Happy Holidays, lunatique! Part 2
Jan. 5th, 2018 05:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeOn Monday:
Aziraphale lifted an abandoned mug of tea to her mouth and only remembered that she wasn’t supposed to miracle it warm again because Crowley was looking at her with wicked anticipation. Later, at the park, Adam ran up to his knees into the pond despite Crowley’s best efforts, and Crowley fought the urge to miracle him dry. Not that she ordinarily did things like that. She believed it was up to children to learn for themselves what would happen if they did something, and swooping in and saving the kid with magic dry shoes wouldn’t help him learn not to step in ponds. It was just that she didn’t want a mess in her car. But the bet was on, so she gritted her teeth and tried not to feel anything about the elegant but thoroughly muddied upholstery of the back seat of her antique blessed car.1
1 Her model of car wasn’t even supposed to have a back seat, but she’d done modifications.
On Tuesday:
They’d meant to talk to Elías ahead of time, but they didn’t know when he’d been home, and Aziraphale had been about to try to see through the wall, but Crowley suggested they call his home phone instead. Elías’ boyfriend Rodrigo answered, and told them he’d get back home in two hours or so, around seven in the evening. The two families had dinner together that night. Crowley made a rather excellent risotto, without any miracles, the human way.
(Only she and Aziraphale knew that Aziraphale had also tried to make a risotto without her powers, and that it had come out badly, and that their dinner had been the result of a petty argument that turned into a cooking competition.)
Adam entertained himself by rolling a ball back and forth with the neighbours’ gentle and elderly spaniel, Nina.
On Wednesday:
Adam needed more paperwork to be enrolled in a preschool. He already had a (fake) birth certificate and a (real) immunization record, but apparently the school needed a proof of address for the parents. This was tricky, because neither Aziraphale nor Crowley actually paid any bills or rent. So they had sat down at the kitchen table to forge documents while Adam coloured with crayons.
“We don’t have to do it this way, you know,” Crowley said. “I could call up someone from the water company or the electric company and convince them we use their service and need another copy of the bill. I could just talk them into sending us the papers.”
“How do you intend to talk them into it?” Aziraphale asked.
“Um,” said Crowley. “Ah.”
On Thursday:
Thursdays were the days that Crowley checked in with Marduk, a demon who reported to her. He was a nanny by profession, and he had been assigned by Hell to oversee the upbringing of the American boy Warlock Dowling, whom Heaven and Hell both believed to be the antichrist.
Crowley had been driving on her way to hear his report and discuss strategies, but she had suffered a flat tire. She’d be late, so she called him on her mobile phone.
Marduk sounded confused.
“A flat tire? Can’t you just fix it?”
“Yes, I can! That’s what I’m currently doing. I’ve got the car propped up on the jack, and right now I’m taking off the bolts with my tire iron.”
“Oh. But why don’t you just, you know,” Marduk snapped his fingers into the phone, “wouldn’t that be easier?”
He was right, but Crowley wouldn’t let him win this.
“Marduk, listen, you’ve seen my car. It’s a pretty nice one, right?”
“Yeah…” the other demon answered, not sure where this was going.
“I keep it in good condition by not weakening it with magic. Machines are very finicky. You have to do things right.”
“Do you?”
“Didn’t you know? Cars especially,” she lied. “Just last week I changed the oil. I never let the fuel drop below fifty percent. I don’t drive it faster than the recommended limit. It’s lasted me nearly a century because of this. I wouldn’t dare risk ruining my vehicle.”
None of this was true, but she figured that if she was going to tell a lie, she should really commit to it.
“I guess that’s right,” said Marduk, who was doing his best to adapt and blend in with the human world.
“Listen,” he added, because he had already learned about British politeness, “if it’s too much trouble and you’re running late, we could just talk over the phone. I only meant to ask what I should do about that horrible gardener, Sister Clare.”
That afternoon, after Crowley got back from work, Aziraphale had an assignation to appear to a teenage boy and talk him out of suicide. The bet had ruled angelic visions out of the question. Maybe they should have added a clause to it, she thought, as she grappled up to the youth’s first story balcony, that using miracles for work was allowed. She picked the lock on the balcony door and made her way down the hall. He would be in his room by now. School had been over for an hour or so, and his dad wasn’t home yet. This would give her a decent-sized window of time to convince him that there were better ways out of misery than death, and that the future had a lot of positive things in store. Or something with fewer platitudes in it.
