Ok then. Here we go with Chapter 2 of this lovely story.
Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed, it really motivated me to keep on trucking with this story. And anything that can make the phrase "keep on trucking" enter my mind is definitely a good thing.
Disclaimers from Chapter 1 obviously still apply.
Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?
Chapter 2: Unlawful Entry
Crowley felt a tingle of satisfaction as he shut the door of the Bentley. He had just experienced the intense pleasure of hearing a "Best of Queen" cassette being crushed under the wheels of a passing delivery truck.
He had been expecting Brahms' 'Hungarian Dances'. The magnitude of his displeasure at instead hearing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was, in a word, otherworldly. Despite his disgust, he realized that there was a simple reason why his cassettes continued to transform in this irritating manner. It was because he so thoroughly enjoyed destroying them afterwards.
Crowley decided it'd be best not to tell Aziraphale about this habit. It seemed a bit too similar to an act of righteous smiting for him to feel comfortable sharing it with an angel. Aziraphale might think he was going soft.
Inside his spacious flat, the demon thought about Aziraphale as he brandished his plant mister and advanced towards the plants on his windowsill. Aziraphale, with his tousled curls and horrible argyle sweaters. Crowley quickly stopped himself from smiling, lest the plants think he was in a merciful mood. He found it somewhat difficult to feel bad about irritating Aziraphale; it was far too much fun, and righteous indignation suited the angel perfectly…
Crowley was distinctly uninterested in thinking about why he felt this way, or what the implications might be.
A long standing friendship was bound to create some fond feelings, after all. And irritating the angel was almost part of his job.
Perhaps when he woke up, he would go apologize to Aziraphale for being such a prat about the dust. He wasn't normally inclined to do things like apologize, but it always seemed to lessen the angel's vexation. Crowley resolved to visit Aziraphale after his nap. With that decided, the demon took off his slightly dusty Armani suit jacket, laid down atop his immaculately neat bed, and fell instantly to sleep.
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Aziraphale was dithering. He had been dithering almost since the moment Crowley had left. All the books were in order, his papers neatly stacked. He had also spent some minutes doing the accounts on his appallingly out of date computer, which he loved.
Now, he was busily reconfiguring his drawer full of pens and pencils.
"Oh, bugger," he muttered, realizing he'd been fiddling with a fancy space age pen that Crowley had given him for the past five minutes. It wasn't the pen that caused Aziraphale to curse (which was something he had learned to rather enjoy, from time to time)—it was the demon, who had insisted that Aziraphale needed to modernize his collection of writing implements.
Thinking about Crowley caused Aziraphale annoyance simply because he'd been trying not to think about him for the past two hours, with varying degrees of success. Throwing the pen back into the drawer, Aziraphale decided there was only one thing for it. He grabbed his jacket from its hook on the wall. It was tweed, with those stylish suede elbow patches that Aziraphale liked so much. As an afterthought, he snapped up one of the leftover bottles of wine from earlier as he headed out the door.
He locked the shop with an extremely antique key, slipping it into his pocket as he headed down the narrow street in the direction of the nearest tube station.
Aziraphale adored public transportation. He found the entire concept fascinating, and far more planet-friendly and economical than maintaining a gas-guzzling automobile like Crowley's Bentley. True, the Bentley in question did not require fuel, or create pollution. But it was the principle that mattered.
The angel watched the other people strolling up and down the Picadilly Line platform. He always noticed that nobody, rarely even the tourists, seemed to stop and contemplate the genius behind the London Underground. Maybe it was because Aziraphale remembered seeing the tube system built, or because he remembered how tedious citywide travel had been before it existed…it never ceased to impress him.
Sure, it had its drawbacks. It had a tendency to be cramped and smelly, for one thing. Trains often ran a bit late. Sometimes the train you were expecting turned out to be going in the totally opposite direction than the electronic schedule board said. Then, there was the tendency of some more unstable citizens to throw themselves onto the tracks. That was always messy. The accidents weren't good, either. Aziraphale remembered the Moorgate crash back in 1975. That was a nasty business. It pleased Aziraphale to know that no tube train would ever crash with him aboard.
The angel decided to bypass the busy station closest to Crowley's place in favor of a less frantic stop just to the north. Crowley's flat was situated on the outskirts of a trendy London neighborhood. He lived in an oddly organized area consisting partly of warehouses, partly of expensive and highly desirable apartment houses.
As Aziraphale crossed the street in front of Crowley's building, he saw some scattered bits and pieces of something looking suspiciously like a "Best of Queen" cassette. The sight brought a small smile to the angel's face, and he continued to wear it as he mounted the stairs to Crowley's flat.
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Sleeping quite soundly, the demon inside the flat shifted. He exhaled contentedly, sprawling languorously atop the covers. Needless to say, he was blissfully unaware that Aziraphale was standing outside his door, debating whether he should knock or simply let himself in.
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Aziraphale stood at the door, deliberating. He didn't feel comfortable showing up unexpected like this. True, Crowley certainly never bothered to ring or knock before showing up in the backroom of the bookshop…hmm. The angel finally concluded that unlawful (or, at least, uninvited) entry was against his principles. He rapped sharply on the door three times.
He waited.
After thirty seconds, he knocked again.
Nothing happened.
Aziraphale scratched the back of his neck. It was obvious that Crowley was home; the demon would rarely travel even to the nearest shop without driving that automobile.
The angel thought it would be proper etiquette to knock one last time. After doing so, he bent down and looked through the mail slot into Crowley's front hall.
He listened.
Nothing.
Aziraphale bit his bottom lip as he reached for the doorknob. He turned it quietly. It was open, of course. He stepped into the foyer.
"Hullo?" called the angel. No response was forthcoming as he peered around a corner into the spotless kitchen. He walked into the center of the room, looking across the counter into the demon-free sitting area. He set the bottle of wine on the countertop as he passed.
Aziraphale shook his head at the flat screen television. Crowley certainly loved his expensive gadgets.
"Crowley, are you at home?" he called.
Aziraphale crossed the room to the windowsill. He glanced at the gorgeously green plants. He never could figure out how Crowley had attained such a talent for gardening. Plants seemed to flourish under his care; you could almost feel some sort of emotion from them, some sentiment that just eluded Aziraphale. He wished he could figure it out. The angel loved plants, but he was an abysmally bad gardener.
Aziraphale sighed. Maybe Crowley wasn't home after all. He decided he would leave the wine and a note apologizing for his earlier behavior. He had just resolved to do this when he noticed the door.
It was a door he'd never noticed before the few times he had visited, leading through the eastern wall of the sitting room. The angel pondered. What could this be? He knew Crowley had a bathroom (regardless of whether he needed it or not), but that was back down the hall towards the front door. Perhaps it was a study, or a passage leading to a fire exit. Curiosity got the better of the angel, and he strode briskly across the room to the half-closed door. It never crossed Aziraphale's mind that he might be pushing open the door to the demon's bedroom…
…not his conscious mind, at least.
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So there it is, chapter 2. I hope it was enjoyable. I promise things will be getting a bit more exciting in chapter 3. Oh, yes they will! ::laughs the universal all-powerful author laugh:: Send me some reviews and let me know what you think!