Happy Holidays, Everyone!
This year, there was a fair amount of reshuffling and pinch-hitting going on. This late-arriving story could have been redundant. But it isn't, it's just too good! So we'll give it to everyone!
In Equal Ruin
Author: darlinghalcyon
Characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
Rating: PG?
Summary: A His Dark Materials crossover; Aziraphale and Crowley have tense dealings in Lyra's Oxford.
The lanterns were just coming on when Aziraphale stepped out onto the street. There was still a dim glow on the horizon, lining the silhouettes of the many buildings in what passed for light turned liquid gold. The shadows had grown long, and twilight was less than a hour away. Already, in the reaches of the sky furthest from the setting sun, Aziraphale could make out the first stars.
He had not meant to stay so long within the library walls. Time had a way of slowing down there, and a new arrival of several texts had stolen the evening from his grasp. Over the next week, he would have to rearrange a great deal of the alcoves in order to properly categorize the new pieces. Some would even have to be translated, as they were written in archaic alphabets or had been rendered near illegible by time and weathering. Aziraphale would not have them pile the tomes somewhere to collect dust, as had been a common practice under the last keeper of the archives. Distasteful treatment, in his opinion. He rather looked forward to the challenge.
It was a commonplace agreement by any who met Aziraphale that he was rather odd. Intelligent it could not be denied, and a firm believer in patriotism, but very odd. He was a man of very average persuasion for his age, so much so that unless one took great care they might have forgotten every detail about him when called upon for a description. They would speak of his hands, which were possibly the cleanest and best kept of anyone who was not of noble birth, or of his vast knowledge of language and ancient writings, or even of the way his eyes grew bright and sharply focused when shown a book of considerable worth. These things were what made him stand out, and they were easily forgotten when they were not displayed wholly. Aziraphale was very much a ghost, even among those who were expected to know him best.
“It is very late.”
From his sleeve, a black, forked tongue emerged for a moment, tasting at the night air. It was followed by a shapely, triangular head and a long, milk-white body. Gold, peach, and light blue markings shimmered with the flickering street lights, making the animal look as though it were lit from within. The slender head rose, looking up with hooded eyes that were a deep blue, with two rings around them-one of turquoise and the second the color of a sunlit sky at noon. A very fetching companion, whose name was far simpler. Gan, a strangely minimal name where his human half's was not.
“I am well aware of the hour, thank you.” Aziraphale turned into a nearby alley. Once twilight was over, the city's less agreeable patrons would begin to stir, and he was in no hurry to meet with them. The main streets would be safe enough, but by habit Aziraphale avoided them as well. Too busy, filled with cars and pedestrians and a great deal too much noise. His mistake was a sore one, but with a few well-placed steps he would reach home before any trouble might start.
Overhead, a bird called into the night.
The sound was haunting and low, and but for the way the buildings caused it to carry, no one might have heard it.
For a moment Aziraphale suspected it was only another of the pigeons which well-populated the city rooftops and parks. At the distance by which he could observe the bird, it appeared as drab as any other might have in the air above him. When it swooped through a shaft of light, cooing as it went, there was suddenly nothing to see at all. He missed a step, and his heart stuttered within his chest.
“What is it?” Gan's coils went tight around Aziraphale's wrist in alarm. He had not seen.
Aziraphale, rather than reveal the cause of his unrest, only shook his vision clear and looked toward the surrounding windows, seeking out any familiar shapes moving within them. There were none to be found, and so his eyes dropped to the deep shadows of the buildings around him. Many alcoves littered the streets of the city, and they made easy hiding places for all sorts. The little bird dived into a shaft of light again and as before, it vanished entirely. Once it was out again, it came to land just at the end of the alley. In much the same manner as the city birds he'd thought to take it for, its head tilted about until its eyes settled in his direction.
Aziraphale went still in spite of himself. Gan hissed, rustling clothing as he crept back into the folds of the sleeve he'd been resting inside. He appeared again a moment later at Aziraphale's collar, slithering out just enough to drape over the rise of one shoulder.
The bird cooed, almost invitingly.
“It's him.” Gah'ehdn needlessly confirmed, his coils going tight around Aziraphale's wrist. He lifted his upper body as high as he could for a better look. Rather than humor his daemon, Aziraphale hurried on. This was a matter he did not care to involve himself in.
Behind him, every so often, he swore that he could hear the sound of wings.
