Twelve Months - January

[musegaarid]

Title: Twelve Months
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG-13
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December



Haniel's office didn't look much like Michael's or Raphael's or any other angel's work space. It was dark inside with slanting, dramatic light streaming between the window blinds across his small, littered desk. Metal filing cabinets contained not much more than half a bottle of whiskey and an old pin-up magazine - his virtues didn't keep many paper records. The wooden door with the glass insert that lead into Sariel's studio read 'Haniel' in peeling gold letters. The only concession to his real job was a chaise lounge off to the side, which was good for chatting, or more, should circumstances require it.

Unfortunately, they never had.

The others laughed at Haniel's obsession with the noire lifestyle, but it made him happy and didn't hurt anyone, so they tolerated it as a personal eccentricity. If it then caused them to underestimate him slightly, what with having probably the least understood function in Heaven, well, the Lover never complained...

There was a knock at the door and the handle turned slowly, revealing not a leggy, desperate dame, but the Messenger with a worried expression. "Hey, fella. What's eating you?" asked Haniel, turning from his mechanical typewriter to light a cigarette and wave out the match.

"Dobiel said you'd returned," Gabriel explained, dodging the question for the moment. He felt uncomfortably anxious and needed more time to prepare. But time wouldn't make this any easier. Time wouldn't change the fact that he hadn't followed orders; that he had, in fact, jeopardized the plan entirely and potentially all of Heaven by telling the subject about it. "Have you got a moment? There's something I need to address with you..."

"Always got time for you, kiddo," Haniel replied, clearing a space on his desk by pushing everything to one side and resting his elbows on the clean spot. He eyed Gabriel who almost squirmed under the intense gaze.

"It's not something you... I'm not sure if it's come to your attention, but... What I mean to say is..." He was teetering on the brink, could feel himself hanging over the abyss; it was too late now to pull back, and all that was left was to tumble down. "I feel I should tell you that I refuse to participate in your plan any longer and I've actually... Well, I told Crowley about it."

Haniel stared at him.

"I felt it was the right thing to do," added Gabriel stiffly.

Pushing back his fedora to see the Messenger better, Haniel gazed at him a while longer through mismatched eyes before letting out a low whistle. Without saying a word, he pulled out a blank notecard and scribbled down a few words. "I want you to give this to the scrub," he said finally, folding it in half.

"What? Why?"

"You're the Messenger, ain't you?" exclaimed the Lover. "So messenge."

Gabriel took the note and rose. When Haniel didn't seem any more forthcoming about its contents, he left the office.

Unseen behind him, Haniel smiled.

***

Gabriel found Crowley sitting on the roof of the British Museum. The demon didn't appear to be doing anything in particular; he was just sitting there, catching the last rays of the sun.

The angel landed lightly beside him. "Hello, Crowley." He ruffled his graceful wings, a bit shy perhaps at the vulnerability inherent in having them out; it was a mute sign of trust that he did not immediately fold them away, as he once would have in the demon's presence.

White, thought Crowley blankly, remembering his long ago musings on the subject, and gold. It had been important to know that once. Iridescent gold... How had he ever forgotten? Never so grateful for his sunglasses before, the demon cleared his throat softly, not trusting his voice. "Hey. What's up?"

"I have a message for you from Haniel." Crowley raised a skeptical eyebrow as Gabriel handed the card over. But the serpent opened it and perused it cautiously before smiling faintly and tucking it in his breast pocket.

Somewhat disappointed that his curiosity apparently wasn't going to be assuaged, Gabriel sat, his feathers catching a bit of the breeze. There was no further reason to stay now that his task was complete, but it was a lovely evening. And while it was true that there was no precedent for an archangel spending time with one of Lucifer's horde, here at Crowley's side, wings outstretched to the warmth of sunlight... it certainly didn't feel wrong.

They sat there for some time in comfortable silence. Eventually Gabriel started to comb idly through his wings with hooked fingers, trying to catch a few stray feathers that had worked themselves loose.