Aziraphale wasn’t good at saying the right thing.
She tripped over a lamp cable in the hallway, and things went a little differently.
Startled, the young man peeked out of the door of his room, saw a large person in a balaclava, and started screaming. Aziraphale could hardly get in a word edgewise. He was on the phone with the police before she could do anything about it, and threw various things at her, including a chair, in self-defence.2
2 Luckily (emphatically not miraculously) most of these things didn’t hit her.
Aziraphale managed to leap out of the building into some bushes just as sirens started wailing, and made it into Crowley’s car before anyone could see her. They made their escape. Adam clapped eagerly in the backseat.
“Mama, you did it!” he cheered.
“What did I do?” she asked Adam warily.
“You flew!” he answered.
“No, I jumped,” she explained.
“I swear to you I only jumped,” she added for Crowley’s benefit, “and it hurts like a b– bit more than I expected it to. It was only one floor off the ground. And heavy and light things are supposed to fall at the same speed, aren’t they?”
“Speed, yeah. Force,” she punctuated this with a whistle, “definitely not.”
Aziraphale scowled and wiped a bit of blood from her brow where the cap of the pill bottle that the young man had pelted at her had hit.3
3A few of them did hit.
“Cheer up,” Crowley said gently, “you did succeed in your mission.”
“I do hope so.”
Later, Crowley would tend to Aziraphale’s bruises and scratches at home, the human way.
And around six years later, a twenty-three-year-old man would publish a short piece in a newspaper titled “How A Burglar Saved My Life.”
On Friday:
Neither of them seemed about to give in and use their powers, but drinks were still on. It was the afternoon, and they’d already dropped Adam off at Rodrigo and Elías’ place. The couple even helpfully suggested a bar Rodrigo liked that did “No Fellas Friday” one Friday a month, which coincided with today.
“I can’t vouch for the entertainment they have nowadays, since the last time I went on those Fridays was ten years ago– before I knew I was a man, obviously– but as far as I remember, it was not bad, and I can certainly say that they still have very good drinks.”
Very good drinks were the only thing Aziraphale and Crowley were concerned with.
Back in the flat, Adam’s parents got ready for their first night out in a while. Aziraphale was rummaging through the fridge for something to eat, since she didn’t want to drink on an empty stomach. She found a jar of dill gherkins that looked promising, but it was pretty tightly shut.
Without angelic power, her upper arm strength was not that great.
Crowley tried the jar and met with much of the same problem.
“We could run it under hot water,” Aziraphale suggested, “or pop the side of the lid open with a tin opener.”
“No, that won’t work. See, I should be able to open it. I always am.”
“It’s all right, dear, I’m not that hungry anyway.”
“I must have miracled it shut last week or something. Remember? Adam figured out how to get into the fridge and wanted to challenge me to a carrot swordfight.”
“Yes, I remember,” Aziraphale said with amusement.
“So, if it’s miracled shut, there’s only one way to open it, and it’s–”
“Please don’t!”
But it was already too late.
“Presto!” said Crowley triumphantly, looking down with pride on a puddle of brine and a pile of broken glass.
“Clever,” said Aziraphale sarcastically.
“I know!” said Crowley. “May I offer you a gherkin?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said after a pause, “but also a roll of paper towels.”
The bar was located in a basement.
“‘No Fellas Friday’ sounds like an interesting time, doesn’t it?” mused Aziraphale.
“Sure, I guess,” said Crowley. “I really don’t care as long as I can get a decent gin and tonic.”
Aziraphale opened the door for her. “After you, dear girl.”
The steps down were rather narrow, so Aziraphale gripped the handrails tightly while Crowley skipped down the steps and landed with a flourish. Pink and indigo lights bathed the space. A bar lined one side wall, and there was a space cleared in the back, with a couple microphones, presumably for some sort of performer. Little high tables filled up the centre of the space, and Aziraphale and Crowley picked a table for two near the microphones and sat at it. A short-haired, muscular barmaid took their order. Her left arm was covered in tattoos of lavender sprigs, verbena, violets, and other purple flowers.
