Self-indulgent Curiosity
Crowley would never, ever, in a million, billion years ever admit it, but… he kind of got a tad sentimental around Christmastime. And it was odd that the appearance of the mother he despised both now and in life would increase this sentimentality, but it did. Of course, he would never admit it to anyone, especially Rowena McLeod. Admitting it would put him in such a delicate position with the power he held, a position that was growing all the more delicate on its own.
“Damned black-eyed buggers. No sense of loyalty, or gratitude,” Crowley muttered, appearing around the corner from a pub.
He brushed of the shoulders of his long coat, hugging it about himself. He was so used to the naturally hot climate of Hell-hot still despite his, um, redecoration-that he had forgotten how cold his native Scotland could get in December. His meatsuit’s breathing was coming out in cloudy puffs-the better to fool the living, my dear-and he felt cold right down to the bone. In all honesty, he was really missing the fires of Hades right about that time.
He rounded the corner, glancing up at the wooden sign that proclaimed the pub’s name. It was faded and old, the green and gold paint chipping, but the words were still clear enough. It announced itself as the Rose and Kilt, and Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Probably started by a damned American,” he growled. “Might as well have named it The Scrooge McDuck.”
The name disgusted him, obviously, but nevertheless, this is where his sources told him to look. So he took up a spot right at the red bricked corner of the building, watching as patrons flooded in and out rather steadily for it being the late afternoon on a weekday. No one seemed to mind this stranger holding up the wall, and that suited the King of Hell just fine. He glanced around, trying to see if he could spot his quarry before he even approached the pub. But instead, all he could spy was Christmas wreaths on ever shop door, and poinsettia bouquets covering each unlit lamppost. He glanced at his watch, which he had thankfully set for the proper time before even departing Hell.
He still had twenty minutes before his own version of self-indulgent curiosity was supposed to appear. Well, he had intended to arrive around this time, despite his minions telling him later. His black-eyed boys were not always the most trustworthy, and Crowley was too busy a King to spend his time trying to catch this window of opportunity again. He had cleared his entire schedule, and dodged his mother’s inquiries, all so that he could be here and see what he had come to see.
Crowley spotted a mop of black curly hair first. He leaned off the wall, his eyes glued on the approaching figure in the crowd. He almost didn’t recognize him. The man coming nearer the pub’s entrance looked much different in the modern day sweater and jeans than he had when Crowley had left him, in his seventeenth century clothing. But he would know him anywhere-another fact that Crowley would not readily admit to. The man now entering the pub was Gavin McLeod, no mistake.
Good, Crowley thought. He’s survived a year outside of his own time. That’s my boy.
Thought, perhaps, the young man had turned to drinking. After all, the demons Crowley had sent before had said that Gavin came to his pub every weekday, at exactly this time. It would be unsurprising, giving Crowley’s past as a drunken reprobate, but Crowley had hoped that the certain gifts he had bestowed upon his son would’ve livened up his view on living. He thought, for half a second, of enter the pub and dragging him out like Gavin had down for him so many times before.
He had taken a single step forward, grimace in place, when he paused. Gavin was exiting the pub… and he was not alone. Crowley blinked. His demons had not informed him of this.
The young woman was pretty, probably around Gavin’s own age. Her hair was long and blonde-like the color of the sun on a clear day. Her skin was pale, tinged pink with the cold she had run into leaving the pub. Her arm was linked inside Gavin’s, and the two walked back the way Gavin had come, talking and laughing. Crowley’s brow arched. This he would have to see.
He followed the couple out of town, into a small set of cottages that were obviously older, but were positioned as if they were the picture of rural suburbia. The entered the second one down the road, on the right. Crowley kept his distance, but now it was time to employ some of his more demonic powers. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished from the sidewalk, only to appear in the home’s living room, standing right in front of the woman who had left the pub with Gavin. He was invisible to her, of course, and he had to take a step back as she tried, unknowingly, to walk through him.
“How was your day at work, Sara?” Gavin called from another room.
“You’ve already asked me that,” she smiled. “But it was good. Well, we had one man get sick all over the place. Poor bloke had lost his job. But other than that, it was good.”
Gavin nodded, coming into the living room. He pulled the woman in a small embrace, kissing her lightly on the lips.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, pulling her gently backwards.
She giggled. “What are you doin’?”
Gavin looked suggestively upward, and both Sara and Crowley followed his gaze. A sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway. She laughed, wrapped her arms around Gavin’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips.
It was then that Crowley caught it. A little glimmer of gold in the light of the other room. Crowley moved around the embracing couple, glancing down at their left hands. He was surprised to see that both wore wedding bands.
He stared up at his son’s face as the kiss had finally ended. Gavin was staring lovingly into Sara’s eyes, and she was returning the look full-force. Gavin was married. And happy. And married.
An odd feeling formed in the King of Hell’s gut, one he could not put a name to, as he turned. With another snap of his fingers, he was outside the home-and visible to the world again. He stood there, allowing his meatsuit to breathe in and out as deeply as it wanted, because that feeling in his gut was getting heavier with each passing moment.
Happy. Gavin was happy. Crowley pursed his lips, raising his hand to snap his fingers once more and be done with this place, when he stopped. The door to the home had opened, and Crowley whirled. Gavin grinned, closing the door behind him.
“Hello, Father,” he said.
Crowley coughed once. “Gavin.”
Gavin crossed his arms. “How long have you been spying on me?”
Crowley grinned. “Only a bit.”
“Liar. I saw your demons a few days ago.”
That was his boy. Vigilant, at the ready, as he should be. Crowley chuckled.
“Caught me. Just checking in. Married, huh?”
Gavin nodded. “You’ll not be causing trouble now, will you?”
Crowley shook his head. “You overestimate my caring in this matter. But… keep a low profile. And no smoking, remember?”
Gavin looked a bit confused, but he nodded, a little chuckle escaping all the same. “Yeah, I remember. And I will.”
With a nod, Crowley snapped his fingers and was gone. When he arrived back in his private chambers in Hell, he finally managed to put a name to that tight feeling in his stomach. Pride. He was proud of his son, for surviving and finding happiness in a world virtually unknown to him.
“Now,” Crowley sighed, “to keep Mum from knowing about him.”