Happy Holidays, RiWriting!
Dec. 13th, 2022 05:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeOf spies and books
Words: 4159
Rating: G-T For language and mention of guns and intended violence with said guns.
Beta: Nik from the do it with style discord server.
Summary: Alexei, a young Russian spy for the SVR RF, tries to recruit Aziraphale. It does not go as he hoped, and in his mind only one person can be responsible for his failure.
“I simply don’t understand what you see in him, dear boy. He is cruel, selfish, amoral and a thinly disguised self-insert by Fleming. I’m not one to talk badly about writers, but this is one book he should never have written,” the blond-haired man sniffed disdainfully.
“Yeah angel, book Bond is a total Arsehole. I’m talking about movie Bond though. Dashing, clever, ruthless, always successful and never anxious, and a master at temptation! Trust me, you just have to give the movies a chance,” the redhead replied.
“I suppose that is what you attempt to portray yourself as? A handsome, clever tempter?” the blond retorted fondly.
“Nah, I like to think they based him on me. It’s not just Bond though. I mean Sean Connery really does the character justice, but it’s the world building and side characters that make the movies great. Judi Dench kills it as the head of department, M, and then there’s Q the gadget guy, a real mad scientist, that one. Also Moneypenny, she started out as the token chick secretary for Bond to flirt with, but became a real badass in her own right and I haven’t even mentioned the cool car!” the redhead shot back.
Alexei snorted. Of course that capitalist though much of himself. As if real spies were anything like this Bond character. He had been quietly and carefully observing the two for some months now. They always carefully ‘just coincidentally’ happened to meet at St. James to feed the ducks. They would spend the time feeding the birds to quietly compare notes, no doubt, as afterward they would sit down and mostly just bicker back and forth about many topics. This month’s topic, it seemed, was that stupid anti-communist spy; James Bond.
No, a real spy was nothing like Bond. A real spy did not go about being flashy and guns ablazing, nor snogging everything with boobs, come to think of it. Real espionage was hard work for nearly no reward. It was carefully studying your mark and finding a way to gain their trust. Not waltzing in like you own the place and whatever other stupidities these movies proclaimed. The car was nice though; even Alexei could admit that much. It was, however, also completely unrealistic.
The redhead was clearly trying to turn the blond to the sins of capitalism. Luckily he’d as yet not succeeded. The blond was an exceptional conversationalist and able to keep the redhead entertained without actually giving into his frivolous demands.
As they stood up to go feed the ducks, Alexei watched quietly. Soon, soon, Alexei would find an in and be able to talk to the blond himself without the redhead capitalist hovering around them like a menacing puppy. It was quite funny that the redhead thought himself threatening when he truly was anything but.
He would be patient until then and curse the redhead from a distance. After the two had left, Alexei also got up and left. Today had been another observation day. Back in his meager appartment Alexei added the information to his compendium.
-Meets red in St. James. There seems to be no pattern as to when exactly. Takes care for it to never happen more than once a month and never on the same day or week.
-Seems to always feed the ducks after briefly catching up with red.
-Red leaves first. Follows a few seconds after in the same direction. Have yet to see him leave first or go a different direction.
-Do not believe it wise to follow when they leave in this fashion. Will observe further until an opportunity to engage him arises. Preferably without Red present.
-Red is prone to rant on many topics. Most of them capitalist propaganda or something to do with American films. Seems very intent on discussing something he calls Golden Girls. Made note to investigate. this.
-Golden Girls investigation brought no useful information thus far beyond that Red apparently enjoys vastly different yet equally disgusting television. So far the mark agrees. [1]
Four months later, St. James Park
Alexei perked up as Red and his mark seemed to be in a heated argument together. He could not make out what it was over, but after several minutes Red stormed off one way while his mark watched him go, before resolutely leaving in the opposite direction. Alexei waited for him to pass by before quickly checking the area where the two had stood. He expected to find no clues, but it paid to be scrupulous. A cursory glance at the ground granted him a lovely prize.
A golden pocket watch lay near the water. The broken loop at the end of the chain proved it had snapped and the watch had fallen. The watch was old and weighty. It had clearly been made with great skill and dedication. There were no markings indicating its owner, but Alexei had seen his mark check the watch often enough to know it belonged to him. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for!
Alexei quickly turned to follow his mark out of the park. It took him little time to catch up enough to follow him carefully. The blond hadn’t gone far yet. He followed him until the man entered a bookshop, and set himself to wait.
After three hours. Alexei sighed and decided he might have lost the mark. He had likely been too careless in his excitement over finally being able to meet the man he planned to recruit. Another glance at the shop showed no Blond coming out, and he decided that his best chance was to go in and see if the owner could be persuaded to part with some information on his mark.
Upon entering the bookshop, he made note of everything. The place was dusty and dark and it gave Alexei a strong, inexplicable feeling of not being welcome. The shop was also cramped, as though it couldn’t actually fit all the books and shelves and tables and other assorted items that were actually inside it. At the far end was the register and behind it was a way into what appeared to be a backroom of sorts.
