Happy Holidays, blueeyedtigress!, Part III

[waxbean.livejournal.com]

His rescuer dragged him ashore, deposited him roughly on the ground and wheezed a couple of times. Crowley lay on his back and stared at the stars. Nothing mattered any more.

“My God, Crowley!” gasped an angry, breathless and wonderfully, achingly familiar voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

***

It wasn’t like Aziraphale to swear though, so Crowley jerked himself around, nearly spraining his neck in the process.

He was dripping wet and dishevelled and his glasses were askew and he was panting because he never remembered that he didn’t actually need to breathe. His face was an odd purplish-pink colour and his cheeks were quivering slightly from the effort and he had algae and duck feathers in his hair, but he was unmistakably Aziraphale.

Crowley had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“What is the matter with you?” demanded Aziraphale. “What are you doing here? Where’s the dog? And why are you trying to drown yourself in a lake?”

“Aziraphale?” said Crowley faintly, goggling up at him.

“Yes!” snapped the angel. “Still here and waiting for you to say something!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley repeated. He still felt emotionally drained.

It’s like this - sometimes when you’ve been riding high, or low, on a particular emotion it can be hard to snap out of it. So when you’ve spent a good few hours despairing that the only person you’ve ever cared about is currently being hideously mutilated by fiends from hell and then he shows up unharmed and rather annoyed at you – it can sometimes take a few minutes to register.

Aziraphale’s face softened and he put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

Crowley let out a shaky laugh. He was shivering although he wasn’t sure if that was because of the cold or the relief.

“I’m fine,” he said rather hoarsely. And he was fine. Aziraphale was okay and he was here and not hanging upside down over a heated lava pit with his entrails hanging out and everything was fine.

He pulled the angel down next to him, tucked his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

Aziraphale stiffened briefly. Then he slackened, shook his head disbelievingly, held Crowley properly and stroked his hair. Crowley sighed contently and snuggled closer.

Aziraphale smelled of pond weed and wet tweed, but beneath that was the smell of old books and cocoa and of the angel himself.

“There, there,” crooned Aziraphale soothingly. “I don’t know what happened to you, but it will be alright. Whatever it is, we can rectify it in the morning. Unless, you’ve been doing… er… roots… and are… um… rocked?”

Crowley laughed a little hysterically. Yes, that was Aziraphale alright. The angel started and tried to move back, Crowley clutched at him desperately and hung on as if for dear life. He wasn’t going to let Aziraphale out of his sight or grasp again, not after he’d almost lost him.

Aziraphale sighed in a long-suffering way and then gently disentangled Crowley from himself. He cupped Crowley’s cheek with his palm, sighed again, and then kissed Crowley tenderly on the forehead.

It would be easy, thought Crowley, so easy to just pull the angel’s head down and –

“I’m terribly sorry about this, my dear,” Aziraphale said, sounding sincerely regretful. “I wish I could just – never mind – just trust me when I say this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”

He leaned back, presumably to optimise the impact, and bought the back of his hand across Crowley’s face.

Hard.

It made his head snap back and his ears ring. One day Crowley was going to have to ask Aziraphale where he had got such a mean backhand from. On the plus side it had the desired effect.

“Ow,” said Crowley rather pathetically, “That fucking hurt -”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale mused tranquilly, shaking his hand. “I know. So, are you going to tell me why you’re having sudden urges to sleep with the fishes or am I going to have to slap you a few more times?”

***

“And then I came here.”

“To take a swim?”

“Look, I was upset, ok? It’s not everyday you see a hellhound tear someone apart. Not that I’m going to be crying over Hastur, as far as I’m concerned it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke.”

“But why the lake?”

“I thought they’d kidnapped you and were poking unspeakable things into your orifices!”

Aziraphale paused to swallow apprehensively at this image, but then continued in the manner of a particularly headstrong toddler who refuses to give up that smelly old blanket that has now become a breeding ground for new, virulent diseases. “That’s … touching. But why were you in the lake?”

“Would you stop going on about the lake? We have more important things to worry about. We have a hellhound running around.”

“Did you have to say hellhound? Couldn’t you have turned it into something a bit less obtrusive? Not to mention violent.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“You said that you did want it to be bigger!”

“Well yeah, but wanting something and effectively causing it to happen are two different things! I mean I’ve always wished you’d update your wardrobe beyond the 1920s but I’ve never actually done anything about it!”

“Well you knew that it had happened to me earlier, you should have been more careful!”

“I thought you’d caught some sort of angel flue. Maybe I caught it off you!”

“That’s ridiculous. Are you sure you haven't been smoking any roots?”

“Well, can you explain it?”

Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully, “Demonic possession? Do you think -”

YOU ARE BOTH VERY STUPID PEOPLE AND DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING AT ALL.

“You again?” snapped Crowley, who was feeling particularly fractious after his impromptu dip in the pond. “Why are you always showing up here? Don’t you have something better to do?”

YES. YOUR NEW PET HAS BEEN KEEPING ME BUSY TONIGHT. BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale intoned mournfully, “What have you done?”

“Oh shut up. If you hadn’t done it first, I wouldn’t have had to.”

THIS IS STRANGELY AMUSING. I BEGIN TO SEE THE APPEAL OF ALL THOSE SITUATION COMEDIES THAT MAINLY CONSIST OF PEOPLE FIGHTING.

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and looked pained. “We’re not going to get anywhere blaming each other." He turned to the robed figure. “You obviously know something that we don’t.”

I KNOW EVERYTHING. EXCEPT THAT WHICH IS INEFFABLE.

“Right,” said Crowley. “And you’re what? Waiting for a drum roll and thunderous music?”

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND? IS THIS YOUR HUMOUR AGAIN? IS THIS HOW IT IS SIMILAR TO A FROG? IT CAN MAKE A PERCUSSIVE SOUND AND COMES OUT WHEN IT RAINS?

“What? I don’t – What?”

Aziraphale groaned. “Just tell us, please.”

There was a creaking whistling noise. The type you might expect if a skeleton attempted to sigh.

I CAN GIVE YOU NO ANSWERS. BUT I SHALL GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE - REMEMBER THAT EVERYTHING HAS ROOTS.

“Aha!” said Aziraphale, “I knew you were using narcotic substances!”

“Shut up angel. What do you – Gah! I hate it when he does that! This is probably just some bloody soap opera for him. But while we‘re on the subject, it's weeds, not roots!”

“Roots,” muttered Aziraphale. “Roots. Everything has roots. Where did the dog come from?”

“From Adam, you git!”

“No, I mean where did he get the dog from?”

“I don’t know. I think he mentioned it being a birthday present from his father, but…”

Crowley trailed off and gulped. The angel’s jaw had dropped open.

There was a tense silence. The sort you might get when both parties in the conversation realise that they have indeed been very stupid.

“Aziraphale,” ventured Crowley eventually, “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

Aziraphale closed his mouth with a snap and his eyes with a grimace. “This is going to be another one of those weeks, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Crowley resigned himself gloomily to his fate. “I’d say we’re pretty much fucked every which way.”

***

Ulthar arrived discretely at a rather fancy restaurant in Islington.

The head waiter nodded at him and silently lead him to table in a discrete corner where someone was discretely waiting for him. Someone who was tall, imposing and who possessed what some might describe as almost ethereal poise and beauty.

“You’re 30 seconds late.”

Ulthar flashed a tight smile, “Is that any way to great an old friend, Terinael? I was momentarily detained.”

Terinael was a Dominion. His job was similar to Ulthar’s, as in they both were tasked with overseeing the duties of their respective employer’s agents on earth.

The Association had been going on for a few centuries now. It was proving quite beneficial to both parties. Ulthar sometimes felt that only Terinael could truly appreciate the difficulties he faced just trying to do his job, except for some reason he felt the need to joke about it incessantly. And he spent far too much money on his hair.

“Indeed?” Terinael raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “And how is your idea for undercover auditing going?”

“Not too well, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t recommend it. Hastur was far too… crude for the more delicate nature of my operations. It was about as much a chore keeping him in line as it was getting information out of my elusive charges. The trouble with lower orders, Terinael, is that if you allow them to pretend that they are in charge they actually start to believe it. No, I should have listened to you and stuck to working alone.”

“Of course you should have!” Terinael’s eyes danced merrily. “You should know by now, Ulthar. I am always right. And may I ask where this Hastur is? Not anywhere close, I hope?”

“Oh no, he was the unfortunate incident that detained me. Casualty of the job, I’m afraid. Which brings us to that canine problem. My friend, Mr Crowley, seems to have let a hellhound loose in London. I expect if we were to listen to a news broadcast right now we would hear the tales of its exploits. Now I have asked some of my office assistants to clarify a few matters for me but I do believe that this may be the same dog that you were interested in.”

“Interesting,” mused Terinael. “The question is where he got it from.”

“It’s unauthorised,” said Ulthar, “at least, it isn’t authorised to Crowley.”

“Surely it shouldn’t be too hard to find out whom it was authorised to,” Terinael goaded. “After all, I can count the number of hellhounds that have been let loose in the past millennium on one mutilated hand.”

And then there were those comments that Terinael made from time to time. Ulthar was not sure that they were entirely appropriate for an angel.

