Wednesday, 14 August 2002 8:49:31 PM
hidoko Matsumoto (aka v0id)
email: voidmatsumoto@yahoo.co.uk
archive: if you really want, please ask. Scheduled to be at http://xz0ne.cjb.net
pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale
notes: a sleep-deprived person writing about sleep… (I am amused)
Disclaimer: copyright of some characters are monopolised by a cooperative of neilgaiman and terrypratchett…
[prologue]
"so full of joy you were a child
of spring/a beauty that is pure/an innocence endures"
-- evergreen, hyde
Sleep had eluded Crowley for
a long time since he last slept, and those days had caused Crowley to be
slightly more irritable and high on caffeine. It had almost erupted to
the Flaming Car occasion, except that it was just, thankfully, one mile
per hour away from frictional combustion.
Sleep was a dangerous thing,
slightly more addictive than tabacco and perhaps just as addictive as morphine.
It was in sleep that you could find some peace—Crowley was a minion of
darkness and being that, he lived amongst chaos, and peace was just about
the rare bits that seemed a little holier than ever to him.
Holy. Not that holiness was
a good thing, given Ligur's fate.
Yet holiness dwelled somewhere
in the half-desecrated realm that was Crowley's memory, from a very distant
place, longer than six millennia definitely, perhaps much longer before
the Creation of this universe.
Holiness was the memory of
being able to float among the stars and being able to watch the newly-born
stars combust. The younger angels liked hiding among the stars, and the
older ones gave them names. Libra, for example.
Aziraphale had been in charge
of the Air constellations, while Crowley had been in charge of the Water
ones. Which was slightly unsuitable to his original form, but as Aziraphale
had said, with quite so much as an innocent smile and goodwill, Fire needed
Air, and Earth needed Water.
Crowley had declined to respond
to this little nagging voice that said some millennias later after science
was more advanced that Water was Air, as Water consisted primarily of H2O,
and since H2O were both air in their purer molecule-states on earth…
It hadn't been a coincidence
that the two of them had been sent to earth, either. Especially after he'd
fallen.
Beezelbub had apparently thought
he was a good choice, since he was quite an "insignificant, adaptable little
runt" (these words had buzzed straight from Beezelbub's mouths, only they're
edited for reading pleasure). And Aziraphale had been sent because he was
the purest, and the mightiest, or so according to Beezelbub, who had told
Crowley that the best way to win was to either keep clear ("can't have
your murky vision be tainted by purity") of Aziraphale, or to directly
tempt Aziraphale into succumbing.
Over the years, Crowley had
decided that Aziraphale was harmless enough, especially since he'd watched
with wide eyes as Crowley hissed to Eve to eat the apple since it happened
to be there. It wasn't really Crowley's fault. The apples were in the wrong
place at the right time. Besides, he had never used his sword against Crowley.
Adam, however, might have tried if he knew who Crowley were.
And Crowley wasn't into holiness,
be it fire or water. He hadn't been into holy presence either, but six
millennia had made him acquainted with it. Specifically, Aziraphale.
Currently Crowley was certain
that his sunglasses were unable to make those eyebags obscure, and had
chosen to use smudged liquid eyeliner to conceal what seemed to be slightly
puffy panda-effects, thereby creating a more deliberate and effectively
more visibly puffy panda-effect. Deliberate was the thing in fashion, at
least Crowley thought when he began to make fashion designers see women
as some sort of vegetable by the name of "celery".*
But sleep was something that
Crowley would forgo, as the angel had quite inconveniently called him for
a gathering at a nearby café despite the current mechanical malfunction.
He knew that canned coffee could do the trick, at least for an hour or
so, and then it would be enough time for all the ducks in St James Park
to scram before he started sinking them.
Crowley wouldn't have admitted
it, but he did miss Aziraphale. The angel had never caught the hang of
Ebay, but Crowley did. He'd spent hours jeopardising bids for months on
end. And he reflected it would have been worth it, because a) he did get
some rare stuff, such as previously unreleased hits by Sex Pistols that
somehow should have released but were always forgotten by record companies
until bands disbanded, b) he would be ruining days of accountants and bank-tellers
as accounts all over the world fluctuate somehow in very strange manners.
Hacking had always been his thing—his first job was the one that involved
King David's empire. Women had always been interestingly useful tools to
hack into strangely complex systems.
So yes, he did miss Aziraphale.
After hours of evil deeds, one could take a vacation and tempt the holy
one to teabreak. How evil could that be? Aziraphale, of the Holy and the
Almighty tribe**, loved angel foodcakes. Dearly, too.
