So the story has a little plot after all! lol But it's a just a tiny one. The focus is on Aziraphale and his evolving/changing feelings.
Fucking Crowley, am I right? lol Sorry, guys! I know the angst was pretty bad. There's more but I don't think it's anything compared to those last couple of chapters!
Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for betaing and Brit-picking!
Crowley would be proud of him, Aziraphale is sure. To be honest, the angel is quite proud of himself. Were it not for the unconscious beauty still cradled in his arms, Aziraphale would probably have a smug grin on his face right now. He allows himself a small smirk of victory as the last cab they'll need to take drives up to a cottage.
"Ye sure yer wife's alrigh'," asks the driver as he parks.
With a few barely-miracles and a couple of wedding bands, Aziraphale had been able to convince a few people along the journey of his wife's severe drinking problem. He'd have to apologise to Angelique later for tarnishing her reputation and, well, for unofficially getting them hitched. It would be mortifying, but necessary.
"Oh, yes, quite," he assures the cabby. "She'll be right as rain tomorrow, I can assure you."
"Terrible. And such a pretty lady," mutters the man. The cabby is kind enough to get out and open the door for them, which earns him a hundred per cent tip.
It took the entire day to complete all of Aziraphale's diversions, backtracks, and misleads. He hired a few miscreants to charge Angelique's credit card in several places that led away from where they were headed, just in case the angel or demon had the know-how to track a human that way. Aziraphale gave a few people a big enough blessing to blip on the miracle radar in case he was being monitored. He took tubes one way, cabs the other, even gave his fake passport to a blonde traveller heading to the Himalayas.
Aziraphale feels like James Bourne or Jason Bond in those movies Crowley forced him to watch. He feels... cool.
The cabby drives away and the front door to the vacation home he's commandeered opens on its own with a thought. The owners will not be coming around anytime soon, and in fact, are suddenly wondering if they should sell the place. He closes the door behind him with a small kick and lays Angelique on the settee.
On his knees next to the listless Angelique, he looks around the dark living area, checking the looming shadows first. Extending his senses, he checks the rest of the home and works his way outward in slow increments until he is satisfied. The small town is mostly asleep, and the stars are brighter out here.
Aziraphale comes back to himself with a sigh of relief, dropping his head on the girl's shoulder. The blouse she's wearing has slid down, his forehead and nose are pressed into her cold skin. He takes in her fragrance, under the persistent hospital smell, is the light lingering trace of her perfume, and a hint of that very specific scent one gets when they've been outdoors for too long. It has a calming effect on him. It assures him that she's really here. That she's safe. With him.
Alone.
Aziraphale's head snaps up, his arse hits the floor, and he crawls back and away from the sleeping beauty.
You're despicable. Smelling a woman while she lies there, in a coma, helpless.
Frustrated with himself and coming down from the adrenaline, Aziraphale drags a hand down his face and begins to do what he does best. Worry.
At least he doesn't have an erection, small mercy at this point, but he's not sure how long that will last having to watch over a woman he's in love with but can never have, alone together until...
The train of thought makes him gasp. First thing, he's admitted he's in love with Angelique is his head. Second, they're alone and holed up in a romantic cottage.
Crowley can't get here fast enough, he thinks. That will put him in his place, he's sure.
"Crowley," Aziraphale whispers, his jaw dropping at yet another shocking realisation. Crowley had basically bequeathed Angelique to him before departing. The demon's last words are on repeat as the angel holds his head in his hands.
Take care of her. I know you'll make her happy.
"Stupid serpent!" Aziraphale hisses angrily. "Oh, my dear," he laments in Angelique's direction, "Crowley better arrive before you awake. Or I'll discorporate him myself for handing you off to his 'next of kin' like you're some kind of old testament widow!"
His righteous anger deflates while looking at Angelique's placid and pale face. That face should be beaming, should be smiling radiantly, should look like Angelique! He notices her lips seem slightly blue, which sends him shooting up and towards the fireplace.
"What are we to do?" Aziraphale works quickly, and the log catches. "I can't miracle you warm, or feed you, or, or, anything!"
He takes off his coat and places it over her. Then he pushes the couch close to the fireplace and dashes off to find blankets and maybe a hot water bottle. Apparently, the owners only vacation here on warmer months because their winter accessories are dismal. He descends the stairs, arms full of blankets and sheets, wondering if it's enough when he hears a small feminine groan.