“Terinael, you would let me know if you knew something, wouldn’t you? It would be ever so rude if you were withholding information that would be of use in my investigations.”

Terinael smiled. “Let me put it this way, how many hellhounds have been released that were not accounted for?”

“You don’t mean –"

“Consider this, my short-statured friend! At precisely 9:39 on Monday morning I receive a complaint that one of my principalities has acquired a large dog that is behaving conspicuously. It is hard for us to minister to the needy unbeknownst to them when immediately afterwards a large animal knocks over their dustbins. At 11:43, your London agent claims responsibility for a disturbance that involves a creature of similar description. On Tuesday, my man expresses concern that he is finding some difficulty controlling himself. And tonight, your little serpent sets a hellhound loose. Coincidence? I think not.”

Ulthar thought for a few seconds. “There have always been rumours about those two,” he murmured.

“How delightful! I do love rumours, they very often conceal the crux of the matter.” Terinael beamed. A couple of the waiters were bedazzled by the glow and walked into each other.

“Well, you know the incident -”

“Oh that!” Terinnael made a dismissive gesture - somehow he managed to make even that look majestically regal - “Everyone knows about that, it’s just that no one talks about it. I hoped you were going to reveal a dark tale full of dark deeds.”

“You are an irascible gossip, you know. Isn’t it frowned upon for your sort to encourage such behaviour?”

“Encourage?” Terinael sounded practically horrified. “My dear companion, how could you suggest such a thing. No, of course not. When I hear my angels are behaving inappropriately, I encourage them to repent. It is only by remorse that they can retain their status. Some of them are less repentant than others. Aziraphale is one of them. I should have liked to deal with him sooner but one must follow procedure. But if he carries on the way he has been, one day I shall be forced to take action.”

This was exactly the sort of thing that Ulthar meant. Terinael understood the need for order and precision. He might have different methods, but they understood each other.

“Quite,” he agreed. “I feel the same way about Crowley, although now that we mention the incident, I do recall something rather curious.”

“Yes?”

“His Lordship’s son was to be sent a hellhound for his own personal use on his eleventh birthday. No such animal was reported, however it is a well documented fact the Adam Young was always accompanied by a small dog until earlier this week when he departed for university.”

“Now that is interesting,” Terinael’s eyes shone with barely concealed glee. “If it is the same animal, and I’d bet my last wing feather that it is, this could be incredibly fortuitous for both of us!”

Ulthar smiled. Terinael was always so enterprising. It was a pity they were on opposite sides.

Terinael grinned and leaned back in his chair. “So tell me, Ulthar. How do you feel about a spot of hellhound hunting?”

Friday

“You know, we can’t really blame ourselves,” Crowley said philosophically, “How were we to know? It’s just one of those things.”

“Someone should have known,” muttered Aziraphale. “Someone should have warned us.”

Aziraphale didn’t sleep. But right now he felt very tired. Crowley quite liked sleeping so there must be some merit to it and the prospect of switching off and not having to deal with everything was very tempting.

It was seven in the morning and they were in a little Starbucks on the backstreet between Charing Cross and Embankment Station. It was always busy given its location, and the morning rush was just beginning.

Aziraphale didn’t like big chain coffee outlets much. He preferred quiet little tea shops that had charm and character. People working at the chains always looked at him funny and talked to him loudly and slowly as if he was mentally challenged in some way.

Crowley had obstinately refused to budge. “It’s six thirty! The chains are the only places that are open! It’s when they do their main business of the day and there’s one at every street corner and the service is fast and I want coffee!”

Aziraphale had given in before Crowley's attitude developed into a full-fledged tantrum. But he had firmly insisted that they queue like everyone else and pay.

The too-thin woman in front of them had asked for a grande decaf skinny latte with soy milk and a shot of sugar-free vanilla syrup. The sullen looking girl behind the counter had nodded glumly and managed it with no problems. She also seemed quite happy with Crowley’s order of ‘double espresso and make it snappy’. On the other hand she was unable to comprehend what Aziraphale meant when he asked for a cup of tea.

“I don’t understand,” said the girl. Her name-tag proclaimed that her name was Sarah and she was happy to help. “What kind of tea?”

This would have never happened if they’d just waited for a proper tea shop to open.

“Er… what type do you have?”

“English traditional, English breakfast, Yorkshire tea, earl grey, lady grey, Darjeeling, Assam, Nilgiri, Ceylon, Oolong.” Aziraphale felt increasingly bewildered, the line behind him was beginning to grow restless and impatient.