“He means for us to follow.” It didn't need translating, but it was Gah'ehdn's way at times to point out the obvious. It was Aziraphale's way at times to ignore him. He was something of a master in the art.
The bird was in the air again, and had flitted off toward the main streets, darting back every so often to check that they were still just behind in some fashion at least. He did his ample best to only go at a brisk walk, so as to not seem eager to arrive wherever it meant to lead them. Every shadow had seemed alive, and if he stilled for too long, any one flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye revealed the little bird again. It was quickly becoming fed up.
Good.
Perhaps he would leave.
Hoping to encourage such a feat, Aziraphale took a sharp turn down an alley, and found to his surprise that he'd managed to double-back at some point and end up in one of the many outlying gardens under the ownership of the Church. Before him stretched a wide patio, lined with a wall of fine brick. It was accented with curving metal and draped greenery. Tiny white, red, and pink flowers littered the scene, and a large net had been spread overhead so that small white china globes with candles in them could hang from it. Further inside was a cluster of fruit trees that were nearing the end of their blossoming, and a few tables and benches formed of coiled wires and plush cushions. A small pond, rather small compared to those in most of the gardens, housed a flock of four sleeping ducks bunched together beneath the long branches of one still flowering tree. On the far end, the faint image of the opposite garden gate was well locked.
He sighed, and moved into the shelter and quiet offered by the garden.
From the nearest tree came the groan of wood with weight suddenly on it, and in the shade of the leaves, Aziraphale could just make out the form of a serpent, far larger than Gan by the length of an arm at least, coiled uncomfortably on the lowest hanging branch. It wasn't quite solid looking, though if one focused hard enough they could convince themselves of patterns along its back in the form of swirled browns and black, with lines of vibrant blue dots tracing its form from the crown to the tail. Large eyes of a nature that was neither quite reptilian nor perfectly human stared down at him from the darkness.
“Took you long enough.” It said, favoring him him with a long blink that was only visible because Aziraphale had experience in seeing it. With all the grace to be expected of its kind, it moved further down the tree limb and let its lower body drop into the air just before its human company. “I've been trying to get your attention all night.”
Aziraphale could hardly be blamed if he folded his lips inward a little too tightly. He fixed the other man with a disapproving glare by way of answering him.
“You know better.”
The serpent, who had been graced with many names over time but quite recently had become very fond of being called Crowley, had the gall to look offended. “I thought you said the bird was allowed. Covert, you said. You didn't want me getting noticed.”
“My dear, you are quite aware of what I mean.” Aziraphale moved around the triangular head and upper torso, and set about moving a few of the garden cushions out of the way so that he could take a seat. One never knew what manner of things were living inside of those. “Come down, and tell me your business then, since it obviously was worth following me through the whole of the city.”
“If you'd stopped, I wouldn't have had to.” Crowley replied, obliging.
Much like water that was too thick, or sunlight breaking through the leaves, the whole of his body seemed to drift and stretch downwards, morphing into something that might have been light or might have been shadow. The soft glow from the street lamps made the edges of the forming figure blur and dissolve. Rather than watch, for he had seen the transformation many times in adulthood, Aziraphale sat down and allowed Gan out of the confinement of his sleeve. What danger that lurked here was never physical; Gan would be as safe coiled on the nearest table as anywhere else in the garden.
The silhouette became visible slowly enough that Aziraphale almost missed it, and sometimes he would have preferred it to be so. The way it moved was obviously cautious, edging out of the direct light of the lamp so that, for the most part it occupied the shadows cast by the light bending around the corners of the garden wall. When it settled, Aziraphale found that the details he could only just make out previously were sharpened by the dark.
If Aziraphale was to be described as commonplace, the man in question was anything but. He was young-looking as far as could be told, with high cheekbones and every feature seemed meant to appeal. The image seemed to flicker out into something almost inhuman in the moments when Aziraphale blinked, losing the focus that held its form. The outline of what appeared to be wings darted in and out of his ability to detect, shimmering one moment and gone in the next. It was not much better than dealing with the form of a serpent, but it was not as likely to sit so heavy on his conscience.
“You're mocking me, demon.” He managed finally, and Gan had reared up to mock-strike at the air in his own show of anger. They would not be intimidated by such a creature, not on ground held by the Church. Crowley seemed taken aback by the frank address, not quite flinching, but what of him that could be seen appeared uncomfortable.
