Aziraphael's been looking for her, but he's more than willing to wait. He has taken off his jacket and spread it on the grass, sitting down and reaching across her to pull the blanket more fully over her; somewhere along the way he got distracted, though.
Biting his lip and delicately working, he's attempting to gently tease a red autumn leaf out of her long hair.
"All the better for seeing you, my dear." If you go by his smile, he's teasing, but it wouldn't do to put too much trust in such things. Because when his smile fades, just a little, the fond look in his eyes most certainly remains.
And oh, but that's enough to wake her completely from her half-dreaming daze -- as though a splash of lake-water had hit her. Susan's smile fades, as well.
(I have had particular friends and lost them - it's impossibly hard)
She'd give almost anything to not have to say this -- for it not to be so, for there to be something, something to stay this pain, to keep it from him.
(ka is cruel)
And she knows that no matter what, ka is coming like a wind, as her da' had always said-- and that for it to be left a surprise would be no kindness.
Susan reaches out to take his hand, holding tightly.
"It's-- it's good to see thee as well, Aziraphael. I-- thee are so very dear-- thee know that, I hope?"
He's still smiling slightly, but a small frown creases the skin just between his eyebrows as he squeezes her hand in return. For some unknown reason, the day seems a little cooler, all of a sudden. Wind ruffles the surface of the lake.
The gentle rocking motion ceases but his arms are still tight about her. It's likely for the best that she can't see his face - Aziraphael was never slow on the uptake. He's never been terribly good at self-deception, either.
(Nay-- I'd not think it so selfish, to not want to be hurt at such a loss, sai.)
Would that he were.
After a long moment of stillness he turns his head slightly, unnecessary breath stirring the hair by her ear. His voice is equally quiet, faintly hoarse.
Biting his lip and delicately working, he's attempting to gently tease a red autumn leaf out of her long hair.
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Eyelashes flutter as she blinks drowsily, looking up at him.
"...Aziraphael?"
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"Long days and pleasant naps, Susan dear."
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"And may ye have twice the number," she tells him as she sits up, smiling. "How do'ee fare?"
She's not quite fully awake yet, but she's getting there.
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(I have had particular friends and lost them - it's impossibly hard)
She'd give almost anything to not have to say this -- for it not to be so, for there to be something, something to stay this pain, to keep it from him.
(ka is cruel)
And she knows that no matter what, ka is coming like a wind, as her da' had always said-- and that for it to be left a surprise would be no kindness.
Susan reaches out to take his hand, holding tightly.
"It's-- it's good to see thee as well, Aziraphael. I-- thee are so very dear-- thee know that, I hope?"
Her voice is shaking slightly.
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He's still smiling slightly, but a small frown creases the skin just between his eyebrows as he squeezes her hand in return. For some unknown reason, the day seems a little cooler, all of a sudden. Wind ruffles the surface of the lake.
(it's the shadow, ka-shume)
He fractionally tightens his grip on her hand.
"Is everything alright?"
(and it can't-- it can't be prevented, I wot.)
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(I've tried so hard - not to form attachments)
She remembers all too clearly what he had looked like after Crowley had died.
(he's always been there)
But Crowley had come back. She doesn't expect to -- none of them will. And he's an angel--
(it's not the same - the distance is impossible to overcome)
--and she's not, and right now it doesn't matter. Susan flings herself into his arms, holding tightly and trembling as she says,
"Nay, it's not-- it's not all right, and I can't -- I can't make it be so, not-- not with this--"
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His arms automatically go around her, holding her tightly as he starts to gently rock her, whispering reassurances.
"Hush, my dear. It'll all be alright in the end. I'm not going anywhere."
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(six thousand years)
--and her answer is barely a whisper.
"I am."
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(Nay-- I'd not think it so selfish, to not want to be hurt at such a loss, sai.)
Would that he were.
After a long moment of stillness he turns his head slightly, unnecessary breath stirring the hair by her ear. His voice is equally quiet, faintly hoarse.
"For good, naturally."
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(peace of the clearing)
"Yer-- yer Heaven, as thee told me once."
She's still shivering, and not because of the season's cold.
"I-- I have to. We-- we all do."
And even softer, the merest breath of unhappy, miserable sound--
"Say sorry."
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"You'll be happy there."
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Oh and she does know -- he himself had told her, hadn't he?
(no secrets between souls)
Susan looks up at him now, and slow, silent tears are falling from the fog-gray eyes.
"I didn't think-- I didn't think it'd come so soon--"
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"It would always have been too soon."
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And this is what makes this all so
(impossibly hard)
painful, that she should know what's to come with this. She's not told the others-- she couldn't bring herself to say it.
"I won't-- I won't see thee again, until--"
(Serenity)
"I won't see thee again after-- after I go, will I?"
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