Bernard and Crowley: Milliways
Bernard was hunched on the shore of the lake, watching the wind send small white-capped waves scudding over the surface of the water. There was a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of Souza gold (opened and well on its way to becoming a philosophical conundrum) planted next to him, and that was the side on which Crowley sat, close enough that he could reach it if he wanted. Bernard scowled at the waves and stubbed out the dog end on the stony ground before taking a long swig, putting the bottle down on the other side of him, away from Crowley. The demon looked at him sidelong and then shrugged, starting to sort through the stones around where he sat, choosing one every now and again and adding it to the slowly increasing pile by his side.
There was a long silence before Crowley picked up one of the stones he'd collected, tossing it up and catching it a couple of times before cocking back his arm and letting fly. It bounced five times before sinking out of sight.
"Not bad." Bernard's voice was a little rusty, he knew, but Crowley could attribute it to the cigarette, the tequila. Whatever. Fuck, he could blame it on the cold night air and Bernard's delicate constitution, if he wanted, if it was easier. Besides, the line of Crowley's immaculate black jacket'd be spoiled by a Tonks Pocket. He almost snorted and then scowled again, not wanting to think about Nymphadora.
"Think you can do better?" Crowley's voice was challenging and Bernard had reached over and taken the offered stone before even thinking, reacting to the tone more than the words because he didn't refuse challenges. He didn't toss the stone, though - just turned it over between his fingers a couple of times before swearing softly.
"I don't think I can do this."
"'Course you can." Crowley leaned back, arms supporting his weight, a grin on his face. "It's all in the wrist."
"Not this, Crowley." He dropped the stone and pulled another Camel from the battered pack he'd cadged off one of the bar's itinerant musicians. It took a while for the match to light and then he took a drag, smoke leaking slowly from his mouth as he pressed the knuckle of his thumb hard against his forehead. "All of this." He waved his other hand at the lake, the forest, the bar behind him. "It's too much."
Sunglasses turned his way, Crowley's expression fucking unreadable. He was regarded thoughtfully for a while and he hunched down further, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette and taking another swig of tequila, passing the bottle over just to disrupt the blank stare.
"The angel's inside. Talking to 'Dora."
It was physically impossible for Bernard to hunch any further, and hunching'd let Crowley know he'd scored a hit, so he straightened his back, instead. Like that was any better. Like Crowley didn't already know something was up.
Sometimes it was a fucking pain in the ass, having a best friend.
"Okay, well, what are the possibilities, I wonder?" Crowley started ticking points off on his fingers. "She's pregnant, and you can't take the responsibility. You're pregnant, and she can't take the responsibility. Sunny's fallen through some weird time wormhole and has come back pregnant, and neither of you is coping well. Your work. Her work. Your scandalous affair with the angel. Am I getting warm, yet?"
"Asshole." Slightly warmer tone of voice, this time. Crowley did that to you. Bastard.
"The original, and still the best." The demon smirked and buffed his nails on his lapel, aggravatingly smug.
Bernard rolled his eyes and flicked the cigarette towards the water.
"Her job. As usual." He rubbed the back of his head with one hand, uncomfortable. "It's… how do I deal with this? Not ever able to be there for her, having to wave her off; bye honey, have a nice day, it'd be good if you come back alive?"
Crowley shrugged, face unreadable. "Make sure you kiss her before she goes, and never let her leave on an argument."
"Not fucking comforting, Crowley."
"Not my fucking fault, Bernard."
Bernard turned to glare at him, spots of high colour on his cheeks. "You're no help, you know that?"
Another stone, flung by the demon - only this one didn't bounce, just ploughed straight into the water, leaving choppy waves in its wake.
"It's no easier if you get to go with them."
Bernard paled slightly, and looked back out over the lake, because it was easier than looking at the demon's face, right then.
"I just. I don't know why she has to do it. She's got me, she's got Sunny, she's got the bar. She could stay."
It was a long moment, before Crowley spoke.
"You ever have a thing for Jane Fonda, Bernard? The big hair, the ridiculous outfits…"
Bernard looked at him, nonplussed.
"Is there supposed to be a point?"
"Bear with me. Yes or no?"