“No, not-” He paused in the way of the thoughtful, before speaking far more slowly. “Well...yes, I suppose. If you use your definition. Yes.”
Aziraphale did his best not to look surprised. After so many years of using the word and having Crowley deny it, it was a startling thing to have him fold so easily now. The victory felt somewhat hollow.
“Aziraphale” Crowley started and went to take the seat opposite, then appeared to think better of both the seating arrangement and his wording. He remained standing. “Fell.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale answered. Gan settled again, eying their company in his usual, wary manner. The small snake moved toward the nearest glass and curled once, twice around its base. “I'm surprised to see you back so early. I had thought you'd be North for another year.”
“I'll be gone within the week.” Crowley admitted, finally moving to make himself comfortable in the chair.
“So soon?”
“Business.” Crowley rested his chin on his hand and sighed as if he was going to drift into a more melancholy state. Somewhere in the trees above them, an evening bird gave a warbling note, and it seemed to shake the expression away. When he smiled, it was tight, but better than the alternative. “Did you not want a drink? You haven't even looked at the bottle.”
“Bottle?” Aziraphale sounded a little affronted, and when the dark glass of a wine bottle was placed on the table before him he gave the man-shaped being a look that would have been scathing if he hadn't been impressed. An Italian rosso in a well-aged bottle, and when Crowley uncorked the bottle, the air around it was enriched by a delightful, though understated fragrance. “Expensive. Do you mean to bribe me?”
Crowley shrugged, but Gah'ehdn looked up to silently scolding him. Rather than meet the disapproving gaze of his daemon, Aziraphale held Crowley's.
“Not really.” Crowley smoothed a crease on the sleeve that Aziraphale knew full well did not exist. “Usually you're at home by now.”
“Well. Then I suppose it can't hurt.”
Just one glass. Hardly improper.
Crowley wasted no time in allowing Aziraphale a chance to examine the wine, and sample it. He even seemed to delight in the moment of quiet praise of its quality while he properly filled the other man's glass, as though it was something he had cultivated himself. Though for all Aziraphale knew, it was a possibility. Crowley seemed to have knowledge involving all manner of places and occupations, and Lord only knew what he'd been up to, after being in the North for so long.
“So what news? Anything on?”
“I'm in the middle of an investigation.” Aziraphale said briskly. Crowley choked though he'd no need for breathing and nearly dropped the glass.
“Um.” He fidgeted, the still-unearthly eyes scouring the tablecloth as if to make sure he hadn't let any of the now passed on drink spill. His body reflected the dim light of the patio in small flashes, and made him look as though he was made of swirling light. Aziraphale had learned to ignore that much in the same way he ignored Gan. Years of practice. Not all of them had been pleasant years, as Crowley's new agitation confessed. “You don't...I...”
“Not you, my dear.” Aziraphale assured, following the words with a longer taste of the wine. “Of course I would tell you if that were the case.”
“Of...course.”
“And you know full well that I'm long since retired of that business.” He went on, mulling over the taste. “It's mostly all books now. ...this is excellent. What year is it?”
“I...” Crowley's outline shivered, and he took a moment to regain himself. “I didn't think to check.”
“How unlike you.” Aziraphale murmured into the glass.
“Oh!” Crowley's hands drummed on the edge of the table excitedly, and Aziraphale had to hurry to steady the bottle before it was shaken too strongly. “Before I forget, I have something for you!” He turned halfway in his seat and began to rummage through a small travel bag that had been leaned up against the leg of his seat. Likely also where the bottle had come from. Hardly appropriate behavior, but rather than scold Aziraphale silenced himself with another sip of the wine. A moment later, Crowley reemerged with a ratty, incredibly old-looking journal, bound in rough leather and dog-eared several times over so that the pages were curled and folded and the cover somewhat bent. “I found this up North. Thought you might like to have a look at it.”
Aziraphale's tone was wary. “Ought you not present this to your...backers?”
“They just give out orders.” Crowley's smile was beginning to waver at the corners. He set the book on the table as gently as he was able, and slid it across the surface into Aziraphale's easy reach. He removed his hands as quickly as possible. It was something of a long-standing tradition, by that point. Gah'ehdn moved closer to inspect the gift, black tongue flicking in the air above it. “Besides this one they'll have no interest in. It's a prophecy. They'd burn it before anything else.”