“I’ll just - ”

“And then there’s our specialty teas and infusions,” Sarah continued monotonously. She was staring fixedly at a point somewhere above Aziraphale’s head. “Green tea, Jasmine tea, Peppermint, Camomile, Raspberry, Elderberry, Very Berry, Forest Berry – “

“Look, lady,” Crowley cut in. “Just give him a breakfast tea and be done with it.”

“Yes, Sir, but -“

“English! And he doesn’t want a shot of anything in it!”

“Fine,” said Sarah moodily. “Have a nice day.”

And then he had to get his own milk and sugar, as well.

“So, basically you’re paying for hot water, a tea bag and the privilege of sitting down,” Crowley informed him cheerfully. “Think of that the next time you make a big thing about me not wanting to part with my hard earned money.”

“But it isn’t hard earned,” Aziraphale protested.

“It could be.”

They spent the last day and a half looking for Dog. They’d started off at Crowley’s flat – which hadn’t been pretty and followed the carnage for a few metres after which the trail had gone cold. To all purposes and appearances it had vanished.

They’d wandered around London whistling for it. But other than getting some chips thrown at them on one occasion and having a crowd of drunken university students join in on another, nothing very notable had happened.

Crowley was now on his third double espresso. Aziraphale hadn’t dared to ask for another tea.

“Think of it logically,” Crowley said dolefully, while attempting to construct a miniature fortress with wooden stirring sticks. “If you were a crazed hellhound with a penchant for evisceration, destruction and general mayhem, where would you go to relax?”

That was Crowley for you. Aziraphale wished he could take things seriously and joke at the same time.

Crowley had been incredibly prickly since the incident in the duck pond. Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of it.

He’d been in Regents Park because the bookshop had felt bleak and empty. Which was rather silly – he’d only had Dog for two days. Less than that, in fact. And if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t just Dog that he was missing.

He supposed that was why he’d gone to the park. He’d only meant to feed the ducks at lunchtime and go back, but had found it impossible to move. It was quite a situation he’d gotten himself into.

It wasn’t unheard of for angels to become more than fond of their human charges. Or too fond of each other. It came with the territory. When things like that happened, the angels involved had usually been allowed to get it out of their system and carry on. On the few occasions when that didn’t work, they were sent on an extended vacation and then relocated.

Aziraphale had never heard of a case where an angel had gotten too fond of a demon.

It was fine when he thought that his feelings were unrequited. It was a little painful sometimes but it was bearable. But that night …

When he saw Crowley show up, he’d supposed that this had something to do with Adam again. The boy preferred that way. Obviously his principals of not meddling with people did not extend to Aziraphale and Crowley, which Aziraphale thought was a bit hypocritical of him.

Of course, the other option was that Adam simply didn’t consider them as people but Aziraphale tried not to dwell on that too hard.

Aziraphale was sure that Crowley had to have seen worse things than a hellhound tearing someone apart. Aziraphale had seen worse things than a hellhound tearing someone apart! And no, it wasn’t pleasant but you shook it off and moved on. And if you were Crowley and the victim in question was someone you didn’t particularly like, which in Crowley’s case was almost everyone, you laughed it off and moved on once you had finished rolling on the floor.

So something else must have upset him. And Aziraphale didn’t think that Crowley was all that bothered about Dog. It was inconvenient and could get him into trouble but Crowley wasn’t going to get emotional over a little maiming and mutilation – unless it affected him directly.

So that only left the possibility that Crowley was upset because he thought that Aziraphale had been caught.

And then there was what happened afterwards, it had been – well, nice - no, more than nice. It had felt wonderful to have Crowley in his arms. And there was that spot on his neck that was rather sensitive that Crowley kept nuzzling and it would have been so easy just to lean down and - but it would have been wrong to take advantage of the situation when Crowley was upset and confused.

But it had felt good. And oddly right. And it had hurt to have to stop. If only he could be certain that is wasn’t just confusion and shock. There might be a slight chance that Crowley felt the same way, but if he didn’t - Aziraphale might lose the Arrangement as well and he didn’t think he could bear that. No, it was better to continue the way they were.

But for those few minutes, it had been as close to heaven as Aziraphale had been in centuries.

“Why are you blushing, angel?”

Aziraphale put a hand to his face defensively. His cheeks did feel rather warm. “I was thinking about the other night,” he muttered. “You know, at the park.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Oh right. When you kissed me.”

“I did not kiss you!”

“Yeah, you did. Want to tell me what that was about?”

Aziraphale glared at him. “You were hanging onto me like a limpet, Crowley. You were obviously upset. I was just trying to show you some compassion. I am an angel. Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t anything twisted.”

“Did I say I thought it was something twisted? Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t have to say anything, you old serpent, I know how your mind works.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!”

Part IV