“I’m terribly sorry sir, but the shop is actually closed right now,” a prim voice said from behind him. Years of work for the service allowed Alexei to keep his cool despite internally flinching at the voice. He’d not heard any footsteps and had not seen anyone in the aisle to his left, which was the only place the man could have come from; the shop’s bell hadn’t rung since he’d entered.
“I see. I follow...you. I follow to return watch. You lost, ja?” Alexei said turning to face who he presumed to be the owner of the shop and found to be the blond he’d been following. He easily affected the broken speech that most Westerners expected of a Russian as he quickly changed what he had been about to say. He quickly pulled the watch from his own pocket and held it out.
“Oh dear, I’m sure it...well, I’ll be. I actually lost it. Thank you ever so much, dear boy,” Aziraphale mumbled, patting at his pocket where his watch no longer was. He then reached out and accepted the watch back. Alexei smiled and returned the watch.
“Maybe I come back when shop is open. I find book I want. Have trouble finding in Russian,” Alexei said, easily falling into the role of a newly arrived Russian immigrant.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t have many Russian books, you see, but maybe if I knew the title, I could keep an eye out for you?” Aziraphale said uncertainly. The idea of anyone coming back to buy a book didn’t sit well with him, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but want to help the stranger. He was an angel after all, and the man did return his watch.
“Is book my babushka read to me when I was little. We didn’t finish before I left to work here. I promise we finish when I come home, but then babushka pass away and belongings got sold. I am stuck in Britain and could not return for sale. Book now lost to me so I search bookshops hope to find again. I believe here is called Happy Prince, by good writer name Oscar,” Alexei went on. This part was, strictly speaking, not a lie. He’d had a grandmother who passed and her belongings had been sold, and she had read the book to him as a child.
“Oh yes, I know it well. Dear Oscar was such a talented young man. I-it was terribly sad what happened to him. I’ll see what I can find through my contacts, but I make no promises,” Aziraphale said brightly. He had to catch himself quickly so as not to say, ‘I was terribly sad to lose him,’ and smiled kindly at the stranger whilst willing him to leave.
“I thank you, sir. I will leave now. Shop is closed, ja? Careful with watch. Is old and valuable, ja?” Alexei answered, nodding his thanks before turning to leave. This mission would take time, but he now had more information to work with than he had ever dared hope.
Crowley entered the bookshop with his usual swagger, a bottle of expensive, hard-to-obtain wine in one hand and a rectangular package in the other, as well as a bag of Aziraphale’s favorite buns dangling from his arm. After their argument at the park, Crowley had gone home and stewed for a few weeks only to, as always, end up missing his angel miserably and going out of his way to get the perfect apology gift package and slink back to the bookshop to admit that he’d been a heel and the angel was right, of course.
“Angel!” he called out as he walked deeper into the shop. When no answer cam, he flicked out his tongue briefly. The angel was definitely there, but he was not alone. The scent was human, thankfully, but Crowley had to wonder what kind of human it was that could distract his angel from responding to Crowley calling for him. The angel was usually very good at responding to Crowley’s arrival, even when absorbed in a book.
Crowley sighed and miracled the gifts into his conveniently bigger-on-the-inside pocket for later. There would be no talking or apologizing to the angel so long as the human was there. He then slunk toward the backroom where the scent was thickest and leaned against the doorway to observe.
Aziraphale was talking about Tolstoy, as always animatedly gesturing, eyes sparkling with joy. The angel did so love to talk about writers and books, and Crowley rarely could talk to him about it. The human hung on the angel’s every word, it seemed, and responded intelligently and knowledgably to Aziraphale’s queries. Crowley finally swaggered over and purposefully slunk down on Aziraphale’s armrest.
“Crowley! I’m sorry, dear boy, I didn’t hear you enter. This is Alexei Vasiliv. He’s in London on a work visum and I’ve been helping him find a book. Alexei, this is my f-friend Crowley,” Aziraphale said, smiling nervously. He still had trouble calling Crowley “friend” or any endearing term other than the “dear boy/girl” or “dear chap” he used for everyone he met. After more than six thousand years of denying their friendship for the sake of protecting the demon, it was hard to break old habits, but he was, as the humans said, giving it the old college try.
“Hello, nice meeting you,” Alexei said, managing not to glare at his enemy with the practiced ease of one who had to pretend to like his enemies very frequently, while internally wishing for their swift demise. Which they often received, often at his own hand.
Crowley nodded at the human. Great, another human who hated him before he’d even properly met them. Sometimes, he wished he couldn’t feel all those awful sinful feelings rolling off the humans he met. It had to be nice to be a human and be oblivious to such things. He wondered what reason this human had to hate him so strongly that Crowley could almost taste it.
“Now what were you saying, Alexei?” Aziraphale asked, trying to regain the thread of the conversation they’d been in before Crowley had appeared, and failing slightly.
