Fic: Insomnia (GO)
For dine
Crowley brushed his teeth, shot himself a sharp smile in the mirror, and hopped between his cool, clean, fresh smelling sheets. Sleep was a pleasure, and as such deserved his utmost attention. He sighed, stretched, closed his eyes and --
-- three hours later was still irritably awake, staring at his ceiling. He could see it perfectly well, which annoyed him even more. He could not get his mind to settle down enough to sleep.
He thought about the TV programme he had watched earlier. (Would Rose have to choose between the Doctor and Captain Jack?)
He thought about his quarterly returns. (Would anyone in the office believe his carefully inflated figures?)
He thought about his clothes. (Would doublets ever come back into style?)
He decided to have a warm drink of milk. One materialised obligingly in his hand. It was horrible. He decided to count sheep. After he got to a hundred thousand, he swore off ever wearing wool again. He thought about doing a little light exercise, but decided that he really wasn't that desperate. Finally, he flung himself out of bed, thought himself dressed in a casual, yet expensive-looking sweater and slacks - it wouldn't do to look like insomnia was making him sloppy, after all - and decided that what he really wanted to do was complain to an audience. Luckily, he knew someone who'd be awake.
An hour and a half later, Aziraphale interrupted his tirade wearily.
"So, the long and the short of it is you can't sleep, so you don't see why anyone else should get some rest?"
"You don't sleep," Crowley said. "What do you care?"
"I have books to read!" Aziraphale said. "This is my time off, dear boy. Maybe a nice book would help you relax?"
Crowley shuddered. "No, thanks. But can you do anything? I just want to shut my blessed eyes and find it's morning when I open them again."
"I might be able to help you," Aziraphale said. "I can't deny it would be nice to get a bit of peace and quiet."
"Oh, charming. Is that what you say to humans who come looking for help, too?"
Aziraphale gave him a vague and cheerful smile. "Sit down, dear," he said, indicating his ratty old sofa. "And close your eyes."
Crowley sat, and listened to the angel puttering round behind him. "Hurry up," he said. "Honestly, why are you so bloody slow at everything? Here I am in my hour of need, and you just wander round like you've all the time in the world. The night isn't going to last forever, you kn--"
Aziraphale hit him across the back of the head with the heaviest of the books he'd been examining. Crowley keeled over sideways onto the sofa, and Aziraphale carefully lifted his feet up so he was curled neatly on his side. The dusty pink throw from one of the armchairs was quickly spread over the unconscious demon. All in all, he really did look like he was asleep rather than comatose.
"Sweet dreams," Aziraphale said cheerfully, and got back to his reading at last.
Crowley brushed his teeth, shot himself a sharp smile in the mirror, and hopped between his cool, clean, fresh smelling sheets. Sleep was a pleasure, and as such deserved his utmost attention. He sighed, stretched, closed his eyes and --
-- three hours later was still irritably awake, staring at his ceiling. He could see it perfectly well, which annoyed him even more. He could not get his mind to settle down enough to sleep.
He thought about the TV programme he had watched earlier. (Would Rose have to choose between the Doctor and Captain Jack?)
He thought about his quarterly returns. (Would anyone in the office believe his carefully inflated figures?)
He thought about his clothes. (Would doublets ever come back into style?)
He decided to have a warm drink of milk. One materialised obligingly in his hand. It was horrible. He decided to count sheep. After he got to a hundred thousand, he swore off ever wearing wool again. He thought about doing a little light exercise, but decided that he really wasn't that desperate. Finally, he flung himself out of bed, thought himself dressed in a casual, yet expensive-looking sweater and slacks - it wouldn't do to look like insomnia was making him sloppy, after all - and decided that what he really wanted to do was complain to an audience. Luckily, he knew someone who'd be awake.
An hour and a half later, Aziraphale interrupted his tirade wearily.
"So, the long and the short of it is you can't sleep, so you don't see why anyone else should get some rest?"
"You don't sleep," Crowley said. "What do you care?"
"I have books to read!" Aziraphale said. "This is my time off, dear boy. Maybe a nice book would help you relax?"
Crowley shuddered. "No, thanks. But can you do anything? I just want to shut my blessed eyes and find it's morning when I open them again."
"I might be able to help you," Aziraphale said. "I can't deny it would be nice to get a bit of peace and quiet."
"Oh, charming. Is that what you say to humans who come looking for help, too?"
Aziraphale gave him a vague and cheerful smile. "Sit down, dear," he said, indicating his ratty old sofa. "And close your eyes."
Crowley sat, and listened to the angel puttering round behind him. "Hurry up," he said. "Honestly, why are you so bloody slow at everything? Here I am in my hour of need, and you just wander round like you've all the time in the world. The night isn't going to last forever, you kn--"
Aziraphale hit him across the back of the head with the heaviest of the books he'd been examining. Crowley keeled over sideways onto the sofa, and Aziraphale carefully lifted his feet up so he was curled neatly on his side. The dusty pink throw from one of the armchairs was quickly spread over the unconscious demon. All in all, he really did look like he was asleep rather than comatose.
"Sweet dreams," Aziraphale said cheerfully, and got back to his reading at last.