Aziraphale had already picked the book up, minding the hand-made binding with the practice of a professional. “Prophecies?” His focus was well-caught by now, and he allowed the first page to come open just enough to be read. “A witch's book. I see.”
“Thought you might like-”
“One of yours, then?”
Gan went stiff in surprise. Crowley's shoulders took on an unnaturally smooth line, as though someone had been injected with a very serious tension and had no wish to let anyone else know of it. Aziraphale, who was wholly absorbed by that point, took no notice.
“What?”
“The writer, of course.” Aziraphale didn't look away from the pages. “A client?”
“...you know, contrary to what certain people might think...I'm not going to know to every one single one of them.” His voice was shaking around some of the words, but it was the practiced calm of someone who'd been angry for a very long time and had learned to hide it. “There are clans, you know. Different factions. That sort of thing.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale agreed, though he likely had no idea what Crowley was saying.
“Right.” There was a moment where Crowley looked as though he were going to say something, but thought better of it. He drummed his fingers, shifted his weight, and finally sighed. Then Crowley stood and snatched up his jacket and bag with the air of one who had come to some inner revelation. “I'll...be off then.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale said distantly. Perhaps the only reason he care to notice was that Gah'ehdn had made his way over the man's fingers, and was coiling there to distract him from the book. If he could not read, he could not ignore the departure of his company. “So soon, dear?”
“I've done what I came for.” It was an unlikely case, but Aziraphale did not argue. “The wine'll stay at any rate. Don't let it go to waste, will you?”
“Crowley-” What he'd been about to say, neither of them knew. It might have been an apology for his rudeness, or an inquiry as to the health of the departing associate. Before he could utter another word, the other man caught hold of his arm and held it fast, glaring down at him. The man gave a start, for it was something like touching fire and ice with the same patch of skin. Even with the clothing between them, there were needles prickling every nerve in him.
“Listen to me, Aziraphale.” They were obviously words that had been rehearsed several times and then given up on. “Really listen. This is going to sound absolutely mad, but...don't stick around.”
“...what?”
“Here. All of this.” Crowley bit out, looking more frustrated than anything, but he was earnest and obviously hoped that counted for something. “Just don't. I don't care what you do, but do it elsewhere. Doesn't matter where, so long as you're somewhere else as soon as you can be. ...North would be a good way to go. If all goes as planned, there'll be a way out soon.”
“Crowley, you're not making sense.”
“Probably not. But I owe you.” He pulled away then, and focused on adjusting his form. Night had fallen and the air was beginning to chill He seemed brighter and more distant. “So I'm giving you some really sound advice. Take it.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale moved to push his seat further from the table, but he didn't bother to stand. “I know we're had our...differences in world views, but I don't understand what's come over you.”
“I've left.”
“You've...what?”
“Demon, that's what you always called me right? It's true enough now.” Crowley shrugged, because it was true-even when the name had been false for a very long time, there was nothing for it now. “There's going to be a lot of trouble coming. I don't want you in the middle of it.”
Aziraphale went quiet, staring at what parts of the other that he could see. He reached out the hand that he could move then, as if he meant to place the palm of it upon what served as Crowley's arm, but thought better of it midway through.
“Have you thought about...” His seemed to hitch on the words, and though Aziraphale wasn't looking up at him, he could tell that Crowley was staring as hard as he could at anywhere but him. “Have you thought about my offer? You know the one.”
“No.” They both knew what he meant, and Aziraphale could taste the sadness in the silence that followed. The word had been drilled into him for what seemed to be his entire life, and after so long he already knew how the Crowley would go quiet when he spoke them. As if he was already mourning the loss.
“If I don't...” Crowley stopped, and sighed. “It might be a long time before I see you again.”
“I understand.”
He didn't really, but it felt important that he say something as they parted. Crowley reached over the mortal man's shoulder and refilled the wine just enough so that it would make for a proper toast for two.
“Here's to next time.”
Before Aziraphale could protest that sound advice was meant to be something the other party understood, Crowley had breezed past, and the form of a nearly invisible bird took to the air not a moment later. For a few seconds, Aziraphale remained seated, his gaze drifting between the departed figures and the book still resting in his hands. Gah'ehdn moved up the outside of his sleeve, rustling the cloth as he traveled to his human's neck.
“You could be kinder to him.” The snake sighed.