“Ja, the very heart of Dostoevsky's teaching is this: we are “creatures,” inextricably flesh and spirit, and will only find joy when we accept this fundamental reality, a paradox which is the ground of our freedom and dignity. His effort to find an image of man in search of God for his time is what makes him timeless. He is a very great and inspirational writer, nyet?” Alexei answered, smugly glaring at Crowley. It seemed it was going to be very easy to win over his new comrade for the cause. The man loved books to a fault, and just some briefly researched knowledge had sufficed to prove that he was knowledgeable and an excellent conversationalist on the topic.
Crowley growled mentally, but refused to outwardly respond. He was above such behavior, thank you very much. He was not jealous of a human. He was not, damnit![2] He did, however, quietly miracle a strong sense of unease over the human. He was still a demon after all.
“Yes, Dostoevsky is a great writer, but personally I resonate more with the teachings of Tolstoy in that the best way to challenge our assumptions and prejudices, and develop new ways of looking at the world, is to surround ourselves with people whose views and lifestyles differ from our own. By oscillating between skepticism and dogmatism, he explored the most diverse approaches to human experience,” Aziraphale replied warmly. It was not often that he could hold these deeply intellectual conversations on writers.
Very few humans actually cared enough or had known either of the writers in question. Aziraphale had known both, and had encouraged them to keep writing even in the face of the atrocities their country went through.
“I think we will not agree on this my friend. Perhaps your friend has a fresh opinion on the topic?” Alexei responded easily. He shot Crowley a challenging look; he felt he had as good as won this battle.
“Asking who is better is like asking, ‘Which is the better drink, milk or orange juice? Which is the most delicious fruit, blueberries or strawberries? Which is better, the sky or the grass, night or day?’ To me, both Dostoevsky and Tolstoy are great writers. Each focused on some of the important ‘big questions’ of life. Dostoevsky’s Ivan Karamazov, in The Brothers Karamazov, asked how a just God could have created a world that includes the suffering of innocent children. Tolstoy, through his character, Levin, in Anna Karenina, asked what the meaning of life is. Both Dostoevsky and Tolstoy asserted that the essence of life cannot be found by relying on the intellect alone. Both understood that being true to the authentic rhythms of life means respecting the non-linear nature of life. Both make me think about what is important in life. Both urge the reader to appreciate those things that money or competition cannot bestow – love, and life itself… So who is the greater writer, Dostoevsky or Tolstoy? Both are great… And then there is Chekhov, and Pushkin, and Mandelstam and Akhmatova and Bitov… And that’s just the Russians…"[3] Crowley responded lazily leaning into the angel and shooting Alexei a dark grin.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped staring at the demon in admiration. He never expected Crowley to actually have read any of the books that talked of Tolstoy versus Dostoevsky let alone have an opinion quite so eloquent.
Alexei glared at his competition angrily and got up announcing he should get going. Aziraphale was still staring at Crowley and did not respond to this, much to Alexei’s dismay. Crowley smirked.
‘Take that ya prat!’ he thought smugly as the human left.
“Тупая капиталистическая свинья. Я еще покончу с тобой, только подожди,”[4] Alexei muttered darkly on his way out.
“Попробуй, и я медленно убью тебя ржавым садовым ножом и поджарю на гриле, как дешевый бифштекс,”[5] Aziraphale responded smiling sunnily at Alexei’s retreating back. No one threatened his demon. Not even clever new human friends.
Alexei didn’t respond, but internally shivered. That sentence had no right to sound so cheerful and feel so deadly at the same time.
Alexei carefully checked his kit. He would need to have everything on him for this mission. If he could take out the redhead then he could surely recruit Aziraphale for the cause. The capitalist pig was just using pretty words and tempting clothing to draw Aziraphale’s attention away from where it should be. Without him in the way, the blond would surely see Alexei’s way.
He had spent the last few weeks observing the redhead and learning his patterns. It would be easy to sneak into his living space. The fool lived alone in the penthouse of the Mayfair flat and the building’s security was child’s play to deal with.
Gun checked and tucked away, Alexei turned to the dresser and grabbed the small bottle of water that sat there. It’d been a gift from his grandmother; tears of a saint for good luck; not that he needed luck for this, but his grandmother had insisted he always keep it on him, and so far none of the missions he’d brought it on had failed. He tucked the vial into his inner pocket and set off on his mission. As he walked, he went over the mission one last time. Tonight, Red would be out as usual on a Thursday. Alexei would gain entry to Red’s home and hide in the plant room just out of sight. Once Red returned, and went to water his plants, he would strike.
“Darling?” Aziraphale questioned quietly. Crowley had frozen as they reached the door to his flat.
“Sssomeone’sss here,” Crowley hissed. glaring at the door.
“One of ours?” Aziraphale asked quietly as he got ready for whatever awaited them in Crowley’s appartment.
“No, human...murderoussss human...” Crowley murmured as he squared his shoulders and entered.
It wasn’t the first time a human decided he needed to die and probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Fortunately most humans didn’t know he was a demon so he had very little to actually fear from them. Guns were a pain, but so long as the wound wasn’t deadly to a human it didn’t actually pose a problem.