Aziraphale asked for a glass of white wine and Crowley asked for her gin and tonic. In a few minutes, they were having an animated debate about Chopin, but their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a sharply dressed singer, a lady in drag who made friendly chatter with the audience, and introduced her persona as Mr. K.
“Or King Mister! Or Eddie, if I decide I like you,” he added, throwing a wink at Aziraphale, of all people. Crowley downed her glass and asked for another one. Objectively, she knew the flirtation was all part of the stage presence, but she didn’t have to like it.
The singer was taking requests now. A handsome middle-aged woman in thick braids made a request for Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car,” and Mr. K obligingly crooned it for her, and was met with enthusiastic applause after the song. A few more songs were requested–faster and more danceable ones–and sung in the time it took for Aziraphale to finish half a bottle of wine, and by that time, the angel was feeling bold enough to make her own musical request. She raised her hand.
“Please don’t ask for anything from the bloody forties,” Crowley muttered, sipping at her fourth drink.
“How’s 1939, then?” Aziraphale asked cheerily. She had long ago realized that if you followed the letter of the law, you didn’t have to follow the spirit of it.
Crowley rolled her eyes. “I’m going to have to pretend not to know you.”
“You there, yes?” asked the singer, pointing at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale smiled ingratiatingly and said:
“If it’s not too much trouble, do you know ‘We’ll Meet Again’?”
He looked a bit surprised, but didn’t miss a beat.
“Vera Lynn fan, eh? Bit of an unusual request. That’s more of an end-of-the-evening or winding-down sort of mood, really.”
“I hope you’re not thinking about leaving us just yet,” he added, shooting a furtive glance up at Aziraphale through thick lashes.
Aziraphale gave a charming noncommittal shrug, Crowley tightened her grip on her beverage, and the performer broke into sweet song.
After the song, he sidled up to Aziraphale and Crowley’s table.
“Alrighty then, that was ‘We’ll Meet Again.’”
Aziraphale thanked him. He waited for the audience applause to finish.
Then, in a stage whisper, laying a hand over Aziraphale’s hand, he added, “Only because you’re cute, and I’m hoping we do meet again.”
The rest of the audience oohed encouragingly.
Then Crowley, who had become rather impulsive thanks to five drinks, lay her hand gently over the other two hands, and looking Mr. K firmly in the eyes with a thin smile, said:
“That’sss my wife.”
Mr. K blinked, taken aback. At that moment, both Aziraphale and Crowley broke the bet simultaneously: Aziraphale, by making the performer forget about Crowley’s vertical pupils and surprisingly-coloured irises, and Crowley, by creating the momentary illusion of gold bands.
Ever the performer, the drag king stayed in character and brushed off the painfully awkward interaction with a joke.
“Nothing untoward for you to worry about here, ma’am.”
Then, miming a rotary phone, he mouthed the words ‘call me’ at Aziraphale.
People laughed.
“Crowley, dear,” said Aziraphale, loudly enough to be overheard, “you should stop talking to people. You’re quite drunk.”
“Maybe so,” Crowley said. “Perhaps we should be getting back.”
Aziraphale paid the bill (which was a wee bit steep, but that was London nightlife for you) and left an apologetically generous tip. Then, since she was the soberer of the two, she helped Crowley stagger back up the bar’s basement stairs into the chilly night air.
“Can you walk home?” Aziraphale asked. “Are we going to miracle ourselves sober, or is the bet back on?”
“The bet is ssstill on, ssseeing as neither of us has broken the bet,” Crowley lied.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said wryly, but without any cruelty. Then she hailed them a cab.
“Wife, eh?” asked Aziraphale in the cab. “Since when?”
Crowley opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. What she wanted to say was the sort of joke that would leave the joke-teller exposed and vulnerable. So she just gave a funny shrug as an answer, and the two of them rode home the rest of the way in silence.
What she would have said was this:
1020 AD.
When they got home, Aziraphale picked Adam up from the neighbour’s place and thanked him profusely. The young boy had fallen asleep, so Aziraphale carried him gently and quietly to his bedroom. Crowley, meanwhile, undid her tie, slipped off her shoes, and curled up face down on the sofa.