Aziraphale didn't answer. Instead, he moved to finish the glass of wine.
~end
Thank you all for another wonderful Exchange!
In Equal Ruin
Author: darlinghalcyon
Characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
Rating: PG?
Summary: A His Dark Materials crossover; Aziraphale and Crowley have tense dealings in Lyra's Oxford.
The lanterns were just coming on when Aziraphale stepped out onto the street. There was still a dim glow on the horizon, lining the silhouettes of the many buildings in what passed for light turned liquid gold. The shadows had grown long, and twilight was less than a hour away. Already, in the reaches of the sky furthest from the setting sun, Aziraphale could make out the first stars.
He had not meant to stay so long within the library walls. Time had a way of slowing down there, and a new arrival of several texts had stolen the evening from his grasp. Over the next week, he would have to rearrange a great deal of the alcoves in order to properly categorize the new pieces. Some would even have to be translated, as they were written in archaic alphabets or had been rendered near illegible by time and weathering. Aziraphale would not have them pile the tomes somewhere to collect dust, as had been a common practice under the last keeper of the archives. Distasteful treatment, in his opinion. He rather looked forward to the challenge.
It was a commonplace agreement by any who met Aziraphale that he was rather odd. Intelligent it could not be denied, and a firm believer in patriotism, but very odd. He was a man of very average persuasion for his age, so much so that unless one took great care they might have forgotten every detail about him when called upon for a description. They would speak of his hands, which were possibly the cleanest and best kept of anyone who was not of noble birth, or of his vast knowledge of language and ancient writings, or even of the way his eyes grew bright and sharply focused when shown a book of considerable worth. These things were what made him stand out, and they were easily forgotten when they were not displayed wholly. Aziraphale was very much a ghost, even among those who were expected to know him best.
“It is very late.”
From his sleeve, a black, forked tongue emerged for a moment, tasting at the night air. It was followed by a shapely, triangular head and a long, milk-white body. Gold, peach, and light blue markings shimmered with the flickering street lights, making the animal look as though it were lit from within. The slender head rose, looking up with hooded eyes that were a deep blue, with two rings around them-one of turquoise and the second the color of a sunlit sky at noon. A very fetching companion, whose name was far simpler. Gan, a strangely minimal name where his human half's was not.
“I am well aware of the hour, thank you.” Aziraphale turned into a nearby alley. Once twilight was over, the city's less agreeable patrons would begin to stir, and he was in no hurry to meet with them. The main streets would be safe enough, but by habit Aziraphale avoided them as well. Too busy, filled with cars and pedestrians and a great deal too much noise. His mistake was a sore one, but with a few well-placed steps he would reach home before any trouble might start.
Overhead, a bird called into the night.
The sound was haunting and low, and but for the way the buildings caused it to carry, no one might have heard it.
For a moment Aziraphale suspected it was only another of the pigeons which well-populated the city rooftops and parks. At the distance by which he could observe the bird, it appeared as drab as any other might have in the air above him. When it swooped through a shaft of light, cooing as it went, there was suddenly nothing to see at all. He missed a step, and his heart stuttered within his chest.
“What is it?” Gan's coils went tight around Aziraphale's wrist in alarm. He had not seen.
Aziraphale, rather than reveal the cause of his unrest, only shook his vision clear and looked toward the surrounding windows, seeking out any familiar shapes moving within them. There were none to be found, and so his eyes dropped to the deep shadows of the buildings around him. Many alcoves littered the streets of the city, and they made easy hiding places for all sorts. The little bird dived into a shaft of light again and as before, it vanished entirely. Once it was out again, it came to land just at the end of the alley. In much the same manner as the city birds he'd thought to take it for, its head tilted about until its eyes settled in his direction.
Aziraphale went still in spite of himself. Gan hissed, rustling clothing as he crept back into the folds of the sleeve he'd been resting inside. He appeared again a moment later at Aziraphale's collar, slithering out just enough to drape over the rise of one shoulder.
The bird cooed, almost invitingly.
“It's him.” Gah'ehdn needlessly confirmed, his coils going tight around Aziraphale's wrist. He lifted his upper body as high as he could for a better look. Rather than humor his daemon, Aziraphale hurried on. This was a matter he did not care to involve himself in.
Behind him, every so often, he swore that he could hear the sound of wings.