Crowley watched, mesmerized, which meant that only part of his mind was still focused on Haniel's words. The angel's wings were clean, neat, and shining, though that ruffled spot mid-back that was difficult to reach told Crowley that he'd been taking care of them himself for a while. Realizing suddenly that he was aching to touch them, to run his fingers though soft feathers, to bury his nose in the join and catch the elusive scent of Gabriel beneath the mingled odours of Heaven and Earth, Crowley swallowed and offered casually, "Want a hand with that?"

Shifting at the question, Gabriel gave up his own idle efforts to lean back and brace himself comfortably with both hands. "If you don't mind," he added with a smile. He arched his wings forward, leaving the expanse of his back open for the demon.

When the Messenger had been offering his favours the year before, there had been huge boundaries between what a lesser demon was allowed to do to an archangel - barriers to prevent harm - and now Gabriel was proffering his wings like it was the most natural thing in the world. Crowley approached reverently, simply laying gentle, warm hands on the roots of the angel's wings to start.

It was oddly easy for Gabriel to take the demon up on this offer, really. Nostalgic, in a way. He didn't remember much of the angel that Crowley had once been, other than a name, a rank, and a flash of gray eyes, and he didn't think he'd ever been this amiable with the virtue; but it did seem natural to have Crowley's hands on him, to share this intimacy. He rolled his shoulders beneath the touch, appreciative.

"You know," Gabriel began thoughtfully, looking out over the city, "I wonder if Adam truly understands the weight of what he's done. He's more powerful than any of us, I know, but he feels so... young."

"Well, he is. We were young once, too. In a way. And we still managed to change our world without understanding a thing." Crowley thought back to the painful innocence before the Fall and began to thread his fingers into the soft wings.

"It's hard to remember ever feeling young," the angel replied with a wry smile. "But I suppose you're right." He was about to add something about understanding all they'd needed to at the time, but remembering Crowley's station just in time, ended there. Perhaps it had seemed to those who had Fallen that the expectations were not so clearly set out; the archangel realized that this was perhaps the first time he'd thought of his lost brethren in empathy. It made him shudder beneath Crowley's gentle touch. "Do you remember?" he asked, trying to change the direction of his thoughts. "Feeling young, I mean."

No, Crowley wouldn't have said that his expectations had been terribly clear, so it was probably best that Gabriel didn't mention it. It didn't matter anyway. Not when he was picking through the softest, most beautiful feathers he'd ever seen, removing loose ones and fluffing and combing the rest. Not when the angel shivered so prettily.

"Oh, yes," he smiled. "I remember." The demon remembered catching a glimpse of a stern superior with dark hair and the bluest eyes imaginable. He remembered reckless games with his friends, feeling cocky and invulnerable. He remembered his function - the thrill of creation, of invention, the wonder when it all came together. He remembered the songs and the light and the love. He remembered everything. Everything except his name.

The angel was silent, sober, for a time as Crowley worked. He'd heard some indescribable happiness in the demon's tone in that moment, and he longed to press further, to understand what one of the Fallen - no, not one of the Fallen, what Crowley - could still remember of the celestial sphere. But despite how close they had become, close enough for Crowley to tend to the archangel's wings freely, that void yet remained between them, and he didn't dare broach it now.

Crowley actually didn't mind talking about Heaven if the angel wished to. It had long ago lost the power to hurt him, like telling someone else's story. Well, most of it. The end wasn't something he liked to dwell on.

"Would you like me to do yours, as well?" Gabriel asked softly, breaking the spell of silence. He could practically feel the difference as Crowley reached the spots on his back he had trouble grooming himself, and really, it was only proper to return the favor.

Startled by the offer, Crowley responded without thinking, "I... yes, I'd like that." And he would, no question. But it would be awkward. Not because he didn't trust Gabriel with the vulnerable limbs. He did. But because they would only serve to emphasize the gulf they straddled. Perhaps that was what they needed, though. Perhaps it was time to stop skirting the issue. Well, in a few more minutes, maybe. Still deep in the Messenger's wings and breathing shallowly, Crowley asked, "Do you? Remember, I mean?"

Gabriel let his head fall thoughtfully to one side. He remembered quite vividly the Fall, compounded soon after by the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden. Those memories were among his most painful. But he remembered a time before that as well, when harmonies had filled the celestial sphere and heralded the creation of another plane. He remembered when the hallowed halls of Heaven had been empty but for the records Dobiel and the other authorities had begun for him of each angel's name and their duties during creation. And when he thought long enough, he could remember before that, a time of awareness that was not fully his; when they were one, and then twelve, and then more. "I do," he said quietly. "But we don't have to talk about that if you'd rather not..."

