Chapter three: Necessary measures

(author's note: Third chapter, yay! Uhm... I'd just like to add an explanation for the theodicé problem, since I assume there are people out there who aren't familiar with this thesis. So... here goes:

If the evil in the world is intended by God he is not good. If it violates his intentions he is not almighty. God can't be both almighty and good. There are many objections to this, but none that holds since god is ultimately responsible for the existence of evil. Besides, if only God can create he must have created evil. If somebody else (the devil) created evil, how can one know that God, and not Satan created the universe?

There it is... well, folks, I'm off to write the next chapter! Please R&R!)

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Immediately after the finishing conversation with the Management, Crowley ran up the stairs so fast Aziraphale had trouble remaining alongside him. He had a sort of "beat-you-to-the-punch" attitude, and until the angel reached the top of the stairs, he couldn't even begin to imagine what that attitude had to do with anything at all.
Peeking above a snowstorm of white stuffing, Crowley smiled, seeming honestly warm at heart – as honest and warm at heart as a demon could be, anyway. In his hands, he was holding the remains of what once might or might not have been a fluffy, yellow Pikachu replica. There was a document on the floor in front of him.
"I mutilated it," said Crowley, and Aziraphale almost expected him to laugh maniacally like the villains always do in bad Hollywood movies which are always a huge success globally. He didn't, though. "I tore it into shreds, and then I poked its eyes out."
"Yes, I can see that. May I ask why?"
Crowley seemed to think hard about this for a moment's time. After it had lapsed, he shrugged. "I don't know," he said, and let go of the torn-up remains. They fell onto the floor, just beside the document. "I just felt like destroying something." He lit up. "Hey, maybe it's all that built up rage I've got inside me, that hasn't had an opportunity to come out yet. You know, thousands of years as a demon can be pretty rough."
"Sounds to me like you've been watching one to many episodes of Dr Phil," sighed Aziraphale. This always had to happen when Crowley'd been left alone in his apartment for too long, all by himself. There was nothing decent on the telly these days. Come to think of it, there never had been.
"Oh," said Crowley disappointedly. "Yeah." He bent down nimbly and picked up the document. It was a bit tattered, but he could easily read the letters; the person who had filed it had a flowing, beautiful handwriting. Crowley guessed it must have been Mr Jones' work.
He lowered his sunglasses, and peered at it. It was sealed shut with some sort of waxy substance. He read aloud from the etiquette.
"'File number 10896. Regarding the destruction of one veteran model Bentley. Ownership unknown.' Ownership unknown? What the bloody hell is this? I'll show them ownership unknown! That car belonged to me, dammit!"
"Crowley, would you calm down?" said Aziraphale irritably. "Can we at least get out of here before you start making a fuss about this too? If someone's sold this information to the Management, he or she may have been innocent bystanders. They might not have known whose car it was being trashed."
"There are no innocent bystanders," muttered Crowley. But he shut up none the less.

After Aziraphale had politely told the lizard at the shop counter he had to replace the stuffed animal maimed by Crowley, the pair walked silently out of the store. Talking to said lizard had just naturally become the angel's duty; after all, being polite wasn't really Crowley's 'cup of tea'. It also served a greater purpose – for the first time since this head hunt had begun, Aziraphale actually felt useful. He felt as though he was contributing with something, rather than just following Crowley around, seemingly irritating him no matter what he did.

"So," said Aziraphale, once they'd reached a street-corner appropriately far away from the shop. "Are you going to open it?"
Crowley looked at the envelope he had clutched tightly in his left hand. It had become quite wrinkly from the treatment. "Yeah," he said, sounding thoughtful. "I suppose. When we get to the park."
"You want to feed the ducks?"
"Mhm."
Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. A soothing environment for a not so soothing event."
"What do you mean, 'not so soothing event'? It's just envelope. I'm just going to open it. What's the big deal?"
"Yeah, well..." The angel cut himself off mid-sentence. "I'm just thinking, you might not be so happy and cheerful once you find out who did this. The pond and ducks will come in handy."
"Okay, I see your point. Let's head over there."

