Did someone say "not enough angst?" hmm? No one? Just me? Ah, well. You're getting more anyway!
Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for betaing and Brit-picking!
The first thing Aziraphale notices is that everything is orange, and it is so horribly bright. Then the pain and nausea overwhelm the rest of his senses.
"Oh God," Aziraphale groans. He's in the process of being discorporated; he's sure. Why couldn't the assailant have killed him swiftly? Why this torture? How very cruel of the monster to slay him in such a fashion. Rude.
"Mmm," a feminine, gentle moan graces Aziraphale's pounding ears. He holds his breath. Oh, no, have they gotten Angelique too?!
Aziraphale snaps his eyes open only to shut them again quickly. With another groan, he forces his eyelids to pry apart and is met with a leg.
"What the devil," he mutters and squirms until he can lift himself and get a better look around. What he sees has him blinking with confusion. It's like his eyes are seeing, but the connection between his eyes and head are temporarily out of order. Slowly, his brain supplies him with some facts.
He's in bed. Angelique is in bed. Angelique's shirt is pulled over her breasts, and they rise and fall gently with her breathing. Angelique's bare leg is over his shoulder, trapping his head between her–
"Mother of pearl," Aziraphale rasps when he is quite literally faced with Angelique's naked sex.
He wants to scramble away. He wants to stay put. He briefly wants to bury his face in her lovely dark curls. The massive hangover has him sluggish and not thinking straight at all. He licks his parched lip and swallows hard before he gently lifts Angelique's leg -an awful mistake, he realises too late - and squirms his way out. Miscalculating the distance of the edge of the bed, Aziraphale rolls right off and lands on his back with an agonising thud.
The angel swallows down another groan with great effort and holds his head in his hands. This is about when he remembers he's an angel with powers to right this situation and so he closes his eyes, and wills away the migraine and general feeling of wretchedness. The pain ebbs away slowly as he rehydrates himself. Once the only nasty sensation of his cottonmouth is left, Aziraphale rises on his elbows, looks himself over, and baulks.
Wonderful.
Bloody fantastic.
A right, exemplary soldier of the Almighty, he is.
His shirt is ripped open but only exposes his vest beneath. That's obviously not the issue. The issue is, his trousers are bunched by his ankles, and his pants are wedged under his fully exposed, raging morning wood.
What's worse? A woman, a woman he respects and loves dearly, a woman whom his best friend was in a loving, committed relationship with for almost a year, a woman who's trusted him to protect her, lies unconscious and exposed in the bed next to him.
Suppressing the urge to cry out, Aziraphale allows himself to open his mouth in a silent scream. After his conniption has settled into a dull self-loathing he's more familiar with, Aziraphale rights his clothes and quietly stands up.
He tries not to ogle at the beautiful figure sprawled innocently on the mattress while he drapes a sheet over her. Angelique's shortened locks cover most of her face and Aziraphale reaches out to tuck them away before he recoils back. With a trembling sigh, the angel miracles a tall, cold glass of water onto the nightstand and leaves the room.
He is in the kitchen, making cocoa and toast while he slowly dies inside. His brain does a fabulous job at flashing memories of the night before at the most inconvenient moments. He's already dropped two cups, forgotten to warm the milk, and has listlessly circled the kitchen thrice looking for a spoon.
The creaking of floorboards above him makes Aziraphale shudder with dread. He has no idea what to do so he just stands there as the soft padding of bare feet come down the stairs and toward the kitchen.
And there she is, wrapped in a much too-large, flannel dressing gown, looking absolutely adorable even with a petulant frown on her face.
"Ugh," Angelique moans, "I've never had a hangover in my life. This is awful. Take it away-take it away!" She whines dramatically as she reaches out for him with grabby hands, fisting them in his shirt, and nuzzling into his chest.
Aziraphale swallows down the bile that lurches up in his throat and places trembling fingers through Angelique's mussed tresses. A small pulse is all it takes for her to sigh with relief and melt into him further. She hums with appreciation and drags her hands away from his shirt and wraps them around his waist. Aziraphale can hear her breathe him in and it makes his heart jitter. He wants nothing more than to return her embrace, but he's not sure he should.
The angel lets his hands drop to her shoulders and risks no more. He's sure Angelique can hear his heart chugging like a steam-engine, which only makes him more nervous.
"Angelique," Aziraphale says hoarsely. His tone must sound grave because Angelique stiffens in his arms. He clears his throat. "Do you remember, er, everything that happened last night?"
"Yes." She gives nothing else away and waits for him to continue.
"Ah, I see. Well, eh, I owe you an apology," he replies. "It was uncouth of me to, well, you know, to say the least, and I can assure you, it won't happen again."
