(no subject)
Heaven never did have Below's sense of subtlety. No tweaking of technology, twisting of the familiar until it's a threat; Above more favours the direct and the involuntary, what felt, at the time, like a fish hook tugging insistently at the back of his mind.
He'd cast a quick frantic glance around - Bernard still painfully pale, eyes still closed, but none of the desperation of before; 'Dora had had eyes for nobody else, and Crowley... Crowley was staring intently at the floor, had been for some time.
(All shall be well, and all shall be well)
He squeezed the demon's elbow gently, and leant across to catch 'Dora's eye.
(And all manner of things shall be well.)
"I shall be back directly, my dear."
'Dora nodded tightly, and Aziraphael rose from his seat to slip out through the door to Bernard's room, looking both ways quickly before heading off to his right.
It's less busy, in this part of the hospital. It's late enough to be early, for one thing, but there are also fewer patients, what staff there are gliding sedately along in their bright green robes. There's none of the aftermath of the battle here - some of the rooms are even empty, dark and deserted and the door of this one has barely closed behind him before a shaft of pale blue light shoots down from the ceiling, surrounding him.
"Ah," says a well-educated voice. "Aziraphael."
"Yes?" He remembers to hiss it almost beneath his breath but there's really no concealing the testiness.
"You have done well," the voice pronounces. There's really no other way to refer to its tone of voice; somehow it's clear there's been practice.
"...I'm sorry, I've done what?"
"You - " and it's still a proclamation, certainly, but rather a snippier one - "have done well."
"Oh." Aziraphael allows the barest pause, adequate time (he feels) to digest the news. "I have?"
"The Dementors," the voice reminds him.
"Oh." Aziraphael blinks, before deciding to simply nod and smile, to try and puzzle this out some other time. "Yes. Well. That's very nice. And now I really must be - "
"The contract is broken," the voice continues impressively; it has a script and it's not afraid to use it, "demonic wiles have been successfully thwarted, and that nasty little upstart Crawly has been shown who's boss. We are pleased with you, Aziraphael."
"...What?"
He'd cast a quick frantic glance around - Bernard still painfully pale, eyes still closed, but none of the desperation of before; 'Dora had had eyes for nobody else, and Crowley... Crowley was staring intently at the floor, had been for some time.
(All shall be well, and all shall be well)
He squeezed the demon's elbow gently, and leant across to catch 'Dora's eye.
(And all manner of things shall be well.)
"I shall be back directly, my dear."
'Dora nodded tightly, and Aziraphael rose from his seat to slip out through the door to Bernard's room, looking both ways quickly before heading off to his right.
It's less busy, in this part of the hospital. It's late enough to be early, for one thing, but there are also fewer patients, what staff there are gliding sedately along in their bright green robes. There's none of the aftermath of the battle here - some of the rooms are even empty, dark and deserted and the door of this one has barely closed behind him before a shaft of pale blue light shoots down from the ceiling, surrounding him.
"Ah," says a well-educated voice. "Aziraphael."
"Yes?" He remembers to hiss it almost beneath his breath but there's really no concealing the testiness.
"You have done well," the voice pronounces. There's really no other way to refer to its tone of voice; somehow it's clear there's been practice.
"...I'm sorry, I've done what?"
"You - " and it's still a proclamation, certainly, but rather a snippier one - "have done well."
"Oh." Aziraphael allows the barest pause, adequate time (he feels) to digest the news. "I have?"
"The Dementors," the voice reminds him.
"Oh." Aziraphael blinks, before deciding to simply nod and smile, to try and puzzle this out some other time. "Yes. Well. That's very nice. And now I really must be - "
"The contract is broken," the voice continues impressively; it has a script and it's not afraid to use it, "demonic wiles have been successfully thwarted, and that nasty little upstart Crawly has been shown who's boss. We are pleased with you, Aziraphael."
"...What?"