(no subject)

[a_fell]

A:

Found something of yours. Will be by to drop it off.

-R

That's all there is, though Aziraphael reads the text wave over several times.

There's no postscript; there's no attachment. He reads it forwards; he reads it backwards; he applies every one of the considerable number of ciphers he can think of, including seven that civilians are quite probably not supposed to know, and three that haven't been used since invisible ink fell out of fashion. He looks and looks for hidden messages that fail to appear - that in fact seem bound and determined not to exist at all, despite his diligence in seeking them.

The problem, of course, is that it's Raguel. With Raguel, Aziraphael has learned, nothing is ever that simple - except when it is.

And so he frets, although he tries not to. The surface message of the wave is itself worrying enough; it might be the next day that Raguel decides to come by, or it might be next year. Of course, the knowledge that it could be any time doesn't stop Aziraphael from scanning the skies nearly all the time, in between trying his luck with Raguel's useless link. It gives him the same message over and over: UNABLE TO CONNECT - INTERFERENCE.

This does nothing for his nerves.

As it happens, however, it's only about two weeks later that a bustling novice, far too officious for his tender years, brings him word of an incoming craft. Or rather, an incoming craft that doesn't then appear in reassuring black and white when Aziraphael listens to the sudden certainty in his gut and goes to check the planner. And as he expected, nobody is expected.

And so it's midafternoon of a lovely Persephone day - beaming and blue-skied and with just the right amount of breeze to provide relief from the sun - that finds Prior Fell making his way up towards the landing dais a short distance from the main buildings at Southdown Abbey.

His pace is just a little too brisk to be called a stroll.

Comments

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Yes," he agrees. He's very certain that he could think of a few examples, too, but doing so makes him a little ill. Now, when he's just got Crowley back, hardly seems the time.

He looks into the fire, not really seeing it.

[aj_crawley]

Aziraphael's hand is still resting loosely on his shoulder. When nothing else seems to be forthcoming, Crowley turns his head a little, just enough to nose into the curve of the angel's wrist.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Startled out of his reverie, he looks down and a small smile reappears. He rests his other hand on his lap as well, not quite touching Crowley's hair.

Well, perhaps it does a little. A few of the strays that don't lie neatly with the others.

[aj_crawley]

"Offer still stands."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Which offer is that, dare I ask?"

His hand creeps just a little closer to the rest of Crowley's hair, hardly brushing it.

[aj_crawley]

"Dinner."

Crowley briefly lifts a hand.

"I even promise not to throw up at the smell."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"That's good of you," he says, "but I'm not terribly inclined to move right now, my dear, no matter what delicacies they might be cooking up there. Potato soup, no doubt."

He reaches out and snags his tea. There's another of those satisfied sighs, this time muffled by the cup as he holds it close to his nose to take in the scent after having a sip.

[aj_crawley]

"Ssuit yourself," Crowley replies, looking profoundly disinclined to move either. "No midnight feasts."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"No midnight feasts," he agrees, and now his hand is definitely touching Crowley's hair. His fingers might even be curling into it, ever so slightly.

The kitchens are perhaps not all that far in the grand scheme, but there is very little that could induce him to leave this house tonight.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley stills at the feel of Aziraphael's hand in his hair.


After a moment, his chest rises - and then falls again, breath puffing out against Aziraphael's stomach.

"'S there a forecast for tomorrow?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Oh, probably," he says, with a somewhat wicked smile. His conscience prods him, though, and he continues.

"It's supposed to be about like this for the next several days," he says, nodding back at the nearest window. "Much to the dismay of those with hats still to ruin in a downpour."

[aj_crawley]

"Good," he says.

"Had enough of rain, for a while."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Yes, I'm sure you have," he says quietly, and he hesitates for a moment before he speaks again.

"The rumours aren't very pleasant; I'm sorry you had to go to Jubilee, my dear. Though it's rather close to Persephone, relatively speaking, so I can't bring myself to be that sorry."

[aj_crawley]

"Enh," Crowley replies, with a carefully dismissive shrug.

(He'd just wanted to - say it. And now it's said; framed; mounted. It sounds a bit stupid.)

"If Raguel didn't spend so much time slumming around places like that, I would've ended up on the nearest shit-hole moon to where the Shé X- "

He fumbles the sibilants.


His sweater rustles as his fingers press down again, testing for give.

"To where the ship was taken. And I'd've been on my own."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Yes," he says, watching Crowley's fingers more intently now. There's a very slight frown creasing his forehead.

"It was better than the alternative, I suppose. Especially on your own. I'm glad he was there, at least; it's difficult enough with help."

[aj_crawley]

"Mm," Crowley agrees, though he doesn't seem inclined to elaborate any further.

After a moment, he reaches up and (after a moment's rather undignified groping) grasps the hand still resting lightly in his hair.

He pulls it down to his shoulder instead, replacing the other.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"He stayed close," he muses, but stops talking when Crowley reaches up. He beams at him in what most would consider an extremely silly way, and closes his hand around Crowley's.

After a moment, he puts down his cup.

[aj_crawley]

"Good," Crowley says vaguely. "He..."

It's like walking into a room that's been somehow rearranged; that strange sensation of knowing that something is different, but not knowing what, or where, or how. Crowley's expression falters, a faint, puzzled line between his eyebrows. Something's not... something's...

He can't seem to hold onto the thought. It's slippery, and he's not all of a-piece in any case, and he can't seem to remember  why he's paused, mid-sentence.

It slides from his thoughts, as easily a faint grin slides back onto his face.

"Good," Crowley says again.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"It was, actually," he says, a little surprised to find it so. "Not necessary, of course; I certainly don't need anyone hovering. But I suppose it was nice to know that someone was there."

And what came before - well, now is not the time to dwell.

His other hand free, he rests it - carefully - on the ancient-looking jumper Crowley's wearing, right over his heartbeat. He can feel it, soft and steady and reassuring.

[aj_crawley]

Mostly steady.

There's a second - just a second - where the rhythm catches slightly, and Crowley's chest with it.

"Nice to know," he echoes.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Exactly, yes. He even carried a link - I believe Gabriel Tam gave it to him."

Aziraphael's hand is barely there, warming the longer it rests in one place. It stays directly over Crowley's heartbeat but he has to resist the urge, now, to trace it lightly up Crowley's neck where the pulse of life is even stronger. The return from discorporation is always accompanied by a marked increase in sensitivity - he swallows audibly, remembering - but after an entire year away, it's rather more marked than usual. Significantly so.

He lets his eyes follow the course he'd like to trace, instead.

[aj_crawley]

He doesn't want to talk about this anymore.

"You said you were gardening?"

He doesn't want to talk about Raguel, either, but that's alright. Aziraphael will wind up on a tangent.

Crowley opens his eyes, smiling expectantly.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael's gaze jumps sheepishly to Crowley's, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. But all the same, it isn't precisely hard to return the demon's smile, and after a moment Aziraphael rallies rather well.

"We were. Around here, for the most part, although he did lend a dab hand when we had to move some saplings from the nursery. We had a few cases of ringspot in the orchard," he adds, by way of explanation. "It seemed a shame not to repopulate while we had the extra hands so close to spring."

Of course, Raguel had insisted on referring to the process as 'cradle-robbing', which had been slightly awkward - but by then, the shepherds were largely used to delicately ignoring him in any case.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's eyebrows lift a little at this news.

"Hnh. Apple or peach?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"A few from both, as it happens," Aziraphael replies, thumb stroking over the back of Crowley's hand. "A pity, but better that than having either of them hit harder, don't you think?"