The demon shrugged, invisible from Gabriel's position. As one hand continued to card through the archangel's wings on the sensitive spot where they joined his mid-back, the other reached up to gently massage his exposed neck. There was a pause, then, "Tell me what you remember about me." He'd asked before - in the Millennium Eye - but he wanted to hear it again.

Finally, in voice soft and steeped in nostalgia, the archangel said, "I remember a virtue, dedicated to his work, but who seemed to enjoy it as well. I remember gray eyes, and mottled gray wings. An infectious smile." He faltered, though whether he hesitated for his own sake or for Crowley's, he could not have said. "I remember you and Jeliel and the others. You brought color to Eden with your plants and flowers. It was always a paradise, but you made it a breathtaking one."

The demon didn't smirk or sneer; he smiled. A pale echo of what it had been once, perhaps, but genuine still. "The eyes and wings have changed a little since then," Crowley murmured, lost in his own recollections. He swept his hands softly across Gabriel's great wings for one final smoothing, certain that he could have been lost in those sweet feathers much longer, but not sure where the boundaries were laid yet.

Once he felt Crowley pull away, Gabriel folded his wings, a rather prim stance with both appendages tucked in close around him; however, his expression was soft as he shifted to face the other. "I've seen the eyes," he murmured. "I don't think I've seen your wings..."

Crowley didn't speak; almost shyly, he unfurled his wings. They were a sleek black - a stark, deep colour that no angel had ever had, and only emphasized how far from grace he had Fallen. He said nothing, but kept his eyes on Gabriel's, looking for some kind of reaction.

It was somewhat jarring to find the wings he remembered as soft gray turned to velvet black; however, Gabriel had had centuries of practice in keeping his expression schooled, and managed to keep the surprise from his face. "You take very good care of them," he said quietly. "It hardly seems like you need my help at all." But he nonetheless circled the demon, settling obligingly behind him. He reached out carefully, finding as he ran his fingers through the dark feathers that they were soft despite their stark coloring.

"There's... there's always a few that even I can't reach," Crowley murmured wonderingly. Was it really possible for forgiveness to come so lightly? In the space between one breath and the next? He shuddered involuntarily when Gabriel touched his wings. No one had touched them like that in a very long time...

The truth was, the sight of the stark black wings was a surprise, but no more so, perhaps, than the first time he'd seen the Serpent's bright yellow eyes - a moment which, the archangel realized, had faded in his centuries of recollection until he wasn't sure when or where it had been. Many of the Fallen had looked different after their banishment, and it had been a shock for him to find them, one by one, changed. Crowley's nature, however, was something that was always in the background of the angel's awareness. Black feathers did not change that. The true surprise, perhaps, was that Gabriel could feel so close to one removed from grace. That was where forgiveness had formed. And that had taken more than a few breaths. A full year, in fact, of their awkward dance before Gabriel could see Crowley, not in terms of what he was but in terms of who he was. "Did you... choose this color?" he asked gently, pressing emotional boundaries along with physical as he buried both hands in the demon's wings for the first time. "Or did it just happen?"

"They burned," said Crowley expressionlessly. He understood what Gabriel was doing and tried to be open about a subject he'd never really discussed before, but it was still difficult. "The friction as I... well, they burned." The demon was surprised at how relatively painless even this confession had been, ameliorated as it was by angelic fingers amongst his feathers. Perhaps it was the right time. And the right person. "I can change their form," he went on to explain. "Just not the colour. At least, not for long." Like his eyes.

The idea made the archangel cringe inwardly, but he kept a calm, soothing rhythm to his careful grooming of Crowley's wings. He appreciated the honesty, though he realized after a moment that he had nothing to add to it. Nothing in his experience could parallel Falling from Heaven; it was a loss he couldn't even fathom. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Crowley," he said, after a pause. He didn't specify whether he meant the description or the access to the dark silk feathers. In that moment, the two things were too difficult to separate.

The demon made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been acknowledgment or contentment or both. "And the fucking hilarious thing? I don't even know why," he admitted.

