(Untitled)

[sai_delgado]

It's morning-- early still, although not quite dawn. There'd been no word when she'd gone out.

She's finished her stable-work now, and come back to the bar. There's still no word from the angel, and Susan's worried.

Biting her lip, she heads to Bernard and Nymphadora's flat, and knocks on the door.

Comments

[the_woodpecker]

There's no answer at first, but then Susan might be able to discern the distinctive sound of a scampering puppy.

Also, yipping.

And cursing.

But that's not really the dog.

Bernard opens the door. His hair's a little askew.

Just be glad he's clothed. He's been taking care of his sick wife for way too long.

"Susan, hey!" He steps aside, smiling brightly. "Come on in."

Starved for adult conversation that doesn't involve mucus?

Never.

[the_woodpecker]

Bernard snorts.

"'Course he was. Not sure what you mean."

[sai_delgado]

"I only-- I meant, if ye've-- if ye've seen him so, and I weren't-- I weren't here then," she stammers, "and he were all right after, then--"

"--then he'll be all right, mayhap?"

It's not a question.

(blackbird)

It's a plea.

[the_woodpecker]

"...He's always all right. Eventually."

Right. Right. Because if he can survive Iskander, he can survive whatever this is.

[sai_delgado]

Susan closes her eyes in relief.

Softly, "Aziraphael will know what to do, I wot."

[the_woodpecker]

He'd better.

"Sure he will."

Bernard's hands are already itching for pen and paper.

[sai_delgado]

A quiet sigh, and then Susan opens her eyes and flushes slightly, looking at him.

"I-- I didn't mean to trouble thee, so early-- I only wanted to know if there'd been an answer."

Hesitantly, she continues, "I - I asked him to send word, if there were aught else could be done."

[the_woodpecker]

Bernard sighs.

"Could be he hasn't opened it yet, because he's with a bunch of priests talking shop. Hestia hasn't come back, so she may be waiting for him to write."

[sai_delgado]

Susan bites her lip. This is rather less of a comfort, to think that mayhap the angel doesn't yet know--

"Was there-- should I have done something else? To-- somehow--"

She trails off, uncertain and unhappy.

[the_woodpecker]

"Susan--" Bernard begins, exasperated. He sighs.

"How old is Crowley?"

[sai_delgado]

"Six thousand years."

Without hesitation.

[the_woodpecker]

"And he'll be around for another sixty thousand. Whatever it is, he'll be okay."

He smiles, reassuring and not a little fake.

"I promise."

[sai_delgado]

The falsehood is clear, and Susan jerks back from him in surprised hurt.

"Don't-- don't act so--"

A careful, ragged breath, and she tells him,

"I'll believe ye--"

Oh, how she wants to.

"--but don't act so!"

[the_woodpecker]

The smile is gone.

"Until I hear from anyone at all, this is how I have to act."

[sai_delgado]

(dinh)

Susan takes a deep breath, quiet now in the face of his retort.. He's known Crowley longer than she-- and seen him like this before, say true.
(leader)

It can't be easy for him, and there's naught of good that can come by her making it harder. Looking down at the floor, she nods.

(protector)

"... cry yer pardon."

[the_woodpecker]

And as soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes lose their hardness, his cheeks' pale, dull patina gives way to a shamed flush, and he opens his mouth to apologize, automatically.

But he doesn't.

Because this is a family affair.

(close ranks)

And all he has here is his instinct, and his instinct says that, for Christ's sake, he hasn't even told his wife.

Finally, he speaks. "It's all right."