“He means for us to follow.” It didn't need translating, but it was Gah'ehdn's way at times to point out the obvious. It was Aziraphale's way at times to ignore him. He was something of a master in the art.
The bird was in the air again, and had flitted off toward the main streets, darting back every so often to check that they were still just behind in some fashion at least. He did his ample best to only go at a brisk walk, so as to not seem eager to arrive wherever it meant to lead them. Every shadow had seemed alive, and if he stilled for too long, any one flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye revealed the little bird again. It was quickly becoming fed up.
Good.
Perhaps he would leave.
Hoping to encourage such a feat, Aziraphale took a sharp turn down an alley, and found to his surprise that he'd managed to double-back at some point and end up in one of the many outlying gardens under the ownership of the Church. Before him stretched a wide patio, lined with a wall of fine brick. It was accented with curving metal and draped greenery. Tiny white, red, and pink flowers littered the scene, and a large net had been spread overhead so that small white china globes with candles in them could hang from it. Further inside was a cluster of fruit trees that were nearing the end of their blossoming, and a few tables and benches formed of coiled wires and plush cushions. A small pond, rather small compared to those in most of the gardens, housed a flock of four sleeping ducks bunched together beneath the long branches of one still flowering tree. On the far end, the faint image of the opposite garden gate was well locked.
He sighed, and moved into the shelter and quiet offered by the garden.
From the nearest tree came the groan of wood with weight suddenly on it, and in the shade of the leaves, Aziraphale could just make out the form of a serpent, far larger than Gan by the length of an arm at least, coiled uncomfortably on the lowest hanging branch. It wasn't quite solid looking, though if one focused hard enough they could convince themselves of patterns along its back in the form of swirled browns and black, with lines of vibrant blue dots tracing its form from the crown to the tail. Large eyes of a nature that was neither quite reptilian nor perfectly human stared down at him from the darkness.
“Took you long enough.” It said, favoring him him with a long blink that was only visible because Aziraphale had experience in seeing it. With all the grace to be expected of its kind, it moved further down the tree limb and let its lower body drop into the air just before its human company. “I've been trying to get your attention all night.”
Aziraphale could hardly be blamed if he folded his lips inward a little too tightly. He fixed the other man with a disapproving glare by way of answering him.
“You know better.”
The serpent, who had been graced with many names over time but quite recently had become very fond of being called Crowley, had the gall to look offended. “I thought you said the bird was allowed. Covert, you said. You didn't want me getting noticed.”
“My dear, you are quite aware of what I mean.” Aziraphale moved around the triangular head and upper torso, and set about moving a few of the garden cushions out of the way so that he could take a seat. One never knew what manner of things were living inside of those. “Come down, and tell me your business then, since it obviously was worth following me through the whole of the city.”
“If you'd stopped, I wouldn't have had to.” Crowley replied, obliging.
Much like water that was too thick, or sunlight breaking through the leaves, the whole of his body seemed to drift and stretch downwards, morphing into something that might have been light or might have been shadow. The soft glow from the street lamps made the edges of the forming figure blur and dissolve. Rather than watch, for he had seen the transformation many times in adulthood, Aziraphale sat down and allowed Gan out of the confinement of his sleeve. What danger that lurked here was never physical; Gan would be as safe coiled on the nearest table as anywhere else in the garden.
The silhouette became visible slowly enough that Aziraphale almost missed it, and sometimes he would have preferred it to be so. The way it moved was obviously cautious, edging out of the direct light of the lamp so that, for the most part it occupied the shadows cast by the light bending around the corners of the garden wall. When it settled, Aziraphale found that the details he could only just make out previously were sharpened by the dark.
If Aziraphale was to be described as commonplace, the man in question was anything but. He was young-looking as far as could be told, with high cheekbones and every feature seemed meant to appeal. The image seemed to flicker out into something almost inhuman in the moments when Aziraphale blinked, losing the focus that held its form. The outline of what appeared to be wings darted in and out of his ability to detect, shimmering one moment and gone in the next. It was not much better than dealing with the form of a serpent, but it was not as likely to sit so heavy on his conscience.
“You're mocking me, demon.” He managed finally, and Gan had reared up to mock-strike at the air in his own show of anger. They would not be intimidated by such a creature, not on ground held by the Church. Crowley seemed taken aback by the frank address, not quite flinching, but what of him that could be seen appeared uncomfortable.
