Twelve Months - May
Title: Twelve Months
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley remembers. Does Gabriel?
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March, April
It was strange, he mused. He'd gotten into this whole ridiculous situation purely for the sex, but over time and underneath the fifty-two layers of inch-thick steel-plated armour, the Messenger had turned out to be surprisingly intriguing - if one had the patience to discover it. The archangel was intelligent and opinionated; he was professional and exceptionally good looking. He could even be damn funny in a very, very dry sort of way...
London is beautiful at night from above. Even in this ridiculous pod. Especially when the view includes chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne, and Gabriel. Crowley actually finds himself admiring Gabriel more than the view and rolls his eyes at his own foolishness. He eats a strawberry seductively, remembering his goal, but the angel apparently doesn't notice; his gaze is focused over the city like a benevolent ruler.
"It's a different world up here," Gabriel says, something almost reverent in his voice, "than when you're walking among them. I'm not sure how you've gotten used to it."
"Gotten used to what? Mortals or looking down on them?" he jokes.
Gabriel casts a wry look at the demon, a hint of a smile in his expression. "I'm not sure you can really call it looking down on them when you risked yourself to save their planet," he murmurs.
"What can I say? I like sushi," Crowley remarks lightly. It isn't just the sushi, of course, but he's not sure he can explain further.
The archangel makes a noncommittal noise. "Your superiors may have accepted that answer, but I'd imagine the kraken was rather distressed."
"Why?" grins the serpent insouciantly. "I imagine he likes sushi, too." He really doesn't want to talk about this right now. He also privately thinks that the kracken is likely more intelligent than his superiors.
Gabriel gives him a skeptical glance, but doesn't press the issue. He turns back to the view instead, and Crowley sighs silently.
A few minutes pass in solemn silence as they slowly revolve, drifting ever closer to the ground. The demon watches Gabriel's image in the glass while Gabriel watches the world.
"Why did you say that inspiration was always part of my job description when we were in Italy?" Crowley interrupts abruptly.
The angel's reflection smiles, but he doesn't turn. "Virtues have an eye for the beauties of the world, and the way it works. I'm not surprised you didn't want it to end."
"I'm not a..." Crowley begins, then stops. "How do you know I was a Virtue?"
Gabriel turns, radiant against the darkness outside, broken only by staccato patches of orange streetlights. "I remember," he says simply.
Feeling like a vise is clamped around his chest, the demon asks, "Remember what?"
It's quiet in the little cabin. "I remember dark hair falling constantly into soft grey eyes," the archangel says in hushed tones. "I remember fast, nimble flying on beautifully patterned wings and the shy smile of a Virtue whose preliminary function was to work on plant life, but who seemed to find a lot of spare time to tease and play with his fellows. Inspiration in all its forms. That's what you were created for. I didn't need to be your direct supervisor to notice."
Crowley can't speak. He's tormented with too many memories - visions of Heaven he hasn't had in centuries except in dreams.
Gabriel continues. "I keep the records, Crowley. It is my purpose to remember." His voice drops even further. "Sometimes it's even my pleasure."
Taking a step closer to the Messenger, instinct warring with instinct, Crowley says, "And what have I inspired you to do lately...?"
The corners of the angel's lips turn up. "Spend three-quarters of an hour eating strawberries with you inside a ridiculous plastic and glass capsule as it travels slowly in a circle."
Crowley shook his head and grinned, turning the corner of a London street thronged with businesspeople hurrying to their lunch appointments. That had been a few weeks ago. Now he was ready to surprise the angel again with another outing. He'd scored tickets for the hottest new modern ballet in the West End and it would be an unforgivable waste of money if they didn't go. That would be his argument anyway. It had worked for the London Eye...
Looking at the tickets in his hand and mentally working out what he'd say, the demon walked without seeing until a familiar stray aura caught his notice, though Gabriel's office was still three blocks away. Crowley jerked his head up just in time to catch sight of the archangel sitting with a handsome young man at an outdoor cafe table. Well, sitting was probably the wrong word. What Gabriel was doing was leaning in and gently but passionately kissing him.
The tickets dropped unheeded to the ground.
