THE OPPOSITE OF RETIREMENT
Blurb: Having moved in together after the Apocalypse, our pair takes a break from London and quickly becomes embroiled in a new conflict between Heaven and Hell.
Backstory: This is meant to be the continuation of "The Renovation" and "An Equitable Arrangement." If you haven't read them, the jist is the Antichrist adds a spare bedroom above the bookshop which has a secret passage connecting it to Crowley's flat. Crowley moves in and they go from appearing like a couple of humans to appearing like a human couple. Zira learns the neighbors think he's really old so they decide to take a break from London until the neighbors can retire and forget about the seemingly ageless bookseller. In preparation for their grand voyage, they take a minibreak to the coast, and here we are.
(Oh, and yes, they are having a physical, romantic relationship and no, it is none of your business. They will not be taking questions at this time.)
Rated T (M): profanity; smooching, suggestive dialogue and situations (more sexual banter than anything, and no explicitly sexual acts); brief mention of demonic torture, off-page violence and fighting, one-on-one fighting with a main character, someone dying and someone else freaking out about it. I do throw in enough F-bombs to qualify for an "R" rating but they aren't used sexually.
CHAPTER 1: Minibreak
Crowley enjoyed taking the Bentley away from the city for a bit of a holiday. There were plenty of turns and dips and hills on the road to evoke gasps and hand wringing from the angel that how could he not enjoy it immensely?
The rental agency was nearly deserted when they swung by to pick up the key to the cottage. Aziraphale offered to run in and let Crowley stay in the car or just stretch his legs while Zira dealt with the outstanding paperwork. It was standard angelic behavior and Crowley didn't bother to try to thwart it, merely got out of the car and began a series of increasingly noisy and complex stretches.
Fifteen minutes later, Crowley was feeling limber to the point of whippy when Aziraphale emerged from the office with a key and a map. The map was annotated in ink, calling attention to the location of the cottage as well as restaurants open for dinner and the best bakery in town.
From there, the drive to the cottage was not long, just enough to squeeze out a few uncomfortable gasps from the passenger. The cottage itself brought out an altogether different reaction.
"Oh, Crowley, look at it! It's picturesque," Aziraphale breathed.
"Rather like the pictures online," groused the demon.
"Nonsense, it's so much prettier in person," said Aziraphale, getting out of the car and pulling his luggage from the backseat.
He was excitedly unlocking the front door before Crowley had gotten his own bag. By the time the demon crossed the threshold, the angel was in another room, curiously discovering the space while his suitcase sat obediently in the front entry.
"Zira!" Crowley called, dumping his bag beside the angel's.
"Come and see," was the only reply.
The rooms in the dwelling were honestly a little too large to be called a cottage, but that was the Americanization of vacation rentals. There was a front sitting room, a kitchen with a dining table, as well as an attached garage on the main floor, and two bedrooms and a modern bathroom above. Crowley gave everything a quick glance but there was no trace of the angel anywhere.
He spied the back door slightly ajar and went outside. A thin band of grass was neatly mown into a smooth lawn before the backyard began to run wild. And there was Aziraphale, enjoying the view.
"Isn't it wonderful?" he enthused.
"We have parks in London," Crowley pointed out.
He positioned himself close; if the angel wanted to reach out and touch him, it would be no hardship to do so. If the angel wanted to stand in a garden and hold hands until darkness fell, Crowley had two hands suitable for that purpose. And if the angel wanted to retire to the cottage interior and then engage in wings-out snogging until dawn… Well, that was a wonderful, new development in their relationship and Crowley would not voice a complaint.
The angel was too enraptured with his appreciation for the scene in front of them, however, to grab Crowley's hand. His stint as a gardener for the supposed Antichrist was still fresh in his mind. He kept pointing out different flowers and trees, decoding snippets of birdsong.
"There!" Aziraphale exclaimed at one moment. "Do you see that rabbit?" He pulled Crowley close to him so that the demon could trace his eyes down the direction Aziraphale pointed to spot the vermin hopping away, as if the rustle in the tall grass was not obvious.
Crowley dutifully looked down the length of Aziraphale's arm and agreed that yes, it was a rabbit, but he refused to be excited about it. After a while, however, he suggested that they bring in the wine bottles and the rest of their provisions from home, put the Bentley in the garage, and maybe think about dinner.
Aziraphale reached for his hand as they turned back to the cottage in what felt like a natural gesture. Crowley stretching out his hand in response was equally authentic, but a rabbit -- or perhaps something larger than a rabbit -- darted noisily through the grass and Crowley jerked his hand away.
"Everything all right, Dearest?" asked Aziraphale to his startled face.
Crowley deepened his frown but bit back any snappy retort as he grabbed Aziraphale's hand. He was just surprised, after all. And there was wine in the Bentley.
Putting things away, as it turned out, was a bit distracting. Crowley stretched to put the tea on a high shelf, letting his t-shirt rise above his waistband while Aziraphale looked on. Aziraphale bent and twisted, putting the biscuits in a drawer, and bumped into Crowley who used the event to place a hand on Aziraphale's hips. The next thing they knew was how perfectly tall the countertop was for one of them to be pressed into and wings were out, knocking a few unbreakable things to the floor where they would be found and put away in the morning.
.o8o.
