(no subject)

[a_fell]

I.

They arrive in Iceland in near-darkness concealing a dense, freezing fog that gives way to low clouds once outside of Reykjavik. It's a long drive to the tiny village of Laugarvatn, 70 miles in the blackness, and when they finally reach the place they're spending the night (to call it a hotel would imply there are more than six rooms), they're too tired to do more than kick their shoes off before falling into bed.

The next morning isn't much of a morning; it's lightening by the time Crowley is conscious enough to get out of bed with some prompting from the angel, fully daylight after he gets through the shower, and it doesn't take much longer than that to get the lay of the land. The town has 300 people, a post office, grocery store, restaurant, and not much tourism in the winter. It's hard to stay under the radar in such a place, so the few hours of daylight are spent asking quietly for the best sites to see the aurora and watching the cloudy skies, tense and dark. The sun, never far above the horizon, sinks slowly into a hesitant twilight. And then it's time to go.

The jeep-shaped vehicle they borrow from the nice gentleman at the (surprisingly open) tourist office bumps along over patches of rock and ice and who knows what else; Aziraphael is less than comfortable with what they might be rolling over with 'adventure' style suspension and no visible road. The headlamps illuminate a small patch of sameness directly in front, and the rest of the world around them is an unknowable black. All the ground that he can see is a grayish white dotted with darker patches of jutting rock. The heat blasting in the vehicle is just short of oppressive, but Crowley's face behind the wheel is grim and uncomfortable. Aziraphael tries moving one hand to the edge of Crowley's seat so that the side of his finger brushes the material of the demon's trousers, but he can't tell whether Crowley actually notices.

"I think the clouds might be lightening up," he says encouragingly. "I'm almost certain I saw a star or two over there."

Comments

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"No?" he says, smile not fading at all. "I'm glad to have been another excuse, then. I doubt you'd have talked yourself into coming out here in midwinter, otherwise."

He looks down at their joined hands, though he can't make them out in the dark. He strokes one finger carefully over Crowley's thumb by touch, soothing. There's a tension running through the demon that he can't quite pinpoint, though he can do his best to ease it. Perhaps it's the cold.

[aj_crawley]

"No," he concedes, a queer, half-there unhappiness flitting across his face. "I wouldn't have thought of it."

It's his turn to lean in. The brush of his lips against Aziraphael's is dry, almost absent - but when his hand lifts to the angel's face, it's tentative and deliberate, thumb brushing Aziraphael's cheek and fingers curling into the hair behind his ear.

(It takes a moment, afterwards, for him to figure it out - to realise what it is that Aziraphael's eyes are reflecting so strangely. Very faintly, very slightly, the snow is glowing.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

It takes a moment for Aziraphael's eyes to lift to Crowley's; they had drifted closed for a moment, but once opened, something behind Crowley has dragged his gaze away. He doesn't pull back, but he's staring, wide-eyed, at something just over the demon's shoulder.

He seems to be grasping for words, but nothing comes out; his hand tightens on Crowley's instead.

[aj_crawley]

The question sticks in his throat, and dies there.

It feels like being watched; the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the front of Aziraphael's coat.


He wants -

He's out of the jeep before he can turn the keys and start the engine and bring them back, because there  was  never  any  question. It pulls at him, somewhere between throat and ribcage: Come and see.

He keeps his head down, closing the door behind him.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He's still staring at the glowing sky when Crowley pulls away and opens the door, and then he's staring at the space where Crowley had been. The fact that he's outside is almost more astounding than what he can see of the aurora; the clouds are blowing ever more swiftly back, revealing ribbons of color--

There's a crunching sound of his shoes hitting the icy ground (sensible boots, once he took them out of the suitcase), the slam of the closing door, and then he's moving toward Crowley to gape alongside him at the heavens.

[aj_crawley]

He - can't

It's cold. It's viciously, tearingly cold, and when Crowley (all unthinking) takes a breath, it flows down into his lungs like ice.

(He hasn't turned around; his fingers are still closed around the door-handle, as though he's about to climb straight back in.)

If he makes a sound, a small, sharp sound, he doesn't hear it. His eyes are shut.
In the beginning, the Earth was formless and desolate. The floor might as well be slicked over with ice, it's so cold.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael hears it, at least; it's enough to drag his gaze away from the slow revelation of the clouds and find Crowley hunched over, still clinging to the handle of the jeep.

"Crowley," he says, edging nearer. The landscape is eerily silent, save for a light wind echoing in his ears, and his voice carries. He puts one tentative hand on Crowley's side, allowing it to slide around to his front as Aziraphael's chest brushes the demon's back.

[aj_crawley]

He lets (his shoulders straighten, and - slowly, and then faster - the temperature around him begins to rise) go of the handle.

When the shivering is under control again, and he looks up, Crowley lets out a quiet moan of fear.

His eyes are still shut - but his sunglasses are still on. It can't be seen.

He can't see.

"Well?" he asks.

(This is not true; there is simply nothing left, in the vast and empty black, to look at.)

(After a moment, and ever so slightly, he leans back against Aziraphael.)

Crowley's alone.