In his hysteria, Aziraphale trips over said blankets and nearly gets tangled in them before he peers over the backrest of the couch. Angelique's eyes are still closed but scrunched up in pain, and her breathing is shallow.
"Angelique? Angelique, darl-dear, can you hear me? It's Aziraphale." He comes around the sofa, pulls her up so he can sit, and brings her into his lap. He pushes her locks back, and Angelique's eyes flutter open briefly. "Angelique, if you can comprehend me, you must listen. Please permit me to heal you. You need to concentrate and not resist me. Please, lo-Angelique."
She moans again, and her chapped lips part slightly. "Cro...," she whimpers, "Crow-ley...," the rest is unintelligible babble.
His heart feels like it cracks open, and it stings. For the first time in their extremely long friendship, Aziraphale has an itch to smite the demon. "He'll be here soon," he soothes, "but let me in now. I can help. Trust me." He bounces a knee a few times trying to jostle her awake some more. She opens her eyes again as a result. Her gaze is unfocused, and her eyelids are heavy. "Hello," he smiles down at her, "do you trust me?"
Angelique's eyes roll up before they snap to his face again.
"Angelique, please, I need you to trust me. Allow me to look within and heal whatever is ailing you. I can't do it without your permission, love," he pleads.
At the sound of the endearment, her pupils dilate, and she seems more focussed but confused. "Angel," she breathes just above a whisper.
Aziraphale's heart skips at the moniker, and he'd never thought he'd like anyone else calling him that, but hear he his, heart filling and melting at the same time. "It's imperative that–"
"Yes," she rasps, eyes looking fearful, "som-something's," she pants a few times and swallows, "wrong. I feel–"
Aziraphale senses a crack in her defences, and he jumps at the opportunity. She almost hurls him back at the sudden intrusion, but Aziraphale bestows as much peace as he can. When she relaxes, what he sees horrifies him.
Angelique has no physical ailments at all; the attack on her was purely spiritual. There's a slice completely down the centre being held together by a few threads. The two halves are desperately trying to sew themselves back together, but any progress forward sends them ripping apart again elsewhere.
Whoever attacked Angelique meant not only to kill but destroy.
Aziraphale gets to work. This will take a lot more power than any physical injury he's ever encountered. He helps her soul along, encouraging it, soothing it, and doing what he can to help knit itself back together. He can't do much, the human soul was created by God herself, not by angels, but because she has ethereal essence within, Aziraphale is confident she will heal.
The angel's corporation is sweating, and his damp clothes cling to his skin uncomfortably, but he feels nothing. He presses on and waits until her soul completes its final stitch. It glows brightly once, then simmers down, revealing a spiritual scar.
Aziraphale's eyes flutter open, and he's slightly startled to find Angelique awake and staring at him intently like she's never seen him before.
"Are you all right?" Aziraphale asks softly.
Angelique nods weakly, and her eyes shift around, taking in her surroundings. The first thing she asks is the million-dollar question Aziraphale was hoping he wouldn't need to answer.
"Where's Crowley?"
"Ah, yes, Crowley," Aziraphale bites back an oath and a grimace. "Well, long story, that, he, erm, he stepped out. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
Angelique blinks up at him, face expressionless. "Where'd he go?" She asks, tone equally void.
He hates having to lie but can't bear to tell her the truth. "You were attacked, eh, he had to lure the enemy away. I'm sure he's okay."
Angelique closes her eyes for so long he prays she's fallen asleep, but then he catches a tear roll down her cheek. "Are you lying to me?" She whispers hoarsely.
The girl has been through so much, why should she deal with heartbreak too? She doesn't need to know. Crowley will surely turn up, and when he does, Aziraphale will corner him and fill him in with his cover story. All will be well again.
"No, dear girl," his voice trembles in reply, "he'll be back."
Angelique opens her eyes, the whites are stained pink, and the tears fall free. "Aziraphale?"
"Hm?"
"You can't lie for shit." Angelique is quiet until an agonising sob rips out of her.
Aziraphale can almost hear her heart shattering to bits as she convulses in his arms, utterly destroyed. All he can do is rock her like an injured babe and repeatedly beg for her forgiveness.