What passed for the archangel's blood ran cold, and he couldn't help pausing in his task at the sudden confession. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly, cautiously.

Worried by the angel's stillness, but certain that honesty was the best path - especially if this thing was ever going to work between them - Crowley soldiered on, his gaze following a bird darting around the London street. It reminded him of a drunken conversation he'd had once with Aziraphale... "I mean I don't know why I Fell," he explained. "It's not like I got a memo or anything; it just happened and I still can't figure out what I did wrong..." The demon's voice trailed off plaintively at the end - childlike - the pain and confusion still remarkably fresh.

A dichotomy of emotions was warring in the angel's mind, and he couldn't find the right words to express either sentiment. An angel didn't simply Fall for no reason. And yet Crowley's simple statements were so genuine; he didn't think the demon was lying to him. Was it really possible for an angel to be unaware of his wrongs? The thought brought up his memories of the Fallen Morningstar: Lucifer, beautiful and broken, who at times didn't even seem to realize he was no longer among the Lord's favored. Crowley did not possess that dangerous self-righteousness. In fact, he seemed vulnerable, open now, as though he were waiting for Gabriel to supply him with the answer. Gabriel did not think that Lucifer ever came so near to regret. "Crowley, I... I'm sorry." Sorry, perhaps, that he hadn't a clue what answer to give.

The demon shrugged - an impressive gesture with four limbs - hoping the movement would entice those warm hands to his wings once more. "It's probably for the best. I would have been a lousy angel." A small smile touched Crowley's lips as he stared into the dying sunlight. He'd long since given up on trying to find out why he'd been rejected and shoved the bitter guilt to the back of his mind. It turned out to be much easier to be bad when one had already been punished for it.

"Don't say that," the angel murmured, his voice low, urgent. He leaned forward until his forehead came to rest lightly against the back of Crowley's head, nestled in his dark hair; the demon's scent filled his awareness. Between shuddering breaths, he brought his hands up to the soft black wings. A few stray black feathers fell away as he continued his task. "Just... please. Don't say that."

Crowley inhaled sharply, surprised as much by Gabriel's tone as his actions: surprised, too, at the force of his own feelings, both good and bad. It left him light-headed and heavy-hearted. "As you wish," he replied softly, knowing the archangel wouldn't understand the reference. It was just as well.

Gabriel moved in silence; Crowley's wings were already fairly well groomed, and it took little time for the angel to find the loose feathers in those hard to reach places around his shoulder blades. He smoothed the remaining feathers gently back into place. "I don't want you to have to hurt like this," he murmured, eyes closed.

"I don't... You can't..." Crowley sighed, frustrated that when he most needed them, the words wouldn't come. Annoyed, too, at himself - at the part of him that wanted to retain his dignity in front of an archangel and at the warring part that wanted nothing more to cling desperately to what Gabriel offered. "It's been a long damn time; I'm a big boy now." Maybe if he said it out loud, it would be true.

"It has been a long time," the angel agreed quietly. Gabriel couldn't really comprehend that it was a pain one could learn to live with; to him, Falling from grace was the worst conceivable consequence of any situation. He did understand, however, that it likely benefited neither of them to discuss the prospect in too much depth, and he decided to change the subject. "So, what was in that message from Haniel?"

Crowley rolled his shoulders, letting his wings fall into their natural position before shifting so that he was sitting next to Gabriel once more. He handed back the note, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

Curious, Gabriel opened it. It merely said:

Kiss him already, you idiot.
-Haniel

PS- Gabe, sweetheart, let him.

Eyes wide in surprise, Gabriel looked up to find that the small smile had broken into a grin. "What do you say, angel?" asked Crowley.

Images from a nearly intangible past brought a tenseness to the Messenger's abdomen, and a sudden, silly urge assaulted him. He reached out, cautious, hesitant, but Crowley did not shy away; carefully, his fingers brushing across the other's cheek, he caught the frames of Crowley's sunglasses and pulled them away, revealing the oddly pretty, serpentine eyes. He flushed with his foolishness, but didn't look away. His eyes looked different than they once had, but they hadn't changed.

"I... yes?"

