Oh, I think you guys will like this chapter! Aziraphale continues to learn about the human condition...
Enjoy!
LAUGHTER AND JOY
Crowley slid back into the driver's seat of the Bentley, laughing, holding a leather clutch in his hands.
"The transaction was humorous?" Aziraphale asked, dryly.
"Unbelievably!" the demon responded, cackling a bit more. "I've never enjoyed Beelzebub's company so much!"
"And that?" Aziraphale said, indicating the thing in his friend's hands.
"This is the Temporal Plier," Crowley said, taking a heavy metal apparatus out of the leather pouch. "A time-turner-backer, if you will. Mission, very entertainingly, accomplished."
Crowley went on to describe how he had convinced Beelzebub to lend the thing out, and how it had been easy to exploit hell's paranoia about how the two of them had avoided execution.
"So, by inventing a whole metaphysical domain, with mysterious forces and agendas, you were able to manipulate the Lord of Hell into lending out her power?" Aziraphale scolded. "Crowley, how could you? Hell think they have another enemy! That's inconceivably dangerous! What were you thinking?"
"Okay, one bit of insanity at a time, angel," Crowley said. "One: I didn't invent it – Hastur did. In trying to work out how the hell you and I were able to do what we did, it's the best he could come up with. There were myriad theories – it's not my fault that his was the one that stuck: we've been working for, and have been infused by power from, an as-yet undiscovered supernatural realm, and we are neither pure angel nor pure demon anymore, but something else entirely."
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't like it."
"I merely did what I always do, which is to say, take the fears conjured in the minds of others, and exploit them."
"So, the M-25 was a fear conjured by man?"
"Well, it's not what I always do, but exploiting one's own, already-extant fears is a bit part of the work of a demon, okay? You know that, you've filled in for me on occasion."
"Shhhh!"
"Moving on… number two: It's not that dangerous, because there isn't actually a hidden third domain! They can't attack something that doesn't exist!"
"No, but they can surely try, Crowley, and that's…"
"And three: What was I thinking, you ask? I was thinking about getting that book, or had you forgotten, Mr. Posterity?"
"Madness," Aziraphale breathed, like someone's old appalled auntie. "Utter madness."
"If hell think there's an entire facet of existence that they didn't even conceive of until now, they're going to want to know what's on the horizon! And good old Agnes, she knows what's on the horizon!"
"I suppose."
"Besides, a fortnight ago, you were totally fine with the two of us messing with our respective bureaucracies."
"I know, I know…"
"Well, then, shall we?" Crowley asked, holding up the metal device.
"May I see?"
Crowley handed it over, and Aziraphale studied it. It was in the shape of a right triangle, and the corners were labeled with the letters G, S, and A. He recognised it as a rudimentary diagram of the Glastonbury-Stonehenge-Avebury triangle. Each side of the triangle represented a ley line, and it formed a sort of "vortex" of power to which misguided so-called witches and alchemists had assigned great meaning over the millennia. Although, now that he was holding it in his hand, knowing it was a bona fide artefact of hell, he wondered how misguided they actually were.
"Look on the other side," Crowley told him.
Aziraphale turned it over, and discovered that there was a second triangle congruent to the first, attached by a sort of hinge.
"Oh, I see," Aziraphale breathed. "Temporal plier. Folding time." And he took the bottom bit and began to fold it over the top bit.
"No, stop!" Crowley exclaimed putting his hand in the way. "Don't do that until we really mean it. You could land us in the fourteenth century, and I'll be blessed before I'd go through that again."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Do you recognise the layout?" Crowley asked him.
"Yes, indeed."
"Well, it might not surprise you to know that one of those ley lines passes straight through Tadfield. We should be able to make time fold there, and from there, everywhere else."
"And then, you said that we'll need to stay in Tadfield until we catch up to the moment when we went back in time?" Aziraphale confirmed.
"Yeah," Crowley said. "Just to be safe."
"Well, then, I suppose I should return to my flat and pick up a few things, if we're going to be staying."
"Most of your things are in my flat, because you couldn't stand the paint job Adam gave your flat, nor the chairs, nor, apparently, the precise shade of the parquet," Crowley reminded him, calmly. "Or had you forgotten?"
"No, no," Aziraphale said, suddenly uncomfortable again. "I most definitely had not forgotten. And I suppose we'll need to drive back to Tadfield before we can put this little gem to use."
Crowley nodded. "That will minimise whatever damage there is. If we keep all of our goings-on in Tadfield, paradox is less likely to spread, if we cock things up somehow. Not to mention, if it's contained, then Adam can probably fix it."
"So we can't pick up any of our personal effects before we go?"
"Like what? What do we really need? Any changes of clothes would be just for vanity or comfort's sake. If you really have to have a bloody bathrobe, you can conjure one up. Or buy a new one when we get there, if you must. We don't need toothbrushes or shampoo, and we'll have the new book for light reading."
"I'm not supposed to…"
"But I can," Crowley said, devilishly. "Gabriel only said you are not to peek. He can't stop me from reading aloud to you."
"He can't, can he?" Aziraphale said, delightedly, as Crowley started up the Bentley. "Well, I rather fancy the idea of lying about for a few days in Tadfield, listening to you read me prophecies."
"Yeah?"
"Well… you know… because it would vex Gabriel so much."
"Oh, yes, of course," Crowley said, sarcastically, imitating his friend's posh mannerism.
The next hour saw them on the road to Tadfield, and they agreed that the best place to fold back time was just down the road from Jasmine Cottage, given that they needed to be in the field across from the Cottage. The lane that stretched out behind the cottage and to the south was a well treed-in, hilly area, unlikely to be surveilled.