“Right! I know you’re in here, so you might as well get it over with!” Crowley growled angrily as he glared directly at the plant room, where he could scent the human was hiding.
Alexei mentally cursed. Time for Plan B, then. First a diversion, and then the kill. He whipped out the vial of saint juice, and while jumping out of hiding, tossed it at Red. He quickly took aim and fired. The bullet went straight and true through the vial and... Impossible! It was shattered. Clearly shattered, but there was Aziraphale holding the shattered vial in the rough shape of how it was only a second ago, cradled carefully in his hands. The water was still inside it and the bullet slowly sinking to the bottom as he watched. It couldn’t be. It made no sense!
“Oh Alexei...I did warn you did I not? You really should have listened, dear boy.” Aziraphale sighed sadly. A blinding flash of light and then...
Of course it had to be Aziraphale’s new human friend and of course he had holy water on him. The vial alone was enough to end Crowley, but the tosser had to go and shoot the bloody thing to add insult to injury!
With a panicked shout Crowley threw up his hands and froze the whole scene. Aziraphale pushed past him and with a muttered spell shielded the whole vial, water and all.
“It’s okay my dear, you can restart time now. I’ve got this,” the angel said quietly. He could see the demon tremble almost imperceptibly. They both knew it had been a close thing.
As Crowley let go of the moment and time resumed, Aziraphale turned to Alexei and admonished him. One divine intervention later, the young man lay on the ground senseless. He would not recover from this, sadly. It seemed rather a cruel thing to show his true self and drive the man mad, but well, he had threatened Crowley, and Aziraphale could not find it in himself to feel very remorseful as a result. He destroyed the vial, contents and all, and turned to the clearly shaken demon.
“Come along, my dear. I’ll take care of this mess. What a terrible end to an otherwise lovely night. There we are, come sit down. Bentley, be a dear and take Crowley to the bookshop, yes? He’s had a nasty shock and I’ve cleaning up to do. I’ll bet my left wing he kept a log and what not else that will need dealt with. I’ll be along soon,” Aziraphale said gently. He carefully led the demon out of the appartment and into his car.
The Bentley was a good machine and did as asked. It even drove the allowed speed and turned its radio to a station it knew would help soothe its owner. Aziraphale, meanwhile, returned to the appartment to pick up the senseless human.
Nikolas Volkov blinked at the ringing of his doorbell. Having long since retired from the SVR RF, he did not expect anyone to be seeking him out. He had been promised a peaceful retirement and so far had been given just that. He got up and grabbed his Glock; just in case.
“Aziraphale,” he said in surprise, upon opening the door and recognizing the visitor.
“Hello my friend, remember when you said I could come to you in times of need? I’ve come now. He is in need of your service. Had a bad mental breakdown in my shop. Can you see him back to his people and returned to his homeland safely? Can’t stay, I’m afraid. Big mess, much to clean up,” Aziraphale said, entering quickly and placing Alexei’s prone body on the couch.
“Of course, I did not forget I owe you a life debt. I will do this thing you ask,” Nikolas said. He knew better than to ask what had happened. The bookshop owner had saved his life during the war and Nikolas had seen with his own eyes just what the man really was, and swore to keep the secret. If this pup had gotten mixed up with the angel, then he deserved what had happened to him. He saw Aziraphale out and went to make the necessary calls.
Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale tucked Crowley onto the couch in a blanket with a phenomenally stiff drink[6] and was quietly fussing over the demon. The demon in question was not protesting the treatment, which in itself was testament to how unnerved he was.
“He did not know you are a demon. The vial was his grandmother’s and he used it solely as a distraction. I promise you no humans will be coming after you. I tracked down where he was staying and removed everything that might point to either of us from the logs he kept. I promise from now on I will let them know beforehand that I am not available to be recruited for their cause,” Aziraphale prattled on as he poured himself a drink.
“Did you...” Crowley mumbled, staring at the angel.
“Divine intervention, yes. I hate to do it, but I did warn him not to harm you,” Aziraphale nodded.
“Serves him right,” Crowley agreed, before slowly nodding off to sleep.
1. All this was written in his native language of course, but our scribe has thoughtfully translated it for ease of reading for the non-Russian readers.↩
2. He was; he very much was.↩
3. It wasn’t his opinion he’d borrowed it from some author who’d written on the topic and whose audio book on the topic Crowley had been listening to so as to prove to his angel that he could hold an intelligent conversation on books also.↩
4. Translation: Stupid capitalist pig. I will end you yet, just you wait.↩
5. Translation: Try it and I will kill you slowly with a rusty garden knife and grill you like a cheap steak.↩
6. The drink in question being demonic liquor and quite a bit stronger than the human variety, and having come from a section of Latin encyclopedias that was actually a hidden cupboard warded to be as uninteresting and unassuming as angelically possible.↩
Words: 4159
Rating: G-T For language and mention of guns and intended violence with said guns.
Beta: Nik from the do it with style discord server.
Summary: Alexei, a young Russian spy for the SVR RF, tries to recruit Aziraphale. It does not go as he hoped, and in his mind only one person can be responsible for his failure.