June
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley remembers. Does Gabriel?
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March, April
It was strange, he mused. He'd gotten into this whole ridiculous situation purely for the sex, but over time and underneath the fifty-two layers of inch-thick steel-plated armour, the Messenger had turned out to be surprisingly intriguing - if one had the patience to discover it. The archangel was intelligent and opinionated; he was professional and exceptionally good looking. He could even be damn funny in a very, very dry sort of way...
London is beautiful at night from above. Even in this ridiculous pod. Especially when the view includes chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne, and Gabriel. Crowley actually finds himself admiring Gabriel more than the view and rolls his eyes at his own foolishness. He eats a strawberry seductively, remembering his goal, but the angel apparently doesn't notice; his gaze is focused over the city like a benevolent ruler.
"It's a different world up here," Gabriel says, something almost reverent in his voice, "than when you're walking among them. I'm not sure how you've gotten used to it."
"Gotten used to what? Mortals or looking down on them?" he jokes.
Gabriel casts a wry look at the demon, a hint of a smile in his expression. "I'm not sure you can really call it looking down on them when you risked yourself to save their planet," he murmurs.
"What can I say? I like sushi," Crowley remarks lightly. It isn't just the sushi, of course, but he's not sure he can explain further.
The archangel makes a noncommittal noise. "Your superiors may have accepted that answer, but I'd imagine the kraken was rather distressed."
"Why?" grins the serpent insouciantly. "I imagine he likes sushi, too." He really doesn't want to talk about this right now. He also privately thinks that the kracken is likely more intelligent than his superiors.
Gabriel gives him a skeptical glance, but doesn't press the issue. He turns back to the view instead, and Crowley sighs silently.
A few minutes pass in solemn silence as they slowly revolve, drifting ever closer to the ground. The demon watches Gabriel's image in the glass while Gabriel watches the world.
"Why did you say that inspiration was always part of my job description when we were in Italy?" Crowley interrupts abruptly.
The angel's reflection smiles, but he doesn't turn. "Virtues have an eye for the beauties of the world, and the way it works. I'm not surprised you didn't want it to end."
"I'm not a..." Crowley begins, then stops. "How do you know I was a Virtue?"
Gabriel turns, radiant against the darkness outside, broken only by staccato patches of orange streetlights. "I remember," he says simply.
Feeling like a vise is clamped around his chest, the demon asks, "Remember what?"
It's quiet in the little cabin. "I remember dark hair falling constantly into soft grey eyes," the archangel says in hushed tones. "I remember fast, nimble flying on beautifully patterned wings and the shy smile of a Virtue whose preliminary function was to work on plant life, but who seemed to find a lot of spare time to tease and play with his fellows. Inspiration in all its forms. That's what you were created for. I didn't need to be your direct supervisor to notice."
Crowley can't speak. He's tormented with too many memories - visions of Heaven he hasn't had in centuries except in dreams.
Gabriel continues. "I keep the records, Crowley. It is my purpose to remember." His voice drops even further. "Sometimes it's even my pleasure."
Taking a step closer to the Messenger, instinct warring with instinct, Crowley says, "And what have I inspired you to do lately...?"
The corners of the angel's lips turn up. "Spend three-quarters of an hour eating strawberries with you inside a ridiculous plastic and glass capsule as it travels slowly in a circle."
Crowley shook his head and grinned, turning the corner of a London street thronged with businesspeople hurrying to their lunch appointments. That had been a few weeks ago. Now he was ready to surprise the angel again with another outing. He'd scored tickets for the hottest new modern ballet in the West End and it would be an unforgivable waste of money if they didn't go. That would be his argument anyway. It had worked for the London Eye...
Looking at the tickets in his hand and mentally working out what he'd say, the demon walked without seeing until a familiar stray aura caught his notice, though Gabriel's office was still three blocks away. Crowley jerked his head up just in time to catch sight of the archangel sitting with a handsome young man at an outdoor cafe table. Well, sitting was probably the wrong word. What Gabriel was doing was leaning in and gently but passionately kissing him.
The tickets dropped unheeded to the ground.
June