Aziraphale found her a minute later and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Wouldn’t you rather sleep in the bed?”
“No,” Crowley mumbled.
“I remember someone telling me it was hell on the leather if someone drooled on it.”
“I am from hell.”
Aziraphale smiled at her joke.
“All right, then. You’re sure you’ll be comfortable?”
“Frankly, no,” said Crowley, half-asleep, “but this’ll be better. I won’t embarrass myself.”
“Okay,” said Aziraphale, mildly confused. “Good night?”
“Good night, angel,” Crowley yawned.
Aziraphale turned off the living room lights.
Crowley pretended to fall asleep, but lay awake for a while feeling guilty about what she considered an embarrassing display of jealousy. She hoped she hadn’t given her feelings away. If she were going to give her feelings away, she would much rather it be through a display of affection instead. But she was also afraid of that. That was why she hadn’t wanted to sleep next to Aziraphale like she usually did.
Crowley was afraid of doing something impulsive in this state, like holding a hand, or kissing goodnight.
Aziraphale lay awake in their queen-sized bed trying to find a meaning to Crowley’s words. The poor thing was usually embarrassed about showing emotions too obviously, but Aziraphale didn’t know which emotions she was trying to hide.
Then she thought about it some more, and she did know.
Demons couldn’t feel love radiating from people and places like angels could, but they could love. Aziraphale could sense love from Crowley, but she had always assumed it was fondness for her plants and home, parental affection for their son, and close friendship for Aziraphale. Different kinds of loves tended to feel the same way. They all felt like the pleasant glow of a heat lamp and they were hard to interpret. Crowley definitely felt friendship for Aziraphale, but there was something else mixed into it.
Aziraphale wondered what she should say. She was aware that sometimes she could come off as abrupt, and didn’t want to mess things up by saying the wrong thing. Perhaps she shouldn’t say anything at all.
Aziraphale wondered what she should do instead.
Crowley woke up and noticed that Aziraphale had draped a warm blanket over her while she was asleep. She also noticed that Adam was awake and prodding her.
“I can watch the telly,” he said. It didn’t seem to be a request.
“I don’t think we have a telly,” Aziraphale was saying.
“Eli and Rigo have one. I watched it. That’s a telly,” he insisted, pointing at the huge flat television that Crowley had and never used.
“So it is!” Crowley observed.
“I can watch it, mummy. Now, please.”
“Too many cartoons will rot your brain, kiddo.”
Adam looked confused.
“I want t’watch amnimals,” he clarified.
“Oh, well that’s all right then,” Crowley said. “But just one episode, okay?”
The boy thought about that for a second. He seemed to be trying to determine what she meant by ‘episode.’ It was evidently some sort of telly jargon. But if he agreed to his mother’s bargain, then he could watch animals, and animals were very nice!
“Yeah,” he conceded.
It was a programme about tropical fish, and Aziraphale puttered around the house and watched as Crowley and Adam sat watching the telly. It was sweet. Crowley was sitting with her legs crossed and Adam was resting his head on her knee. She was absentmindedly stroking her son’s greasy blond hair. (He hadn’t had a bath last night.) After the programme finished, Crowley asked Adam if he wanted to see an aquarium someday. Adam’s expression when she explained that an aquarium was a fish zoo was one of sheer joy.
“We have t’go,” he said solemnly.
“Not on a Saturday, kiddo. There’s crowds, you see. Standing in long boring queues. Better during the week.”
Then, before he even had time to complain, Crowley brought down a heavy and colourful book from one of Aziraphale’s bookshelves. It was a modern translation of a beautifully illuminated bestiary (Aziraphale had been outbid for the actual manuscript years ago, but Crowley had later found her this glossy coffee table book about it in a museum gift shop).
“There are some very silly animals in here. Let’s see if you can tell which ones are real and which ones are made-up. And be sure to show me where all the fish are!”
They both seemed to enjoy the game. Aziraphale could hear Adam and Crowley’s laughter. Sometimes Adam would point out some text, and Crowley would read it to him. It filled Aziraphale’s heart with emotion, and she decided that this was the right moment to express it. She strode over and kissed Crowley on the forehead. When Crowley looked up in surprise at her, she kissed her, briefly, with closed lips, on the mouth.