Well, that was one of the many
things they've had in common.
Crowley was drumming his five
fingers on a teak chair irritably, and sipping a two-shot espresso using
the other five. Aziraphale was late. It wasn't like Aziraphale to be late.
He glanced at his watch. No, he was early, and that was strange.
Quite amiably he stared out
of the café at the car seething outside of the pavement. Wisps of
smoke rose from its glove compartment, and clouded the windshield ever
so slightly.
Hmm. It must have suddenly
turned hot outside.
He also saw a red-faced Aziraphale
appear from the corner of the street, cradling something in his arms. From
where he was, it seemed like a long-haired kitten, with a blackened nose,
too. As soon as he stepped into the restaurant, a waiter approached him,
and Aziraphale waved frantically at Crowley before he was effectively ushered
back onto the street.
Crowley frowned, and the kitten
had disappeared into a carrier, which had disguised itself as a suitcase.
Aziraphale glanced up in Crowley's direction thankfully, and re-entered
the café, this time successfully.
"Sorry sir, but no animals
are allowed in here," apologised the waiter, who seemed somewhat embarrassed
for doing his job.
"It's okay," Aziraphale smiled,
and hid his suitcase under the table. Sounds of claws being dragged against
a leather interior and inconsistent mewing could be heard, until they were
muffled by another Crowley's doings. With smooth hands he flipped through
the menu, and ordered a Tiramisu cake, a chocolate fudge cake, a carrot
cake, plus hot cocoa please.
"What was that for?" Crowley
eyed Aziraphale, a "duh" look stretched upon his lips.
"Um, well." Aziraphale slipped
a glance at the suitcase, "It was in a little cardboard box, mewing piteously,
and shivering. I thought maybe my sweater would be slightly warmer…"
"Cats have claws," commented
Crowley, "I thought you'd know that."
"As a matter of fact they do,"
Aziraphale eyed his suit. It was slightly… more permeable than usual, and
his cheeks had been redder than usual, from the cold.
"And somehow old books are
never safe around them."
Aziraphale paled, "You don't
say!"
He calmed down slightly as
the waiter plopped the tray onto the table, distributed the three platters
of cake and a large mug of cocoa, and strolled off.
"And there'll be more kittens
running around your bookstore after a year or so," grinned Crowley, now
enjoying himself thoroughly.
Aziraphale buried his face
in the mug of cocoa, and then lifted it after a moment's thought. Cocoa
moustache hung on his upper lip. "But we don't encourage declawing or spaying.
It's a modern thing, but um, even though those are instruments of chaos…"
"I'm not saying you have to,"
Crowley was beginning to think that a bonsai kitten would look absolutely
cute placed in Aziraphale's bookstore. Except, of course, he wasn't much
into deformity after the rain of fishes had commenced. "Maybe she could
grow up to be the ferocious guardian of bookstores and prevent the damned
from entering your place before they buy up all your books."
"Er." Aziraphale glanced down
at the suitcase, which was now swaying from side to side. He obviously
didn't think so. And neither did the kitten, which was now toppling the
suitcase over.
"Or maybe just keep it as a
house pet," added Crowley hastily, seeing that he had flustered the angel
enough. "Now eat your cakes."
Aziraphale looked up at him
with large, fearful eyes, "You don't suppose—"
Crowley knew that his eternal
damnation had brought him too many words that would in turn damn himself
into the next millennia of cleaning kitten litter. "No. It's your problem,
Aziraphale."
If Aziraphale had dog-ears,
they would have drooped. Crowley almost laughed at the imaginary sight.
"Well, I suppose Newt and Anathema
would like some kittens for their three-year-old child."
The blonde beamed, and began
stuffing the slice of carrot cake into his mouth.
Meanwhile, Crowley had mentally
scheduled himself a session of sleeping to do, immediately after tea. Except,
of course, things never really quite went as he had planned. Well, if they
did, what fun would it be?
~~~~
*And for those who are Dieting-But-Can-Never-Succeed-Like-Yours-Truly,
it is not Crowley's fault. If men had see women as humans they probably
wouldn't have allowed the idea to enter their minds in the first place.
**Aziraphale was never part of the
forementioned tribe. He was more or less a figurehead. And also, the tribe
was also known as the Calvary Charismatic Tribe, of the Salvation of Goodwill
Through Not Committing Adultery And Charity Going Unto God's Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandchildren's
Biblical Computer Programmes.
C&C welcomed.^_^