"Maybe. I guess."
Crowley nodded slowly.
"So… say you've been married a few years. Sex is routine. You think maybe a little roleplay. And hey, you've got a girl who can do not only the outfits - she can look like whoever you want, too. And you wore that sheep outfit for her, it's only fair, right?"
Unconscious movement of hand to pocket as he grits his teeth. "I would never fucking… don't ever say that."
The demon looked directly at Bernard.
"Same thing. It's not just a job, it's a part of who she is. She's good at what she does, and she's not going down without a fight, and she can take care of herself. You just have to have the balls to trust her to do that."
"Yeah." He pulled the box of matches from his pocket and fiddled with them. "Yeah, I know. I just can't help getting frustrated when she comes home looking like she's taken on the world and lost, and then we end up fighting, and - does it get easier?"
"What?"
"The arguments. How do you deal with it? I mean, you and the angel have known each other forever. How come you always sort it out?"
Crowley pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Don't make me say it."
"Say what?"
"You utter, utter bastard."
Bernard flailed slightly. "What did I do? I just want to know why."
"Because. I. Love him." A yellow eyed glare. "Wanker."
"And that's enough?"
Crowley looked at him for a long moment.
"Love each other, and you'll be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that." He grinned, and got to his feet. "Now I've got an angel to be getting back to, and I think you need to talk to your wife-to-be." He held out a hand. "Stop being a git and take advantage of the time you have with her."
Bernard shook his head, and let Crowley pull him to his feet.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, yeah, don't spread it around. I'll never hold my standing as top ranking bastard." Smirking, he turned, and sauntered back to the bar, leaving Bernard alone to stare at the water for a bit before grinning and heading back to the staff quarters.
*
Yeah. The angel had definitely been here.
Nymphadora was curled up on the sofa, asleep. Clutched in her hand was a tartan handkerchief, there were another couple screwed up on the arm of the sofa, and there were a couple of used mugs on the floor. He crouched in front of the sofa and carefully brushed dark hair away from her face, and she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily up at him.
"Hi."
Her voice was a little hoarse, and her eyes were a little red, and he leaned forward and kissed her softly.
"I'm sorry. I love you."
Her lips curved into a smile, beautiful smile, and he could look at it for the rest of his life. He would look at it for the rest of his life. He'd make sure it appeared as often as possible.
"I love you too."
And hey, Crowley was right. That was the most important thing.
There was a long silence before Crowley picked up one of the stones he'd collected, tossing it up and catching it a couple of times before cocking back his arm and letting fly. It bounced five times before sinking out of sight.
"Not bad." Bernard's voice was a little rusty, he knew, but Crowley could attribute it to the cigarette, the tequila. Whatever. Fuck, he could blame it on the cold night air and Bernard's delicate constitution, if he wanted, if it was easier. Besides, the line of Crowley's immaculate black jacket'd be spoiled by a Tonks Pocket. He almost snorted and then scowled again, not wanting to think about Nymphadora.
"Think you can do better?" Crowley's voice was challenging and Bernard had reached over and taken the offered stone before even thinking, reacting to the tone more than the words because he didn't refuse challenges. He didn't toss the stone, though - just turned it over between his fingers a couple of times before swearing softly.
"I don't think I can do this."
"'Course you can." Crowley leaned back, arms supporting his weight, a grin on his face. "It's all in the wrist."
"Not this, Crowley." He dropped the stone and pulled another Camel from the battered pack he'd cadged off one of the bar's itinerant musicians. It took a while for the match to light and then he took a drag, smoke leaking slowly from his mouth as he pressed the knuckle of his thumb hard against his forehead. "All of this." He waved his other hand at the lake, the forest, the bar behind him. "It's too much."
Sunglasses turned his way, Crowley's expression fucking unreadable. He was regarded thoughtfully for a while and he hunched down further, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette and taking another swig of tequila, passing the bottle over just to disrupt the blank stare.
"The angel's inside. Talking to 'Dora."
It was physically impossible for Bernard to hunch any further, and hunching'd let Crowley know he'd scored a hit, so he straightened his back, instead. Like that was any better. Like Crowley didn't already know something was up.