“I simply don’t understand what you see in him, dear boy. He is cruel, selfish, amoral and a thinly disguised self-insert by Fleming. I’m not one to talk badly about writers, but this is one book he should never have written,” the blond-haired man sniffed disdainfully.
“Yeah angel, book Bond is a total Arsehole. I’m talking about movie Bond though. Dashing, clever, ruthless, always successful and never anxious, and a master at temptation! Trust me, you just have to give the movies a chance,” the redhead replied.
“I suppose that is what you attempt to portray yourself as? A handsome, clever tempter?” the blond retorted fondly.
“Nah, I like to think they based him on me. It’s not just Bond though. I mean Sean Connery really does the character justice, but it’s the world building and side characters that make the movies great. Judi Dench kills it as the head of department, M, and then there’s Q the gadget guy, a real mad scientist, that one. Also Moneypenny, she started out as the token chick secretary for Bond to flirt with, but became a real badass in her own right and I haven’t even mentioned the cool car!” the redhead shot back.
Alexei snorted. Of course that capitalist though much of himself. As if real spies were anything like this Bond character. He had been quietly and carefully observing the two for some months now. They always carefully ‘just coincidentally’ happened to meet at St. James to feed the ducks. They would spend the time feeding the birds to quietly compare notes, no doubt, as afterward they would sit down and mostly just bicker back and forth about many topics. This month’s topic, it seemed, was that stupid anti-communist spy; James Bond.
No, a real spy was nothing like Bond. A real spy did not go about being flashy and guns ablazing, nor snogging everything with boobs, come to think of it. Real espionage was hard work for nearly no reward. It was carefully studying your mark and finding a way to gain their trust. Not waltzing in like you own the place and whatever other stupidities these movies proclaimed. The car was nice though; even Alexei could admit that much. It was, however, also completely unrealistic.
The redhead was clearly trying to turn the blond to the sins of capitalism. Luckily he’d as yet not succeeded. The blond was an exceptional conversationalist and able to keep the redhead entertained without actually giving into his frivolous demands.
As they stood up to go feed the ducks, Alexei watched quietly. Soon, soon, Alexei would find an in and be able to talk to the blond himself without the redhead capitalist hovering around them like a menacing puppy. It was quite funny that the redhead thought himself threatening when he truly was anything but.
He would be patient until then and curse the redhead from a distance. After the two had left, Alexei also got up and left. Today had been another observation day. Back in his meager appartment Alexei added the information to his compendium.
-Meets red in St. James. There seems to be no pattern as to when exactly. Takes care for it to never happen more than once a month and never on the same day or week.
-Seems to always feed the ducks after briefly catching up with red.
-Red leaves first. Follows a few seconds after in the same direction. Have yet to see him leave first or go a different direction.
-Do not believe it wise to follow when they leave in this fashion. Will observe further until an opportunity to engage him arises. Preferably without Red present.
-Red is prone to rant on many topics. Most of them capitalist propaganda or something to do with American films. Seems very intent on discussing something he calls Golden Girls. Made note to investigate. this.
-Golden Girls investigation brought no useful information thus far beyond that Red apparently enjoys vastly different yet equally disgusting television. So far the mark agrees. [1]
Four months later, St. James Park
Alexei perked up as Red and his mark seemed to be in a heated argument together. He could not make out what it was over, but after several minutes Red stormed off one way while his mark watched him go, before resolutely leaving in the opposite direction. Alexei waited for him to pass by before quickly checking the area where the two had stood. He expected to find no clues, but it paid to be scrupulous. A cursory glance at the ground granted him a lovely prize.
A golden pocket watch lay near the water. The broken loop at the end of the chain proved it had snapped and the watch had fallen. The watch was old and weighty. It had clearly been made with great skill and dedication. There were no markings indicating its owner, but Alexei had seen his mark check the watch often enough to know it belonged to him. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for!
Alexei quickly turned to follow his mark out of the park. It took him little time to catch up enough to follow him carefully. The blond hadn’t gone far yet. He followed him until the man entered a bookshop, and set himself to wait.
After three hours. Alexei sighed and decided he might have lost the mark. He had likely been too careless in his excitement over finally being able to meet the man he planned to recruit. Another glance at the shop showed no Blond coming out, and he decided that his best chance was to go in and see if the owner could be persuaded to part with some information on his mark.
Upon entering the bookshop, he made note of everything. The place was dusty and dark and it gave Alexei a strong, inexplicable feeling of not being welcome. The shop was also cramped, as though it couldn’t actually fit all the books and shelves and tables and other assorted items that were actually inside it. At the far end was the register and behind it was a way into what appeared to be a backroom of sorts.
“I’m terribly sorry sir, but the shop is actually closed right now,” a prim voice said from behind him. Years of work for the service allowed Alexei to keep his cool despite internally flinching at the voice. He’d not heard any footsteps and had not seen anyone in the aisle to his left, which was the only place the man could have come from; the shop’s bell hadn’t rung since he’d entered.