There's a long moment of silence before Angelique responds. "What if I want it to happen again?" She asks softly and unsure. "I mean, drinking and aftereffects aside, I–I had a, well, I had a nice time." Her voice seems to shrink away to almost nothing when she asks, "did you...?"
Aziraphale closes his eyes. There were some words he had been able to put together while coming to terms with what happened, but it's hard to latch onto them now. What he has to say is not what he wants to say. But he says it anyway.
"Regardless of that, I don't think we should have a repeat of anything that transpired last night," Aziraphale almost whispers. He feels numb now as if the words he'd spoken had stripped him of any joy he could ever hope to have.
He hears the sweet thing in his arms gasp a few times before she starts to tremble. Angelique pries herself away, and Aziraphale's hands itch to stop her. She's pallid, and her face is blank and guarded.
"Why?" She lets out and shuts her mouth swiftly and tightly.
Aziraphale sighs. "Crowley."
Angelique nods quickly. "Right. Of course." She hugs her middle and looks at the floor. "Of course, you're in love with Crowley. I understand. I-I, yes, I'm sorry–"
Aziraphale blinks twice before he realises she's misunderstood him. Or has she? "He'll come back to you, Angelique. He loves you." It's out of his mouth before he comprehends what he's saying.
Angelique looks up at him wildly, a vast array of emotions flit across her perfectly chiselled face. "Did he tell you that? Did he say that?"
Aziraphale's mouth goes dry. "He didn't have to–"
"Because he's never said that to me," Angelique interrupts him, anger beginning to lace her words. "It didn't bother me much." She shrugs and tightens her hold on herself. "Actions speak louder than words and all that, and he certainly did act like he loved me-" a sob breaks through, her eyes moisten, and Aziraphale makes to move for her, but she backs away quickly. "Then, he left me. Didn't even wait for me to wake up, the coward." She takes a few deep breaths. "And I thought... Crowley thought that you might..." she lets out a mirthless laugh and shakes her head. Tears finally begin to fall. "It doesn't matter. I'm so..." she hiccups, "I'm so stupid." Before she's even finished that sentence, she bolts up the stairs.
Aziraphale gets over his shock a bit late, but he chases after her. He can't leave her in such a state, leave her thinking she's not wanted or... loved. When he turns the knob, he finds the door is locked. He thinks about using a miracle but decides to respect her space and knocks instead.
"Angelique, you are not in any way, shape or form, stupid. I really do believe that Crowley will come back. He always does."
Aziraphale doesn't expect a reply, and he definitely doesn't expect what she says next.
"He always comes back for you," there are a few muffled sobs in between her words. "You should tell him, you know? You should tell him how you feel. And you shouldn't have to stay here with me. I've put you both in danger."
"Nonsense–"
"I'll be alright on my own. I'm sure I can, I think I can get access to my account and start somewhere new."
Her sobs are wracking, and Aziraphale is about to kick down the door. "I'm coming in."
"Please don't!" She pleads. "Please leave me alone."
"I must speak with you properly. I have things I want to say, and this is no way to say them–"
"Later. Please. I'm tired. I need to sleep some more. Please."
Leaving her to stew is the last thing he wants to do but... "All right. Get some rest. But we should talk when you wake up." Aziraphale hesitates at the door. He wants to leave her with something she can hold on to. "You... you are loved, Angelique. Please believe that."
He waits.
"Thank you." The words can barely be heard, but Aziraphale does hear them, and he sighs with some relief.
"Right. I'll be downstairs if you need me, just call out and I'll be here in a tick," he says lightly. "You will hear me out later, won't you?"
Another long silence, not even crying, can be heard.
"Yes."
"Good," Aziraphale utters gently, more to himself than to her. "Until later then."
Aziraphale goes back downstairs and sits on the winged chair in the parlour. He picks up a book and opens it. He finds he has to reread the same paragraphs over and over again because he can't stop thinking about what he wants to tell Angelique. He's decided to confess his feelings for her. His very confused feelings. He will tell her when she finally calls for him.
But she doesn't call. The sun has set, and Aziraphale hasn't heard a peep, she hasn't even gone to the loo.
Now it's late. It's passed the time he usually joins Angelique in bed to bless would be nightmares away and to just hold her until she drifts off.
He closes the book and makes his way to her room. He knocks. "Angelique?"
No response.
He knocks harder. "May I come in?" More silence. "You said we could talk, and I have very important things to say, and I'd rather not say them to a door."
The silence is deafening, and Aziraphale is beginning to fret. "Angelique," he calls out loudly, "you're worrying me. If you don't answer, I'll have to force my way in."
She doesn't answer. Aziraphale snaps his fingers and rushes inside.
Angelique is not in bed.
Or under it.
Or in the closet.
And the window is open.
"No. No."
Aziraphale knows it's fruitless, but he searches the whole house anyway.
Angelique is gone.