She pulled back and it took Crowley a few seconds to catch up.
“Really? I– wh– do you really also–” she stammered intelligently.
Then she looked at the expression on Aziraphale’s face and answered her own question. She made a gesture for Aziraphale to come back closer, and returned the kiss.
There should be no talk of sparks, because what the kiss represented had been sparked long ago. Nor did things suddenly change. In fact, Crowley had returned to reading the picture book with Adam right away (he had to remind her to turn the page), but grinning madly to herself, her spirits buoyant. Her life and Aziraphale’s would follow the same routine, but the new shared knowledge made it so that every facet was warmly illuminated now, as if by the sun rather than by a mere spark.
Minor things changed, yes. Maybe sometimes Aziraphale and Crowley would be in the living room together, an hour or two after Adam had been tucked in to sleep, Crowley reading a book and Aziraphale watering the plants, or vice versa. Maybe Aziraphale would comment on how good Crowley looked in reading glasses, or the other way around. Maybe one of them might ask, “Do you think he’s asleep?” “I’m quite certain of it.” And Aziraphale might snap her book shut and pounce. Or Crowley might whisper something to make Aziraphale blush, but she might be the one blushing at Aziraphale’s words later, in their queen-sized bed, when her red cheeks might strike a nice contrast next to Aziraphale’s soft thighs.
Minor things, of course. They already loved each other before. And they had already moved in and started a family. They’d just done a bunch of things out of order.
When Adam was around six, they’d quit busy London for a little town called Tadfield where he could spend more time outdoors. He liked his school and he made some friends, even though he was a bit clumsy and big for his age.
When he was nine, his parents told him who he was, and he took the news in stride. The three of them had two years to plan for how to avert the apocalypse, and came up with some brilliant ideas.
And on his eleventh birthday, Crowley counted down the minutes until the arrival of the–
Oh no.
Well, shit.
No sign of the dog. It wasn’t at the American boy’s house, either.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-05 03:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-05 06:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-06 03:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-06 11:07 am (UTC)Some of my favourite parts:
“That’s not at odds with this story. Nasty ex-husband, friend who takes care of me. Maybe she takes very good care of me and I realize things about myself.”
“Crowley?” she added, switching back to English, “Dear girl, are you quite well?”
Crowley was mindlessly pouring hot coffee down her white pressed shirt, and she was realizing things about herself.' – this bit was just lovely
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"Quite simply, she dressed like a woman of the cloth, and that cloth tended to be plaid-patterned." :D
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“That’sss my wife.” – hell yeah!
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And the ending. Overall, a wonderful story!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-06 02:50 pm (UTC)Perfect line!
This was very funny and cute! And the ending was fabulous!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-06 05:30 pm (UTC)And Aziraphale not glancing up from her newspaper while telling Crowley that they're lesbians anyway was.so.bloody. Aziraphale. Oh my god. Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-07 03:32 am (UTC)"“That’sss my wife.”" DARN RIGHT CROWLEY
"What she would have said was this:
1020 AD." I'm crying
Again, Adam is ADORABLE
"the new shared knowledge made it so that every facet was warmly illuminated now, as if by the sun rather than by a mere spark. " I almost legit put my hand to my heart when I read this
This was ADORABLE, and SO sweet! And then THE ENDING :O XD I loved it!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-07 04:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-08 11:19 pm (UTC)I know you had doubts about it but i absolutely loved the plot twist that even in this AU, they *still* got the wrong baby xD
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-09 06:49 pm (UTC)It was so funny to see them trying to avoid miracles to male life easier :D
I hope Crowley got her car cleaned XD
Aziraphale jumping out of a window into a bush was just hilarious! XDD
And of course, I loooved Crowley's jealousy!
And that different love feels the same way and that Aziraphale had to realise first that Crowley doesn't only love her as a friend.
And Crowley and Adam watching TV together and reading the book was SO cute, omg ;_;
And I loved the epilogue that described how their life was now so much warmer :3
And of course it's hilarious that they still got the wrong child X'DD
Excellent fic, I really enjoyed reading it! :)
Love,
Staubengel
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 06:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-22 03:57 am (UTC)