“I see. I follow...you. I follow to return watch. You lost, ja?” Alexei said turning to face who he presumed to be the owner of the shop and found to be the blond he’d been following. He easily affected the broken speech that most Westerners expected of a Russian as he quickly changed what he had been about to say. He quickly pulled the watch from his own pocket and held it out.
“Oh dear, I’m sure it...well, I’ll be. I actually lost it. Thank you ever so much, dear boy,” Aziraphale mumbled, patting at his pocket where his watch no longer was. He then reached out and accepted the watch back. Alexei smiled and returned the watch.
“Maybe I come back when shop is open. I find book I want. Have trouble finding in Russian,” Alexei said, easily falling into the role of a newly arrived Russian immigrant.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t have many Russian books, you see, but maybe if I knew the title, I could keep an eye out for you?” Aziraphale said uncertainly. The idea of anyone coming back to buy a book didn’t sit well with him, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but want to help the stranger. He was an angel after all, and the man did return his watch.
“Is book my babushka read to me when I was little. We didn’t finish before I left to work here. I promise we finish when I come home, but then babushka pass away and belongings got sold. I am stuck in Britain and could not return for sale. Book now lost to me so I search bookshops hope to find again. I believe here is called Happy Prince, by good writer name Oscar,” Alexei went on. This part was, strictly speaking, not a lie. He’d had a grandmother who passed and her belongings had been sold, and she had read the book to him as a child.
“Oh yes, I know it well. Dear Oscar was such a talented young man. I-it was terribly sad what happened to him. I’ll see what I can find through my contacts, but I make no promises,” Aziraphale said brightly. He had to catch himself quickly so as not to say, ‘I was terribly sad to lose him,’ and smiled kindly at the stranger whilst willing him to leave.
“I thank you, sir. I will leave now. Shop is closed, ja? Careful with watch. Is old and valuable, ja?” Alexei answered, nodding his thanks before turning to leave. This mission would take time, but he now had more information to work with than he had ever dared hope.
Crowley entered the bookshop with his usual swagger, a bottle of expensive, hard-to-obtain wine in one hand and a rectangular package in the other, as well as a bag of Aziraphale’s favorite buns dangling from his arm. After their argument at the park, Crowley had gone home and stewed for a few weeks only to, as always, end up missing his angel miserably and going out of his way to get the perfect apology gift package and slink back to the bookshop to admit that he’d been a heel and the angel was right, of course.
“Angel!” he called out as he walked deeper into the shop. When no answer cam, he flicked out his tongue briefly. The angel was definitely there, but he was not alone. The scent was human, thankfully, but Crowley had to wonder what kind of human it was that could distract his angel from responding to Crowley calling for him. The angel was usually very good at responding to Crowley’s arrival, even when absorbed in a book.
Crowley sighed and miracled the gifts into his conveniently bigger-on-the-inside pocket for later. There would be no talking or apologizing to the angel so long as the human was there. He then slunk toward the backroom where the scent was thickest and leaned against the doorway to observe.
Aziraphale was talking about Tolstoy, as always animatedly gesturing, eyes sparkling with joy. The angel did so love to talk about writers and books, and Crowley rarely could talk to him about it. The human hung on the angel’s every word, it seemed, and responded intelligently and knowledgably to Aziraphale’s queries. Crowley finally swaggered over and purposefully slunk down on Aziraphale’s armrest.
“Crowley! I’m sorry, dear boy, I didn’t hear you enter. This is Alexei Vasiliv. He’s in London on a work visum and I’ve been helping him find a book. Alexei, this is my f-friend Crowley,” Aziraphale said, smiling nervously. He still had trouble calling Crowley “friend” or any endearing term other than the “dear boy/girl” or “dear chap” he used for everyone he met. After more than six thousand years of denying their friendship for the sake of protecting the demon, it was hard to break old habits, but he was, as the humans said, giving it the old college try.
“Hello, nice meeting you,” Alexei said, managing not to glare at his enemy with the practiced ease of one who had to pretend to like his enemies very frequently, while internally wishing for their swift demise. Which they often received, often at his own hand.
Crowley nodded at the human. Great, another human who hated him before he’d even properly met them. Sometimes, he wished he couldn’t feel all those awful sinful feelings rolling off the humans he met. It had to be nice to be a human and be oblivious to such things. He wondered what reason this human had to hate him so strongly that Crowley could almost taste it.
“Now what were you saying, Alexei?” Aziraphale asked, trying to regain the thread of the conversation they’d been in before Crowley had appeared, and failing slightly.
“Ja, the very heart of Dostoevsky's teaching is this: we are “creatures,” inextricably flesh and spirit, and will only find joy when we accept this fundamental reality, a paradox which is the ground of our freedom and dignity. His effort to find an image of man in search of God for his time is what makes him timeless. He is a very great and inspirational writer, nyet?” Alexei answered, smugly glaring at Crowley. It seemed it was going to be very easy to win over his new comrade for the cause. The man loved books to a fault, and just some briefly researched knowledge had sufficed to prove that he was knowledgeable and an excellent conversationalist on the topic.