Sometimes it was a fucking pain in the ass, having a best friend.
"Okay, well, what are the possibilities, I wonder?" Crowley started ticking points off on his fingers. "She's pregnant, and you can't take the responsibility. You're pregnant, and she can't take the responsibility. Sunny's fallen through some weird time wormhole and has come back pregnant, and neither of you is coping well. Your work. Her work. Your scandalous affair with the angel. Am I getting warm, yet?"
"Asshole." Slightly warmer tone of voice, this time. Crowley did that to you. Bastard.
"The original, and still the best." The demon smirked and buffed his nails on his lapel, aggravatingly smug.
Bernard rolled his eyes and flicked the cigarette towards the water.
"Her job. As usual." He rubbed the back of his head with one hand, uncomfortable. "It's… how do I deal with this? Not ever able to be there for her, having to wave her off; bye honey, have a nice day, it'd be good if you come back alive?"
Crowley shrugged, face unreadable. "Make sure you kiss her before she goes, and never let her leave on an argument."
"Not fucking comforting, Crowley."
"Not my fucking fault, Bernard."
Bernard turned to glare at him, spots of high colour on his cheeks. "You're no help, you know that?"
Another stone, flung by the demon - only this one didn't bounce, just ploughed straight into the water, leaving choppy waves in its wake.
"It's no easier if you get to go with them."
Bernard paled slightly, and looked back out over the lake, because it was easier than looking at the demon's face, right then.
"I just. I don't know why she has to do it. She's got me, she's got Sunny, she's got the bar. She could stay."
It was a long moment, before Crowley spoke.
"You ever have a thing for Jane Fonda, Bernard? The big hair, the ridiculous outfits…"
Bernard looked at him, nonplussed.
"Is there supposed to be a point?"
"Bear with me. Yes or no?"
"Maybe. I guess."
Crowley nodded slowly.
"So… say you've been married a few years. Sex is routine. You think maybe a little roleplay. And hey, you've got a girl who can do not only the outfits - she can look like whoever you want, too. And you wore that sheep outfit for her, it's only fair, right?"
Unconscious movement of hand to pocket as he grits his teeth. "I would never fucking… don't ever say that."
The demon looked directly at Bernard.
"Same thing. It's not just a job, it's a part of who she is. She's good at what she does, and she's not going down without a fight, and she can take care of herself. You just have to have the balls to trust her to do that."
"Yeah." He pulled the box of matches from his pocket and fiddled with them. "Yeah, I know. I just can't help getting frustrated when she comes home looking like she's taken on the world and lost, and then we end up fighting, and - does it get easier?"
"What?"
"The arguments. How do you deal with it? I mean, you and the angel have known each other forever. How come you always sort it out?"
Crowley pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Don't make me say it."
"Say what?"
"You utter, utter bastard."
Bernard flailed slightly. "What did I do? I just want to know why."
"Because. I. Love him." A yellow eyed glare. "Wanker."
"And that's enough?"
Crowley looked at him for a long moment.
"Love each other, and you'll be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that." He grinned, and got to his feet. "Now I've got an angel to be getting back to, and I think you need to talk to your wife-to-be." He held out a hand. "Stop being a git and take advantage of the time you have with her."
Bernard shook his head, and let Crowley pull him to his feet.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, yeah, don't spread it around. I'll never hold my standing as top ranking bastard." Smirking, he turned, and sauntered back to the bar, leaving Bernard alone to stare at the water for a bit before grinning and heading back to the staff quarters.
*
Yeah. The angel had definitely been here.
Nymphadora was curled up on the sofa, asleep. Clutched in her hand was a tartan handkerchief, there were another couple screwed up on the arm of the sofa, and there were a couple of used mugs on the floor. He crouched in front of the sofa and carefully brushed dark hair away from her face, and she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily up at him.
"Hi."
Her voice was a little hoarse, and her eyes were a little red, and he leaned forward and kissed her softly.
"I'm sorry. I love you."
Her lips curved into a smile, beautiful smile, and he could look at it for the rest of his life. He would look at it for the rest of his life. He'd make sure it appeared as often as possible.
"I love you too."
And hey, Crowley was right. That was the most important thing.