“No, not-” He paused in the way of the thoughtful, before speaking far more slowly. “Well...yes, I suppose. If you use your definition. Yes.”
Aziraphale did his best not to look surprised. After so many years of using the word and having Crowley deny it, it was a startling thing to have him fold so easily now. The victory felt somewhat hollow.
“Aziraphale” Crowley started and went to take the seat opposite, then appeared to think better of both the seating arrangement and his wording. He remained standing. “Fell.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale answered. Gan settled again, eying their company in his usual, wary manner. The small snake moved toward the nearest glass and curled once, twice around its base. “I'm surprised to see you back so early. I had thought you'd be North for another year.”
“I'll be gone within the week.” Crowley admitted, finally moving to make himself comfortable in the chair.
“So soon?”
“Business.” Crowley rested his chin on his hand and sighed as if he was going to drift into a more melancholy state. Somewhere in the trees above them, an evening bird gave a warbling note, and it seemed to shake the expression away. When he smiled, it was tight, but better than the alternative. “Did you not want a drink? You haven't even looked at the bottle.”
“Bottle?” Aziraphale sounded a little affronted, and when the dark glass of a wine bottle was placed on the table before him he gave the man-shaped being a look that would have been scathing if he hadn't been impressed. An Italian rosso in a well-aged bottle, and when Crowley uncorked the bottle, the air around it was enriched by a delightful, though understated fragrance. “Expensive. Do you mean to bribe me?”
Crowley shrugged, but Gah'ehdn looked up to silently scolding him. Rather than meet the disapproving gaze of his daemon, Aziraphale held Crowley's.
“Not really.” Crowley smoothed a crease on the sleeve that Aziraphale knew full well did not exist. “Usually you're at home by now.”
“Well. Then I suppose it can't hurt.”
Just one glass. Hardly improper.
Crowley wasted no time in allowing Aziraphale a chance to examine the wine, and sample it. He even seemed to delight in the moment of quiet praise of its quality while he properly filled the other man's glass, as though it was something he had cultivated himself. Though for all Aziraphale knew, it was a possibility. Crowley seemed to have knowledge involving all manner of places and occupations, and Lord only knew what he'd been up to, after being in the North for so long.
“So what news? Anything on?”
“I'm in the middle of an investigation.” Aziraphale said briskly. Crowley choked though he'd no need for breathing and nearly dropped the glass.
“Um.” He fidgeted, the still-unearthly eyes scouring the tablecloth as if to make sure he hadn't let any of the now passed on drink spill. His body reflected the dim light of the patio in small flashes, and made him look as though he was made of swirling light. Aziraphale had learned to ignore that much in the same way he ignored Gan. Years of practice. Not all of them had been pleasant years, as Crowley's new agitation confessed. “You don't...I...”
“Not you, my dear.” Aziraphale assured, following the words with a longer taste of the wine. “Of course I would tell you if that were the case.”
“Of...course.”
“And you know full well that I'm long since retired of that business.” He went on, mulling over the taste. “It's mostly all books now. ...this is excellent. What year is it?”
“I...” Crowley's outline shivered, and he took a moment to regain himself. “I didn't think to check.”
“How unlike you.” Aziraphale murmured into the glass.
“Oh!” Crowley's hands drummed on the edge of the table excitedly, and Aziraphale had to hurry to steady the bottle before it was shaken too strongly. “Before I forget, I have something for you!” He turned halfway in his seat and began to rummage through a small travel bag that had been leaned up against the leg of his seat. Likely also where the bottle had come from. Hardly appropriate behavior, but rather than scold Aziraphale silenced himself with another sip of the wine. A moment later, Crowley reemerged with a ratty, incredibly old-looking journal, bound in rough leather and dog-eared several times over so that the pages were curled and folded and the cover somewhat bent. “I found this up North. Thought you might like to have a look at it.”
Aziraphale's tone was wary. “Ought you not present this to your...backers?”
“They just give out orders.” Crowley's smile was beginning to waver at the corners. He set the book on the table as gently as he was able, and slid it across the surface into Aziraphale's easy reach. He removed his hands as quickly as possible. It was something of a long-standing tradition, by that point. Gah'ehdn moved closer to inspect the gift, black tongue flicking in the air above it. “Besides this one they'll have no interest in. It's a prophecy. They'd burn it before anything else.”