The space of a heartbeat, a breath, an unspoken thought was all that remained between them, and then even that disappeared as their lips met in a single, searching kiss that made Gabriel gasp with the softness of it.

After a slow, sensuous moment, Crowley broke the achingly gentle kiss, but didn't pull away. Instead he raised his eyes to Gabriel's, wonderingly, until another shared impulse brought their mouths together again. Bringing up his free hand, he caressed the angel's cheek as his tongue begged sweetly for entrance. Gabriel smelled intoxicatingly of rain, sun, fresh air, and oddly enough, night-blooming jasmine, and Crowley couldn't resist reaching farther up to wind his fingers into the soft, dark hair.

Dizzying, the angel thought, was the only thing that could describe the intensity of Crowley's eyes when their lips hovered so achingly close; it left him dazed, and his thoughts blurred into one arresting spiral that culminated in his lips parting unquestioningly at Crowley's urging. Dizzying, and he held on fiercely as his heart beat faster, and faster still, one hand on the curve of the demon's neck as the other caught Crowley's hip, pulling it flush with his own. Shifting, searching, and the insinuation of one knee between Crowley's thighs, and in a tangle of limbs, the other's weight was upon him. But even with the demon pressed against him, Gabriel felt fleeting, ephemeral, an insubstantial flurry of want and warmth that was made real only where his lips met Crowley's.

Precariously balanced on the angel's lap, Crowley pressed closer, wanting nothing more than to bask in the angel's warmth and see Gabriel's pale, smooth skin softly contrasting his own slightly darker hue. He knew without seeing that they were beautiful together. They could have been a sculpture by Rodin, all cool, smooth lines, firm muscles, and flawless faces. They were porcelain, alabaster, marble. But they were also alive, vibrant, flowing, moving, merging. As his hand trailed down Gabriel's neck and his eyes fell closed, Crowley wondered if moments like these were the entire point of creation.

What warmth could be found in the demon's touch filled him, a wanton heat that coursed through his veins and left him flushed with seeking it in the body pressed against his. Gabriel craved it, some sudden, driving addiction, and the feel of Crowley beneath his hands was intoxicating, thrilling, breathless -

"Finally," came an outside voice, and they jumped apart at the suddenness of it.

"Oh, don't mind me, kiddos. Strange place for a petting party, but it's your ball game," said Haniel, amused. "Took you so long, I don't care where you do it."

"What?" said Gabriel, still dazed.

Haniel laughed. "I know your brain might not be working too good right now, boyo, but I'm talking about the plan."

"But I didn't..."

"Oh, yes, you did. The other plan."

There was a moment of confused silence before Crowley smacked his forehead; he'd been here before... "You sick bastard. This was all a set-up! This is the damn difference between the Great Plan and the Ineffable Plan again, isn't it?"

The Lover smiled; Gabriel looked utterly lost.

Crowley tried to explain. "This whole time - whatever he told you, what he told me, the other angels who were involved...?"

"Had to find out who you clicked with," Haniel shrugged. "Love is more than appreciating a nice chassis."

"Fuck," replied Crowley feelingly. "All of it. He engineered it all just to get us together."

Struggling to find his voice, Gabriel said, "But... why?"

Haniel adjusted the angle of his fedora. "Archangel of Passionate Love. It's my job, sweetheart." He began rummaging through his pockets. "Oh, before I forget, Raph wanted to make sure I gave you these." He tossed a package of suspiciously shaped somethings at Gabriel who went crimson with embarrassment.

Crowley wasn't in much better shape. "Condoms?" he squeaked.

"Doc says 'be safe'," Haniel grinned. "All right, I'll get out of your hair now. Don't worry about me walking in on you in the clinch, either. I wouldn't do that to a pal. No promises about Sariel, though. He's been going on forever about how pretty you two are." The Lover cheerfully rolled his eyes and vanished.

The Messenger and the Serpent gazed at each other in the stunned silence that followed. Then they both spoke at once.

"I'd understand if..."

"I don't..."

They stopped.

Gabriel took the demon's hand and spoke earnestly. "Crowley, it doesn't matter to me how or why this all started, as long as it can continue. I want to be with you."

"Oh, thank fuck!" Crowley managed to exclaim as he pounced.

Sariel was right. They were beautiful together.

THE END