"Can't risk being seen by Ms. Device and her paramour, the failed witchfinder who breaks things," Aziraphale said. "If they see us, they might ask what we're doing back there, and then it could get awkward. And surely they can't see us disappear in time. What dreadful work it would be doing, as they say, damage control."
"Pfff," Crowley said, dismissively. "They're the last people that would see us. They're back in the cottage by now, doing… er, never mind."
"Doing what?"
"Well..." Crowley sighed. "Each other, I would imagine."
"Oh. But… when we last saw them, they both seemed rather distressed."
"All the more reason," Crowley said. "The relationship is new – trust me, they've found an excuse to get naked again."
"Sorry, but I don't follow. How do you mean, all the more reason?"
"Look… I was just shooting my mouth off. Ignore me."
"No, no, I'm genuinely curious. Please explain."
Crowley actually looked to his left, and met his friend's eye. "You really want to talk about this?"
"Well, you're clearly the one with a stronger grasp on these things, considering that you've, you know… been there, done that, as it were," Aziraphale said, carefully. Crowley chuckled at the awkward and unnecessarily crisp way the angel used a colloquialism like been there, done that. "And we're talking about a side to human behaviour that I just don't understand. It might help me to talk about it."
"Help how? You're not doing blessings anymore, are you?"
"Not in any official capacity, but I'm planning to continue to live amongst humans for as long as possible," Aziraphale insisted. "As are you, I think. But because you're all about temptation and hedonism and the like, you have an insider's track into their raisons d'être that heaven has never touched."
"An insider's track into their raisons d'être that heaven has never touched," Crowley repeated, contemplatively. "Thats... that's just beautiful, that phrase. Honestly, Aziraphale, you've got a real way with words! Okay, so… you want to talk about it, so you can understand human behaviour better."
"Yes, exactly."
"So you can live amongst them more seamlessly – as I do," Crowley confirmed.
"Absolutely! And I find that I'm confused about the things you just said."
"How so?"
"As I understand it, copulation is an act either of love or reproduction, and therefore of joy," Aziraphale said, his voice high and crisp.
"Don't… don't say copulation. It's... icky."
"Icky?"
"And I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not always about joy. If it were, do you think I'd have been able to use it so well in my professional capacity?"
"I hadn't thought of that," Aziraphale said, genuinely pensively.
"It's about feeling, for better or for worse. That's it. Feeling, as in sensation, or feeling, as in emotion. Either. Both."
"But, I fail to understand how two people being distressed is, as you said all the more reason to…" he gestured with his hands, a kind of maladroit forward motion. Crowley reached over and pushed his hands back into his lap, not wishing to experience any more of that particular brand of nonverbal communication.
"Well, they were upset about the book being burned, especially her," Crowley explained. "So, scenario number one, is they took solace in the shag."
"Ah. I could see that, actually."
"He'd have sad, are you upset, love? And she'd have said, I am – what are you going to do about it? And he'd have said something like, give you orgasms that will make you see stars."
"Oh my!"
"Do you know what that means?"
"In theory."
"Only, you know what? Newton Pulsifer, of all people, probably didn't say that, because… well, come on, you've met him. Anyway, that's how it will have gone, only a lot less direct, and with a lot more heavy breathing."
"Fascinating!" Aziraphale exclaimed.
"Or, scenario number two, they had a make-up shag."
"A… what?"
"They had a tiny snit over whose idea it was to burn the book, and they'll use that as a jumping-off point. They'll pick a fight, antagonise each other for a few hours, and either fall into a glorious kiss (and more) while they're all hot and screaming, or, one of them will insincerely apologise for upsetting the other, and from there, see scenario number one."
"Really?" Aziraphale asked, incredulously. "Antagonism can do this to people?"
"Yep," Crowley responded. "And the longer the antagonism, the more tightly-wound they're bound to be. And the more tightly wound, the bigger the…"
"You don't say," Aziraphale said, rather quietly.
"I do say," Crowley confirmed.
After a few long, contemplative beats, Aziraphale said, "If I might dare to hazard an observation, though…"
"Observe away."
"You describe copulation – or whatever you call it – as an act of feeling, for better or for worse, which implies that it could be about any feeling, including melancholy, wrath, self-doubt, excitement, terror, disgust… all of it."
"Yep. You name the human experience, I'll find you a reason to shag. I mean… so to speak."
"And in the scenarios you described, I can see how Miss Device and Mr. Pulsifer are coming from a place of melancholy or wrath. But, Crowley, in the end, is the copulation not just a way of seeking joy?"
There was a long pause, while Crowley thought it through.
"Do you know what? In this case, angel, I suppose you're right," said Crowley, smiling. "You've managed to turn quite a cynical aspect of humanity into something only an angel would think of."
"Well… I like it!"
"But listen," Crowley said, putting out a serious index finger. "As long as you're going to understand and live seamlessly among humans as I do, you might as well understand that Anathema and Newt – they're in love. Or at least, they're headed in that direction. Only in that situation can two people find joy in the shag, when they're coming from a place of melancholy and wrath and self-doubt, et cetera, et cetera. Two people who can't stand each other, or who are just two ships passing in the night… unless they're joyful to start with, it can't really be done."
"Well, everything you've just said is encouraging. I'm encouraged."
"You are?"
"Of course! I've just learned another facet of why love is magnificent."
"Yes, I suppose you have."
And Crowley, who had only ever pursued copulation as a cynical act, was suppressing a joyful smile.
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