Disclaimer: I own very little.
A/N: Oh, my. It's been quite a while, hasn't it?
018. Black
The day was quite warm, Aziraphale noted as he lay on a large rock. The sun had warmed the rock so that it felt warm under his palm as he lazily ran a hand over it, but under the rest of his body, where the sun didn't reach, it was thankfully cool to touch. This didn't seem to bother the humans in the least; instead they went on with their daily chores quite happily.
Crawly, he suspected, would have liked the warmth.
Crawly? Why was he thinking about that vile serpent? Surely he should have had better things to think about. Like how he could keep the wildest children from running straight into the nearby river and drowning. It wasn't fit of an angel to go about indulging himself in the comfortable warmth, anyway. That was Sloth, and sloth was a sin. Thus he sat up, determined to be more attentive in the future.
Still, as he kept looking over the humanity -- well, at least the part of humanity that believed; even that was now too much for him to attend to individual people -- he found more and more often his thoughts creeping back to Crawly. Things were, well, boring without him around. Even before the Flood, when their encounters had almost inevitably ended with the discorporation of one or both of them, interaction with Crawly had been... interesting. He had provided Aziraphale with a clear target, something to work against. Now he could do little but hang around and sometimes perform little miracles. True, he could make the humans' everyday life a bit easier, but he wasn't actually needed. They would have done just fine without him, apparently.
But Crawly had always been trouble, too. Without him Aziraphale would still be guarding Eden. And all those painful discorporations were definitely something to consider, too. In the hotter surroundings they had managed to hold onto something like a truce, but Aziraphale truly doubted that'd manage if they should run into each other in a climate that gave them a more equal standing.
Therefore, it was with mixed emotions as he one day spotted a snake in the grass.
It was Crawly; that much was clear. It was black, large, and unlike any natural snake he had seen around there. The fact that it slithered towards him as soon as it spotted him was also something of a clue.
"Hi, angel," Crawly said as soon as he'd regained a human-like shape. "Look, do me a favour and don't kill me just yet, okay? I quite like this corporation and don't want to lose it just yet."
"Then why did you come here?" asked Aziraphale sharply. "You should know that it is my duty not to let you do any wrong to the humans."
"Well, neither of us got discorporated back in my lands in the South, right?" Crawly asked, stretching himself. "And besides, it's our job to work against each other. Do you think there's any fun in tempting pagans? They're all my side's people to begin with. There might be more of a challenge if you were trying to convert them or something, but really, what fun is there in tempting somebody to break rules that do not exist for them?"
The demon was right, of course, and Aziraphale knew it. Just as pointless as to tempt into sin somebody who lived in sin all the time was to guard humanity against an evil that never came anywhere near them. Much as he would have liked the peace to continue, their existences were rather pointless without each other.
However, he did have concerns about the demon's apparent suggestion. "We can't just avoid killing each other," he said. "I don't know how you explained it, but I was just about able to convince Upstairs in my reports that I was unable to try to get rid of you because the heat gave you a clear advantage. Now, however, we're somewhat equal again thanks to the climate. After all our battles through the history, somebody's bound to get suspicious if we suddenly don't get discorporated anymore."
"Valid point," sighed the demon, not looking like he was going to move a single inch from the warm spot he had claimed on Aziraphale's favourite rock anytime soon. "Just give me a few days, okay? Let me get adjusted to the less hot climate. It wouldn't be fair for an angel to take advantage of the fact that my system isn't yet used to the general temperature. And don't worry, I'll warn you before I attack for the first time -- because I know damn well that, angel or not, you would only be pleased to get back at me for any tricks like breaking the truce without a warning."
It sounded like a reasonable suggestion, so Aziraphale agreed. And, although he never would have admitted it aloud, he found himself secretly hoping that the warning wouldn't come for quite some time. Not because he was afraid of Crawly and his wiles -- but because had got used to not fighting and found that it was, in fact, not exactly an unpleasant experience.
