cutting him off from his every sense. However, as fast as it began, the violent reaction came to an end, and all the destruction it had caused, was abruptly healed. Along with one specific kind of destruction that the potion had not caused.
And Crowley was left to listen in awe to the Music of the Spheres.
It was by far more beautiful than he had remembered. Loud, but not hurtful, captivating, but not harmful, clear and rich and brighter than the sum of its parts - brighter than every star in Creation.
“... Crowley?”
Some part of him: some tiny, weary, earthbound part knew that was what Aziraphale was saying. His worldly name, a uniquely imperfect string of sound younger than the creature it belonged to. That was, however, not what he really heard. Not what the Cosmos was singing to him.
“Crowley? Dear boy, are you quite all right?”
“Y-yes,” he answered, hesitant to disturb the rumbling melody with such a banal note, and worried that he would end up yelling. It quickly became clear, though, that he needn’t have been.
“Is it…”
“Angel, it’s… mesmerising.”
“But the Fall-”
“I can hear the Fallen,” Crowley blurted out. He didn’t mean to dwell on this, let alone share the unexpected discovery with his angel right exactly on this special day… But it came out. It was an entirely new choir, omnipresent in the melody of the universe, and, contrary to his every suspicion, Crowley did not find it dissonant, ugly, or horrifying. It had its place in the chorus - it had always had.
“I’m really sorry?” his counterpart offered.
“No, Aziraphale… I can hear them. Really hear them. Not just screeching, but them. And the Song… it still knows their names! It knows!” Crowley cried out, his surprise, joy and selfless rapture completely unbefitting of a demon.
“I wish I did,” Aziraphale whispered in response. Somewhere, someone - some deranged composer - tied a cello to a lonely comet and let both the minor planet and the abandoned instrument cry their longing into vibrant threads of ether. “I wish I knew your name - but it’s impossible. All that any angel can… all that I can hear is the screeching in the place of the Fallen, ever since they had been cast out. But I wish I knew your name, Crowley.”
“But you do, angel.” Crowley smiled patiently. For a split second, their roles seemed to be reversed, the divide between their angelic and demonic natures forgotten. “Maybe you can’t say it… but you do. I hear it every time you speak to me. And thank you,” Crowley said softly, leaning forward to seal this confession with a kiss.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed.
“Cathetel,” the Cosmos sang in response, with waves upon waves of triumphant, unconditional love that encompassed all sound and all being, from the maddening spins of the great Jupiter, through the slothful, eccentric revolutions of tiny Pluto, to the nigh-imperceptible hums of a slowly rotating galaxy.
And, under the softly falling snow, Crowley thought: it would keep singing, for the both of them, for ever and ever.
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Music
Re: Music
Re: Music
And, honestly, I'm not overly excited for the tv-series, but i'm hoping they will let Aziraphale swear, too :D
I LOVE it
My heart is bursting with joy. This is better than anything I could have imagined. I can tell you put as much work and research into it as Crowley and Aziraphale put into their anniversary gifts! I have already read the whole story twice and look forward to reading it many times again! Happy holidays and thank you so much for this amazing gift!!
Re: I LOVE it
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(Anonymous) 2017-12-26 08:33 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
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Nice job!!!!
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The Names (and NOT forgetting them) is haunting...
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I love that you mentioned he was planning on ranting about all of this to his plants (poor things)
Reading the little section about Aziraphale being so excited at the beginning of the year is making me so sad DX
Oh man, I was wondering if Aziraphale had the date off in his head because of how calendars had changed, and I was almost right! That's very in-character
The ending :') It ties into the beginning....the Music of the Heart....that was lovely :)
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Just imagine what the plants will hear about now!
And congratulations on your premonition about the calendar systems! I hoped people would agree with me when I thought Aziraphale could totally fall victim to them, and they seem to, and it feels great :)
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(Anonymous) 2018-01-05 04:37 pm (UTC)(link)Aw, angel <3
And then: "Aziraphale does care,” he thought, “he does, he cares so much --- that he forgot. Not the anniversary. Just the rest of reality. He cares so much that he messed it all up, because… well, because. He is Aziraphale,” he concluded. “My beloved, featherbrained angel.”
AAAAAWWWWWW
"It had its place in the chorus - it had always had"
Simply beautiful!
And the end!!! Fdrhgeezukgfez
Thank you, it was wonderful!
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Great Reveal!
(Anonymous) 2018-10-30 01:04 pm (UTC)(link)I LOVE LOVE LOVE the fact that Aziraphale missed their anniversary because he was using the Julian calendar. That is just SUCH an Aziraphale thing to do! I had figured out that O.S. and N.S. stood for "old system" and "new system," but I was thinking that the N.S. scenes were set in the distant future (hence part of my confusion with the timeline at the beginning), and I never even suspected that different calendars of /the same stretch of time/ might be in effect. But awesome reveal and I'm so happy they finally got their anniversary!!
-ImprobableDreams900