Arriving at the pond, the two less than human creatures both snapped their fingers, and unfolded their magnificent wings. Since nobody could see them – they'd made sure of that, too, when they'd snapped their fingers – it mattered little if they got some air beneath them. It couldn't be healthy, this having to hide them all day long.
The ducks were swimming along in a content sort of way, only stopping rarely to dive to cool off. The sun was unconditionally merciless this afternoon; it broke down all defense and made otherwise perfectly sane persons take off all their clothes and jump from high towers into ice-cold water for some sort of strange salvation. Crowley thought of this as a pathetic sort of exhibitionism – the most primitive kind. Although, he had to admit, he wouldn't have objected to a small swimming tour along with Aziraphale at this moment... just to escape the heat momentarily, of course.

They both sat down on the grass just beside the pond. Not uttering a word, Crowley fingered the envelope, desperately trying to get it open. It had no effect. Aziraphale watched his pointless tries with more than a little surprise.
"You can't get it open?" he asked, trying to sound as non-mocking as possible.
Crowley gave him a Look. He immediately shut up, knowing in his heart this was definitely not the time for being understanding and helpful. The demon had to figure this one out on his own; otherwise, his pride would take a serious hit and probably not recover fully until he could humiliate Aziraphale in some way again. The angel thought that that just had to be what demons did for therapeutic purposes. After many a thousand years together with him, Aziraphale still didn't know for certain whether this was the case, or if it just had to do with Crowley looking at humiliation as a kind of sport you practice when you're entirely and utterly bored.

Whilst Crowley struggled with the envelope, Aziraphale took the time to inspect the surroundings. He realised that although he'd been in this park so many times he'd lost count at least a hundred years ago, he'd never really taken in what had been around him.
There were a lot of trees. Trees looking like they'd been there since the Dawn of Time (which they, of course, hadn't – Aziraphale could have told if they'd been), trees looking almost like anorectic human beings, and trees looking like lampposts. Except for being all shiny and fashioned in metal, of course.
The park attracted all sorts of different people. Like, for example, couples. They seemed to enjoy the primitive nature surrounding them. The angel guessed this had something to do with basic human instincts. Like a 'back to the nature' sort of thing. Anyway, they strolled around aimlessly hand in hand, kissing, fondling each other.
It wasn't like Aziraphale envied them or anything. He'd seen other sides of relationships as well, and wasn't particularly fond of being yelled at just because he'd looked at another person in a caring way. Such things just didn't seem at all appealing. Yet when he saw the lovebirds passing by, crossing his path, he felt something sting inside him – maybe just because he needed food, but it could also have other reasons.
He didn't like speculating in that area.

"Aha!"
Aziraphale's line of thought was broken off by a delighted exclamation from his demon companion. He'd finally managed getting the envelope open. He waved the torn-up piece of paper in front of the angel.
"Superglue," he explained, smiling happily. "It was all over the envelope, and when that shit's dry, it's damned near impossible to break."
Nodding, Aziraphale examined the document that had been inside. It was as small as a visiting card, and seemingly blank.
"Crowley..."
The demon lay his hand over the angel's mouth. This shut him up quite efficiently. "Calm down, angel. I know what to do."
As the angel watched silently, Crowley uttered a couple of words in ancient Aramaic. Then, he waited. Only seconds later, the blank visiting card started showing letters rapidly.
"You need not ever mistrust when I'm around, angel." Crowley let go of Aziraphale's mouth. The angel could feel the slightly reptilian warmth that his hand had provided slipping off. "I hope this'll teach you that I've got solutions to every problem conceivable."
"Almost every problem conceivable," corrected Aziraphale.
"What?"
"I said, you've got solutions to almost every problem conceivable," answered the angel. "No one could have all solutions. Only God has."
To which Crowley murmured, "Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just wants you to think so."
The angel groaned. "You know I can't agree with you on that."
"Yes, I know that perfectly well. But is that because you really don't think so, or is it because you're afraid to speak your mind? He's got you by the balls, angel – pardon the expression – thinking He's almighty just because He can decide on whether you get to stay angelic or not. And you believe Him."
"Well, you fell, didn't you?"
"Sauntered," Crowley said mechanically.
"Tomato tomato. I mean, it's not like it's all just a big myth that if you're insubordinate, you'll get due punishment, in my case Falling. God doesn't like delinquents. You should know that by now."
"Haven't you listened to anything I've said? My point is, maybe He doesn't have all the answers. I'll buy that He's powerful, that He's the mightiest being in all heavenly dimensions. But what if the great Ineffability's just a prank played on us all? What if it's all just a cover-up for the fact that God just doesn't know everything that's going to happen aeons in advance?"
Aziraphale found himself speechless. "I can't discuss this. Please, just read what's on that file and let's get on with things."
Crowley nodded. "Okay, angel. I'll give it a rest. But you know I'm going to take it up with you on another occasion."
"I know," mumbled Aziraphale.