The warning did come at a time, and therefore, Aziraphale was somewhat prepared for the fight. However, perhaps his skills had been slipping over the period of peace -- it had been a few centuries, after all -- but the battle ended in his discorporation. Well, at least the end had been quick, he thought as his body bled on the ground after Crawly's claws had sliced his throat. And at least he didn't have to look at Crawly's triumphant smirk, lacking eyes as he did.
Of course, Raphael wasn't exactly pleased at his way of returning to Heaven. The first thing he heard upon his arrival was the healer's nagging.
"Just when I got to thinking that you had actually become somewhat sensible, you have to go and get yourself killed again," Raphael complained while healing his wings - those had been damaged in the battle, too. "Is it really so much fun to get discorporated? Do you think I don't have anything better to do than sew you back together every other month?"
Of course, this was exaggerated. Aziraphale hadn't been discorporated even once in quite many centuries now, due to him not fighting with Crawly. He bore the nagging calmly, though, knowing that it only meant Raphael cared for him. After all, nobody forced him to care for Aziraphale personally; he simply chose to always be the one to treat his lover's little brother. This was, Aziraphale suspected, because Raphael didn't trust anybody else to be able to heal him well enough. And, perhaps, because he enjoyed nagging at him.
"Are you quite done now?" he asked, slightly amused. "Where is Gabriel? I'd like to see him before I go to get myself a new corporation to return to Earth."
"Oh, he should arrive any minute now," replied Raphael, plucking a few loose feathers from Aziraphale's left wing. "There, good as new - and do not get it torn again anytime soon or I'll seal them inside!"
Aziraphale nodded, intent on obeying this command. He didn't know exactly how far Raphael's control over angelic bodies went, but as far as he know, nothing that was somehow connected to healing was impossible to the red-haired archangel. It was better not to risk it.
After receiving a firm command not to move for a while yet to give the wing some time to readjust and a vague promise to send Gabriel his way, Aziraphale was left alone. It wasn't long until the door was opened again, however, and somebody walked in.
"It's nice to see you again, Aziraphale, despite the circumstances," Gabriel said, smiling.
Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He knew his brother, knew that this was Gabriel's the voice and the face and even the smile. However, Gabriel's hair had changed. Previously wavy and golden brown, exactly like Aziraphale's own, it was now a very dark brown, almost black, falling down his back as a single silky sheet. It changed his appearance entirely, the former soft, gentle look replaced by firmness.
"What is this, Gabriel?" asked Aziraphale. "Do you no more wish there to be any resemblance between us?" There had to be a good reason for it, he knew that. While angels could modify their corporeal bodies about any way they liked to -- though most preferred to make it look like their angelic form -- altering the angelic body wasn't that easy. Most angels could change the length of their hair and that was about it. Those with enough power could make their hair straight -- all angels were brought to existence with curls -- or otherwise modify the texture of their hair. However, he had never before seen an angel change their hair colour. He doubted anybody but an archangel could do that.
"No, in Heaven's name!" exclaimed Gabriel. "It's just that..." He sighed, casting his eyes down. "It appears that with my former appearance I seemed too gentle to be taken seriously," he said. "Some angels thought they could openly go against my orders. After dealing with them I decided to make sure nobody gets that particular impression of me ever again."
Aziraphale smiled a bit. "Well, admit it, you are gentle," he teased. "That is a fine feature in an angel, especially the Angel of Mercy. But tell me, how did Raphael react to this change?" His eyes twinkled a bit as he noticed a tiny flush crawling onto Gabriel's cheeks.
"Well... Raphael didn't complain about it," Gabriel said vaguely. "And let's leave it to that. How is it that you now, after centuries of apparent peace, return here due to a discorporation?"
"The apparent peace ended," Aziraphale sighed, then proceeding to reciting the relatively recent events of his existence on Earth. Gabriel listened with obvious interest, raising an eyebrow at his description of the demon's appearance in the hottest lands. After he finished his tale, Aziraphale asked, "Well, how are things here in Heaven? Is Michael still pining hopelessly after Uriel?"