Deciding to play it by ear, Aziraphale suggested they walk back to the High Street for lunch on Saturday and to see what the town was like. He was thoroughly sick of riding in a car at the moment, and knew he'd need to subject himself to the experience again to return to town. But that was on Monday, days away. And, besides, the rental agent had recommended a few restaurants which had to have better food than anything they could prepare without resorting to miracles.
Crowley knew too well to expect anything else than a meal that sounded more appetizing on the menu than it tasted on the plate, but a good red wine could (miraculously) be found almost anywhere. And, really, he could skip eating entirely if someone would let him drink straight from the bottle. He could skip both if they could just flutter about in the kitchen like the night before.
Lunch was better than either expected. Then again, it had stopped being about the quality of the food a while ago.
After the meal, they strolled down High Street, wandering into the shops like a human couple might do. Bike rentals, Aziraphale was pleased to discover, were available for an afternoon. He paid for two bikes before Crowley came out of the adjacent antique shop and could stop the transaction.
They pedalled 25 minutes to the nearest open manor house and then wandered the grounds for a few hours. Aziraphale admired everything but Crowley was quick to correct him, pointing out a branch that spoiled the symmetry of an alley, the inexperienced pruning technique of a junior gardener, the lazy evergreens that weren't living up to their potential. Aziraphale didn't disagree with him outright, but his patronizing tone didn't convey his abject concurrence either.
After returning the rentals, they decided to have dinner in town before walking back to the cottage.
The walk back in the dark was just as enjoyable as the rest of the day. Their shoulders kept bumping into each other even though they were sober enough to walk a straight line. Crowley had pocketed his sunglasses and saw perfectly well in the dark, and Aziraphale decided that, for the moment, he could also see clearly. They talked of the past and future, places they had been and would like to revisit, and when Aziraphale could be disposed to leave the bookshop for an extended period. It was a pleasant night.
Finally the cottage came into view, lit from within and welcoming. Aziraphale sighed happily and stepped forward; it really was pretty.
Without warning, Crowley's hand shot out and gripped his arm. It was not like the soft touches they had practiced; it was harsh, a warning.
"Crowley?" the angel asked in mild confusion.
"We're not alone," he hissed. Loudly, he called out, "Show yourself!"
A figure began to materialize out of the darkness, swaying in the breeze like a reed. Red eyes flared and Aziraphale gasped.
They knew, had always known that Heaven and Hell were not done with them. Defying orders, defying death could not be tolerated in perpetuity; it was only a matter of time before one of their former offices came back with a new plan for punishment. Honestly, given that they were immortal, Aziraphale expected it to take longer.
Based on eye color alone, it looked like Hell had decided to act first, but Aziraphale had no idea which of the two they were after.
The hold on Aziraphale's wrist tightened and twisted, almost as if Crowley was trying to push the angel back behind him. Aziraphale could feel Crowley warping and reforming under his skin, readying to fend off the attack. They had not bothered with such actions when their head offices had kidnapped them after the averted apocalypse. It had been hard enough for Aziraphale to reasonably mimic Crowley's mannerisms and speech in a human shaped body; there was no way he could have attempted more.
Now, however, with one demon revealed and who knew how many more lying in ambush, Aziraphale understood Crowley's instincts and felt himself begin to emit a defensive, divine glow.
"Be gone" growled Crowley. "There will be no other warning."
The red eyes blinked a few times, swaying atop the slowly materializing body before taking a stumbling step and pitching forward to fall on its face. A scrap of dirty, white fabric fluttered to the ground beside it in surrender.
Aziraphale stood silently behind Crowley but his light grew brighter.
"Do you, do you think it's injured?" Aziraphale asked after a period of observation. In the divine light bathing the figure, he could see the clothing was torn and soaked in blood.
"I think it's a trap," hissed Crowley. He tightened his hold as Aziraphale tried to get a closer look. "Stay back."
"I think it's injured," Aziraphale announced softly. He started to move past Crowley.
"I said stay back," his demon snapped at him.
"Don't worry, my dear," Aziraphale said, prying Crowley's fingers from his wrist. "I know you will look after me."
Not waiting for Crowley to agree to this, Aziraphale hurried to the prone figure. "He is injured."
Crowley stalked toward him. "I told you to stay away from it."
Aziraphale paid the warning no mind and carefully flipped the demon over to see his face.
"Oh, Crowley, look at him," said Aziraphale. "He's practically dead."
"Angel, so help me --" Crowley grabbed his shoulders, ready to yank him a safe distance away. Then he saw the face of the wounded demon and did a very un-Crowley thing. He gasped, sincerely. "Oh, oh no."
.o8o.
Aziraphale carried the limp form of the demon into the cottage and to the bathroom. The tile work and hard surfaces would be easier to miracle clean if demon blood got on them.
"How exactly do you know him?" the angel asked for the tenth time.
"He's a demon," shouted Crowley from the front room where he was still applying protective sigils to the door and window frames. As lovely as the cottage was, it suddenly had far too many windows.
Knowing he'd only ruin the towels of the cottage if he used them, Aziraphale miracled a cloth and began to clean the demon's many wounds.
"Does he have a name?" Aziraphale asked.
"Not now!" snapped Crowley. "I need to concentrate." The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a poorly crafted protection when they had no idea if anyone was actively hunting for them.
Aziraphale huffed into silence and focused on his task. There would be time enough for answers soon if they were all still alive.
notes: So that's chapter 1. Give it a follow or a comment if you're interested.
Hooray for vaccines and science!