Crowley cleared his throat loudly, as if to demonstrate that he was now officially changing the subject. Aziraphale only realised this minutes later, though – he'd thought the demon would read the information aloud. But no; the demon's reptile-like eyes flew forth and across the paper, and not one word was uttered in the process.
The angel sighed disappointedly. He felt horribly shut out, somehow. Hadn't he been by the demon's side from the very beginning of this crazy affair? Hadn't he supported Crowley's every action henceforth? He had. He knew he had. That was why he didn't at all understand his companion's – his friend's, at that – introvert attitude.

He decided to attempt some sort of contact. This had to be dealt with, and he was so curious he might've burst if it hadn't been for the amazing self control he exercised.
"Crowley?"
The demon didn't respond. He just kept on reading, ignoring Aziraphale consequently. The angel guessed that he was reading it over and over again – after all, he had been reading for several minutes now, and how much information could one visitation card-shaped document hold, anyway?
"Crowley."
Still no reaction. Not a fraction of a response.
"I say, dear boy, are you there?"
Aziraphale tried waving his hand in front of the demon's eyes. He didn't even blink. Although, when the angel thought about it, that didn't actually have to mean anything; Crowley didn't do that much normally either.
But that expression was a pretty good description for Crowley's apathetic state.

The angel decided to use a more confrontational method. He leant forward slightly, carefully, and then pulled the 'document' from Crowley's hands.
Nothing.

"Crowley, you're scaring me. Please respond. Crowley! Hello! Err, Hastur's coming, better hit the road! Oh my, he's going to kill you good if you don't move quick enough. Crowley! CROWLEY!"

Still, nothing.

Aziraphale started giving up hope. He had absolutely no idea what might've caused this... this zombie behavior in the only demon he could really stand to be around. I was about time to start thinking about a last resort, because honestly, this situation wouldn't hold much longer.

Thinking up a last resort when you've already gone over every way possible in your head is a hard nut to crack. It required massive amounts of intellectual work-out, amounts Aziraphale wasn't used to... using.
Better late than never, one might say. What does not kill, makes stronger.
Aziraphale didn't enjoy cheerful terms of speech in the midst of trying to bring back friends from Utter Oblivion.

It took some time for Aziraphale to figure out what he was going to do about this situation. He was used to pondering over the laws of metaphysics along with Crowley, and theological problems too – except the theodicé problem, of course. But this felt like it was out of his league.

He felt that way alot lately.

Suddenly, right out of the blue, he lit up like a match. Physical contact! Of course! That'd wake Crowley up any day of the week. Knowing Crowley, Aziraphale could say for certain that a touch of his angelic hand would jump-start the demon like a brand new sports car.
Or perhaps a brand new Bentley, 1926 years model.

In retrospect, Aziraphale realised that a good slap in the face or two probably would have sufficed, and served like physical contact in an excellent manner. Strangely enough, it didn't come to mind. What did come to mind, though, was something completely different, and not necessarily obvious.

The angel took a deep breath, trying to get himself together. Naïve as he might seem, he still understood what possible meanings and consequences the act he was about to preform might have had, given another situation, time and place. It bothered him slightly, but he tried not to think about it.
Okay, he thought to himself. You can do this. Just don't... don't think about it.
Thereafter, he told his brain to shut the he-... no, just to shut up, leant forward and kissed Crowley on the mouth.