"Well, Michael is still quite attached to Uriel, yes," Gabriel replied with a small sigh. "That hasn't changed a bit. However, he has actually managed to form something of a companionship with Uriel. I don't think they are lovers in either the human way or the angelic one, not yet at least, but they are very close friends. You rarely see one without the other. Knowing how carefully Uriel used to keep everybody away, that is quite an achievement on Michael's part. Both benefit from it. Uriel does not have to feel alone, not even after Felling somebody - Michael makes sure to be there for him whenever that happens - and Michael gets to be close to the one he loves."
Aziraphale smiled. "Well, it sounds definitely better for both of them than Michael avoiding Uriel at all costs," he said. "I wonder if I could visit them before returning to Earth."
"Oh, I'm sure about it," his brother assured him. "If I recall right, they were going to spend the afternoon in Michael's apartment. Some time ago Uriel gave his sword up completely except for the times when he has to Fell someone, and Michael is training him to throw knives. Sure, he could do that well enough even before - knives were his main weapon during the First Fall - but with Michael training him, he'll soon be the best in Heaven."
"I'd like to see that," Aziraphale said, smiling. "Let's just hope Raphael allows me to move sometime this afternoon."
As it turned out, Raphael did allow Aziraphale to leave his room eventually. Therefore, he headed for Michael's apartment. After knocking on the door a few times without any kind of response he decided to simply walk inside. (Most angels would have never even considered simply walking into the apartment of one of the archangels. However, Aziraphale was not most angels.)
Like he had expected from what Gabriel had told him, Michael and Uriel were in the training hall, a large room taking up most of Michael's apartment. All kinds of weapons hung on the walls, some of them already discovered by humans, some still unknown to them. On one end stood a target, a vaguely man-shaped figure, while on the other end were the two archangels. Aziraphale stepped in exactly the same moment as a knife took its leave from Uriel's hand, flying across the room and sinking exactly where the demon's - assuming it was a demon - heart was supposedly located.
"Excellent," Michael said, sounding satisfied. "There are still some tiny adjustments you could do to put even more strength behind your throw, but - oh, hi, Aziraphale! It's been quite some time since I saw you."
"Since the Flood, I fear," Aziraphale agreed, grinning as he walked closer to his mentor. "Alas, I got discorporated. Apparently my skills had been slipping after a few centuries."
Michael's smile was immediately replaced with a firm look. "Aziraphale! I'm very disappointed," he said, only partly teasing. "Jump, turn, jump, wings out, beat, wings in, drop, and strike!" he then commanded. At least that was how Aziraphale - quite correctly - interpreted it. In the ears of most angels - meaning anybody but the most experienced warriors - it was merely a jumble of quickly uttered words of nonsense. Everybody could - and would, regardless of their rank - obey Michael's ordinary commands, but true "Michaelese" was something very few understood well enough. This made it useful in a battle and legendary among his men; it was even rumoured that nobody could ever be given the rank of a general if they couldn't understand Michaelese.
As stated before, however, Aziraphale understood - he had once been one of the highest generals, after all. Therefore he did just like he had been told. Jumping to the side, he then turned around, jumping into the air, spreading his wings and beating with them as quickly as he could, folding them again and striking upon his return onto the ground. His inexistent sword pointed exactly at Michael's heart.
"Well, well, well. Apparently you haven't lost all of your skills, then," Michael said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "What do you think, Uriel? Is he worth the name of a warrior anymore?"
Uriel raised an eyebrow. "Anybody who can make some sense of those things you call spoken commands is definitely a warrior," he said dryly. "I doubt most of the Host would have managed to understand even the first command to jump. Have you ever heard of articulation or speaking slowly enough for others to be able to hear the separate words?"
"Well, you understood it, didn't you?" Michael asked defensively. "On that note, how exactly did you understand it? Neither Gabriel nor Raphael can make heads or tails of my fastest commands."
"Isn't it obvious?" asked Uriel with a look of faint amusement on his face. "You have made incomprehensible commands an art form -literally. And, in case you didn't remember, I am the Angel of Arts."
Now, Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh, both at Uriel's unwavering calmness and the look of slightly embarrassed astonishment that now spread onto Michael's face. Perhaps those two weren't lovers, but they definitely made a fine couple indeed.
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