Aziraphale had already picked the book up, minding the hand-made binding with the practice of a professional. “Prophecies?” His focus was well-caught by now, and he allowed the first page to come open just enough to be read. “A witch's book. I see.”
“Thought you might like-”
“One of yours, then?”
Gan went stiff in surprise. Crowley's shoulders took on an unnaturally smooth line, as though someone had been injected with a very serious tension and had no wish to let anyone else know of it. Aziraphale, who was wholly absorbed by that point, took no notice.
“What?”
“The writer, of course.” Aziraphale didn't look away from the pages. “A client?”
“...you know, contrary to what certain people might think...I'm not going to know to every one single one of them.” His voice was shaking around some of the words, but it was the practiced calm of someone who'd been angry for a very long time and had learned to hide it. “There are clans, you know. Different factions. That sort of thing.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale agreed, though he likely had no idea what Crowley was saying.
“Right.” There was a moment where Crowley looked as though he were going to say something, but thought better of it. He drummed his fingers, shifted his weight, and finally sighed. Then Crowley stood and snatched up his jacket and bag with the air of one who had come to some inner revelation. “I'll...be off then.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale said distantly. Perhaps the only reason he care to notice was that Gah'ehdn had made his way over the man's fingers, and was coiling there to distract him from the book. If he could not read, he could not ignore the departure of his company. “So soon, dear?”
“I've done what I came for.” It was an unlikely case, but Aziraphale did not argue. “The wine'll stay at any rate. Don't let it go to waste, will you?”
“Crowley-” What he'd been about to say, neither of them knew. It might have been an apology for his rudeness, or an inquiry as to the health of the departing associate. Before he could utter another word, the other man caught hold of his arm and held it fast, glaring down at him. The man gave a start, for it was something like touching fire and ice with the same patch of skin. Even with the clothing between them, there were needles prickling every nerve in him.
“Listen to me, Aziraphale.” They were obviously words that had been rehearsed several times and then given up on. “Really listen. This is going to sound absolutely mad, but...don't stick around.”
“...what?”
“Here. All of this.” Crowley bit out, looking more frustrated than anything, but he was earnest and obviously hoped that counted for something. “Just don't. I don't care what you do, but do it elsewhere. Doesn't matter where, so long as you're somewhere else as soon as you can be. ...North would be a good way to go. If all goes as planned, there'll be a way out soon.”
“Crowley, you're not making sense.”
“Probably not. But I owe you.” He pulled away then, and focused on adjusting his form. Night had fallen and the air was beginning to chill He seemed brighter and more distant. “So I'm giving you some really sound advice. Take it.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale moved to push his seat further from the table, but he didn't bother to stand. “I know we're had our...differences in world views, but I don't understand what's come over you.”
“I've left.”
“You've...what?”
“Demon, that's what you always called me right? It's true enough now.” Crowley shrugged, because it was true-even when the name had been false for a very long time, there was nothing for it now. “There's going to be a lot of trouble coming. I don't want you in the middle of it.”
Aziraphale went quiet, staring at what parts of the other that he could see. He reached out the hand that he could move then, as if he meant to place the palm of it upon what served as Crowley's arm, but thought better of it midway through.
“Have you thought about...” His seemed to hitch on the words, and though Aziraphale wasn't looking up at him, he could tell that Crowley was staring as hard as he could at anywhere but him. “Have you thought about my offer? You know the one.”
“No.” They both knew what he meant, and Aziraphale could taste the sadness in the silence that followed. The word had been drilled into him for what seemed to be his entire life, and after so long he already knew how the Crowley would go quiet when he spoke them. As if he was already mourning the loss.
“If I don't...” Crowley stopped, and sighed. “It might be a long time before I see you again.”
“I understand.”
He didn't really, but it felt important that he say something as they parted. Crowley reached over the mortal man's shoulder and refilled the wine just enough so that it would make for a proper toast for two.
“Here's to next time.”
Before Aziraphale could protest that sound advice was meant to be something the other party understood, Crowley had breezed past, and the form of a nearly invisible bird took to the air not a moment later. For a few seconds, Aziraphale remained seated, his gaze drifting between the departed figures and the book still resting in his hands. Gah'ehdn moved up the outside of his sleeve, rustling the cloth as he traveled to his human's neck.
“You could be kinder to him.” The snake sighed.
Aziraphale didn't answer. Instead, he moved to finish the glass of wine.
~end
Thank you all for another wonderful Exchange!