Crowley growled mentally, but refused to outwardly respond. He was above such behavior, thank you very much. He was not jealous of a human. He was not, damnit![2] He did, however, quietly miracle a strong sense of unease over the human. He was still a demon after all.
“Yes, Dostoevsky is a great writer, but personally I resonate more with the teachings of Tolstoy in that the best way to challenge our assumptions and prejudices, and develop new ways of looking at the world, is to surround ourselves with people whose views and lifestyles differ from our own. By oscillating between skepticism and dogmatism, he explored the most diverse approaches to human experience,” Aziraphale replied warmly. It was not often that he could hold these deeply intellectual conversations on writers.
Very few humans actually cared enough or had known either of the writers in question. Aziraphale had known both, and had encouraged them to keep writing even in the face of the atrocities their country went through.
“I think we will not agree on this my friend. Perhaps your friend has a fresh opinion on the topic?” Alexei responded easily. He shot Crowley a challenging look; he felt he had as good as won this battle.
“Asking who is better is like asking, ‘Which is the better drink, milk or orange juice? Which is the most delicious fruit, blueberries or strawberries? Which is better, the sky or the grass, night or day?’ To me, both Dostoevsky and Tolstoy are great writers. Each focused on some of the important ‘big questions’ of life. Dostoevsky’s Ivan Karamazov, in The Brothers Karamazov, asked how a just God could have created a world that includes the suffering of innocent children. Tolstoy, through his character, Levin, in Anna Karenina, asked what the meaning of life is. Both Dostoevsky and Tolstoy asserted that the essence of life cannot be found by relying on the intellect alone. Both understood that being true to the authentic rhythms of life means respecting the non-linear nature of life. Both make me think about what is important in life. Both urge the reader to appreciate those things that money or competition cannot bestow – love, and life itself… So who is the greater writer, Dostoevsky or Tolstoy? Both are great… And then there is Chekhov, and Pushkin, and Mandelstam and Akhmatova and Bitov… And that’s just the Russians…"[3] Crowley responded lazily leaning into the angel and shooting Alexei a dark grin.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped staring at the demon in admiration. He never expected Crowley to actually have read any of the books that talked of Tolstoy versus Dostoevsky let alone have an opinion quite so eloquent.
Alexei glared at his competition angrily and got up announcing he should get going. Aziraphale was still staring at Crowley and did not respond to this, much to Alexei’s dismay. Crowley smirked.
‘Take that ya prat!’ he thought smugly as the human left.
“Тупая капиталистическая свинья. Я еще покончу с тобой, только подожди,”[4] Alexei muttered darkly on his way out.
“Попробуй, и я медленно убью тебя ржавым садовым ножом и поджарю на гриле, как дешевый бифштекс,”[5] Aziraphale responded smiling sunnily at Alexei’s retreating back. No one threatened his demon. Not even clever new human friends.
Alexei didn’t respond, but internally shivered. That sentence had no right to sound so cheerful and feel so deadly at the same time.
Alexei carefully checked his kit. He would need to have everything on him for this mission. If he could take out the redhead then he could surely recruit Aziraphale for the cause. The capitalist pig was just using pretty words and tempting clothing to draw Aziraphale’s attention away from where it should be. Without him in the way, the blond would surely see Alexei’s way.
He had spent the last few weeks observing the redhead and learning his patterns. It would be easy to sneak into his living space. The fool lived alone in the penthouse of the Mayfair flat and the building’s security was child’s play to deal with.
Gun checked and tucked away, Alexei turned to the dresser and grabbed the small bottle of water that sat there. It’d been a gift from his grandmother; tears of a saint for good luck; not that he needed luck for this, but his grandmother had insisted he always keep it on him, and so far none of the missions he’d brought it on had failed. He tucked the vial into his inner pocket and set off on his mission. As he walked, he went over the mission one last time. Tonight, Red would be out as usual on a Thursday. Alexei would gain entry to Red’s home and hide in the plant room just out of sight. Once Red returned, and went to water his plants, he would strike.
“Darling?” Aziraphale questioned quietly. Crowley had frozen as they reached the door to his flat.
“Sssomeone’sss here,” Crowley hissed. glaring at the door.
“One of ours?” Aziraphale asked quietly as he got ready for whatever awaited them in Crowley’s appartment.
“No, human...murderoussss human...” Crowley murmured as he squared his shoulders and entered.
It wasn’t the first time a human decided he needed to die and probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Fortunately most humans didn’t know he was a demon so he had very little to actually fear from them. Guns were a pain, but so long as the wound wasn’t deadly to a human it didn’t actually pose a problem.
“Right! I know you’re in here, so you might as well get it over with!” Crowley growled angrily as he glared directly at the plant room, where he could scent the human was hiding.