The floor might as well be slicked over with ice, it's so cold.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Well?" he repeats, incredulity slipping through the smile in his voice. His other arm goes around Crowley's waist as well, so that they nearly overlap on his chest.

"It's... there aren't words. I never dreamed that anything like this existed; all my expressions are far too weak. The colours, the way it moves, the scope of it. I've never seen anything, ever, to equal it."

[aj_crawley]

"Oh."hereHis stomach knots.thereHe doesn't have to look. He could keep his eyes shut.isBut it's so cold. It's so, so cold.noOne gloved hand on Aziraphael's, Crowley takes off his sunglasses, and opens his eyes.
In the beginning, when God created the world, the Earth was formless and desolate. The raging ocean that covered everything was engulfed in total darkness. And then God commanded, Fiat lux.   Let   there   be

LIGHT

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He's looking over Crowley's shoulder at the shifting light, mesmerised, but his counterpart's lack of enthusiasm is rather striking.

"Oh?" he repeats, trying vainly to see Crowley's face. "You don't think so?"

[aj_crawley]

It's green.

He'd seen it in the brochures, but it's really green. Leaf-green, grass-green, a glowing rain of vivid, living green.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Even you couldn't convince me that you see this sort of thing all the time," he rambles, still too much in awe for his tone to include any sound of reproach. In fact, despite the casual words, his voice is hushed.

[aj_crawley]

And -

And over there, there's a shy shimmer of red, like the blush on an apple.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I doubt one could even replicate it on a smaller scale. A screen certainly wouldn't do it justice. Even in colour," he adds after a moment.

He frowns slightly, confused, glancing between the lights in the sky and the back of Crowley's ear.

[aj_crawley]

"It's green," Crowley says.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael hesitates.

"Yes, for the most part," he says slowly. "Is that - er. Were you hoping for something else?"

[aj_crawley]

In gentle increments, Crowley pulls free of Aziraphael's arms, and steps away from the jeep.

One step, two steps, three.

That's where he stops, turning slowly to take in the sky.
Fiat lux.
East to west it runs, now a streaking curtain of light, now a river - a great serpent, snaking a path across the starry sky.
That is how the world was made.
(Some call it The Universe.)
And the demon Crawly looked upon it, and saw that it was good.
( come )

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael watches him, still a little perplexed, but he doesn't seem distressed. He can clearly see Crowley turn, staring upward, lit by a phenomenon in the sky neither sun nor moon.

It's strange to see him outside without his sunglasses. Usually, it means that he doesn't have to hide anything.

[aj_crawley]

This - planet. This bloody planet -

Crowley worked on Plants - green, growing, living things (he's never minded getting his hands dirty).
( come )He'd liaised with Stars. They'd worked on photosynthesis together (food from light). He'd been in and out of Sky all the time, and he'd never, never seen -

Did anyone think to put it there? To paint the polar skies in shining, unreal Technicolor, sodding miles away from any reasonable civilisation, for the reindeer and the - the fucking polar bears to look at?

Or was it just - was it just

(Crowley isn't breathing, not since that first icy inhale. But he doesn't think he could if he tried.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He still doesn't move; he's watching the sky, yes, but watching Crowley as well. The tension from before doesn't seem to have dissipated, only changed subtly into something even more intense.

He's never seen Crowley go willingly into an environment so cold. But then, he's never seen an environment like this. His eyes drift away from the demon, then gradually back again.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley loves people. He loves - game shows and toaster ovens and fast cars and statues and bad books and good music and wine and politics and stuffed dormice and stupid silver snuffboxes.
(upon thy belly shalt thou go)
He loves people.
(thy belly cleaving to the Earth)
It's easy to forget how much he loves the world.
(so close that your hand on my chest is my hand)
He'd - he'd worked on Plants. And in the icy regions of the world, the sky rains colour and light for no good reason. It was just an accident.
(so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep)
( commala )

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

The seconds tick by, and still Crowley doesn't announce that it's time to call it a night and race back to the heated car.

"Everything all right, my dear?" Aziraphael calls finally, unable to make out Crowley's expression in the shifting play of lights.

[aj_crawley]

It doesn't all register at once. First, distantly, the sound of Aziraphael's voice, and then the fact that the angel is not beside him.

It's only when Crowley turns to look for him, and sees him still standing there by the jeep, that -

The first thing that flickers across his face is confusion. Bewilderment, even, that Aziraphael should not even be looking at the sky; should instead be standing there asking such a deeply, stupidly banal question.

The second is hurt.

The third is contempt.

"Everything's fine," he says coldly, and - just a little - indistinctly.

(He's standing in a patch of slush, but he can't feel his lips.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"All right," he says, bewildered again. "Er. Let me know if you're too cold."

But Crowley isn't in any mood to let him know, apparently, so while Aziraphael turns his attention back to the wonder in the sky, he glances down at Crowley every few minutes. Just to make sure.

The wonder of this - of Creation - will never cease to amaze him. He can see neither the beginning of the ribbon of light, nor the end of it, but that doesn't stop him from trying.

"I wonder what it looks like from above," he muses aloud.