Alexei mentally cursed. Time for Plan B, then. First a diversion, and then the kill. He whipped out the vial of saint juice, and while jumping out of hiding, tossed it at Red. He quickly took aim and fired. The bullet went straight and true through the vial and... Impossible! It was shattered. Clearly shattered, but there was Aziraphale holding the shattered vial in the rough shape of how it was only a second ago, cradled carefully in his hands. The water was still inside it and the bullet slowly sinking to the bottom as he watched. It couldn’t be. It made no sense!
“Oh Alexei...I did warn you did I not? You really should have listened, dear boy.” Aziraphale sighed sadly. A blinding flash of light and then...
Of course it had to be Aziraphale’s new human friend and of course he had holy water on him. The vial alone was enough to end Crowley, but the tosser had to go and shoot the bloody thing to add insult to injury!
With a panicked shout Crowley threw up his hands and froze the whole scene. Aziraphale pushed past him and with a muttered spell shielded the whole vial, water and all.
“It’s okay my dear, you can restart time now. I’ve got this,” the angel said quietly. He could see the demon tremble almost imperceptibly. They both knew it had been a close thing.
As Crowley let go of the moment and time resumed, Aziraphale turned to Alexei and admonished him. One divine intervention later, the young man lay on the ground senseless. He would not recover from this, sadly. It seemed rather a cruel thing to show his true self and drive the man mad, but well, he had threatened Crowley, and Aziraphale could not find it in himself to feel very remorseful as a result. He destroyed the vial, contents and all, and turned to the clearly shaken demon.
“Come along, my dear. I’ll take care of this mess. What a terrible end to an otherwise lovely night. There we are, come sit down. Bentley, be a dear and take Crowley to the bookshop, yes? He’s had a nasty shock and I’ve cleaning up to do. I’ll bet my left wing he kept a log and what not else that will need dealt with. I’ll be along soon,” Aziraphale said gently. He carefully led the demon out of the appartment and into his car.
The Bentley was a good machine and did as asked. It even drove the allowed speed and turned its radio to a station it knew would help soothe its owner. Aziraphale, meanwhile, returned to the appartment to pick up the senseless human.
Nikolas Volkov blinked at the ringing of his doorbell. Having long since retired from the SVR RF, he did not expect anyone to be seeking him out. He had been promised a peaceful retirement and so far had been given just that. He got up and grabbed his Glock; just in case.
“Aziraphale,” he said in surprise, upon opening the door and recognizing the visitor.
“Hello my friend, remember when you said I could come to you in times of need? I’ve come now. He is in need of your service. Had a bad mental breakdown in my shop. Can you see him back to his people and returned to his homeland safely? Can’t stay, I’m afraid. Big mess, much to clean up,” Aziraphale said, entering quickly and placing Alexei’s prone body on the couch.
“Of course, I did not forget I owe you a life debt. I will do this thing you ask,” Nikolas said. He knew better than to ask what had happened. The bookshop owner had saved his life during the war and Nikolas had seen with his own eyes just what the man really was, and swore to keep the secret. If this pup had gotten mixed up with the angel, then he deserved what had happened to him. He saw Aziraphale out and went to make the necessary calls.
Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale tucked Crowley onto the couch in a blanket with a phenomenally stiff drink[6] and was quietly fussing over the demon. The demon in question was not protesting the treatment, which in itself was testament to how unnerved he was.
“He did not know you are a demon. The vial was his grandmother’s and he used it solely as a distraction. I promise you no humans will be coming after you. I tracked down where he was staying and removed everything that might point to either of us from the logs he kept. I promise from now on I will let them know beforehand that I am not available to be recruited for their cause,” Aziraphale prattled on as he poured himself a drink.
“Did you...” Crowley mumbled, staring at the angel.
“Divine intervention, yes. I hate to do it, but I did warn him not to harm you,” Aziraphale nodded.
“Serves him right,” Crowley agreed, before slowly nodding off to sleep.
1. All this was written in his native language of course, but our scribe has thoughtfully translated it for ease of reading for the non-Russian readers.↩
2. He was; he very much was.↩
3. It wasn’t his opinion he’d borrowed it from some author who’d written on the topic and whose audio book on the topic Crowley had been listening to so as to prove to his angel that he could hold an intelligent conversation on books also.↩
4. Translation: Stupid capitalist pig. I will end you yet, just you wait.↩
5. Translation: Try it and I will kill you slowly with a rusty garden knife and grill you like a cheap steak.↩
6. The drink in question being demonic liquor and quite a bit stronger than the human variety, and having come from a section of Latin encyclopedias that was actually a hidden cupboard warded to be as uninteresting and unassuming as angelically possible.↩
Great stuff
Date: 2022-12-13 12:23 pm (UTC)this is great
Date: 2022-12-14 11:01 pm (UTC)srsly: he warned him.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-12-18 05:29 am (UTC)Aziraphale being sad about Oscar :(
Nooooo, Crowley can feel people hating him!!! :O
Aziraphale is proving that he’ll choose Crowley in the points he makes about Tolstoy and Alexei doesn’t even know it :D I’m emotional about him supporting the writers while they were alive, too.
Aziraphale asking the Bentley to take care of Crowley <3
And of course Aziraphale can take care of business. Thanks for sharing!