BAD GRACE - quantum witch © 2005
see Prologue for warnings, rating, and summary
In which Aziraphale plays midwife, baby Rachel is born, and names are debated poorly.
4:03 – SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED
"CROWLEY, DAMN IT! CAN'T YOU DRIVE ANY FASTER?" AZIRAPHALE SHOUTED. "Newt called over half an hour ago, and I'm sure that Anathema won't want to wait another half hour! She needs me!"
Crowley grumbled as the Bentley blazed along doing just under the speed of sound º. "Angel, we started out with a hundred and fifty miles to go. If you think you can get there faster than the Bentley, I suggest shaking out those dusty old wings and giving it your best." Before Aziraphale could protest, he sighed, "Yeah, I know, your chubby cherub arse can't fly faster than about fifty." He ignored the indignant splutter. "Which I have to say, as a supernatural being, just seems ludicrous. But that's aerodynamics for ya. Anyway… what's the big deal? It's just another baby being born into an over-populated world full of fun things to do – like get diseases, starve, and die."
"Life is a precious gift from God," the angel insisted, his knuckles whitening on the dashboard as Crowley veered sharply around a turn in the road. "I, for one, am rather excited! A new life! A wee little baby, and it's the offspring of dear Anathema and Newt."
"Right, spawn of a witch and a former witch-hunter, and each the descendant of more of the same. Can't wait to see what sort of mutant the kid will be," Crowley sneered, ignoring Aziraphale's pointed glare. "Let's just hope it's the only one they have."
"Well you may scoff, but I think it's rather sweet. They make a lovely couple, and they seemed very happy about the blessed event."
"Yeah, yeah… I'm sure she's really happy right about now…" Crowley had never witnessed a birth, though he'd seen more than his share of deaths, tortures and mutilations. He was aware that the birthing process was also bloody and gruesome, and therefore it fell into the same category as the other situations – i.e. things he could possibly force himself to watch if it were completely unavoidable, but Somebody forbid that it ever happen to him directly.
Approximately half an hour later, regardless of Aziraphale's annoyance, they screeched to a halt at the small Welsh hospital. It was a church-operated hospital, as are many others, especially when in tiny towns.
To Aziraphale's relief, it turned out to be Christian rather than Satanist, at least upon cursory glance. There were no subtle bits of artwork featuring creatures with goat's feet, and all the crucifixes seemed to be right side up with a gloomy Christ nailed on the proper way. But to Crowley's dismay, it all made him just a tiny bit uncomfortable. Fortunately there weren't any nuns. He was sick of nuns for the next few centuries.
Newt was pacing the floor frantically, and barely noticed when the angel and the demon came alongside him.
"Newton, dear boy!" Aziraphale said happily, slapping the young man on the back and nearly knocking his glasses off. "How are things?"
"Er, not quite right, it seems. She's having a bit of difficulty. It's a month early, you know, and first birth and all." Newt was looking quite worried. "That's really why I called you. She's just so scared. I don't suppose there's anything you could do, is there?"
The angel smiled with confidence. "I should think so. Leave it to me." He strolled off in the direction Newt pointed, casually changing his clothing to doctor's scrubs (he normally didn't bother with disguises, but this was a bit of a rush job).
Crowley raised an eyebrow at the departing angel. This was bound to go well. He grinned toothily and turned to Newt again. "Shall we get a drink?"
"I, uh, don't think they serve the sort of thing you're used to drinking," Newt said nervously, imagining it to be virgin's blood with a splash of brimstone.
Crowley sensed that, but decided the poor guy was already too freaked out to try conjuring exactly what he was thinking. Besides, virgin's blood was really hard to find, even manifested from thin air.
The demon smiled. "Coffee, my man, or tea. Something along those lines. The real imbibing can wait 'til after, along with cigars or other celebratory tokens. Is there any other traditional thing I'm forgetting? Party favours? Sacrificing poultry? Anything fun?"
"Uh," Newt hesitated. "I think I will take that coffee now."
"Good man," Crowley said. They found a small alcove where coffee was brewing for those in waiting. Crowley poured, but before he handed the cup to Newt he reached into his coat pocket for the flask of whatever he'd been carrying lately, and poured a bit in, just for medicinal purposes of course. Just doing his part to help out.
"There we go," Crowley patted him absently on the shoulder as Newt sipped the hot spiked drink. "Why don't we visit the gift shop over there. Might take your mind off things."
AZIRAPHALE ENTERED THE BIRTHING CHAMBER with confidence that instantly sprouted wings and zipped out the nearest window like a swallow on steroids.
Anathema was surrounded by several nurses and technicians and a doctor, and was looking rather unhappy to be propped up on a table with her legs akimbo. The moment the angel entered the room, she turned her head and screamed, "About bloody time you got here! Some Guardian angel you are, you poof!"
"You're not the father," a nurse said testily. Taking in Aziraphale's scrubs and suddenly gawking face, she continued, "Nor a member of staff…"
"Er, no but I was called for. I'm the, er, midwife, as it were." He was actually sweating, which bothered him.
"Ah, so you're the one she's been on about." The nurse grinned behind her mask. "Well, we're all prepped and ready, but we've been having a bit of… trouble getting her used to the idea of sedation. We've explained the risks, considering this is an early birth but…"
"Angel, get over here andhelp me!" Anathema howled as another contraction hit her. "I've already been at this for hours, and I want it out of me!"
Squaring his shoulders, Aziraphale stepped forward. The moment he was in reach, Anathema grabbed his hand and squeezed until he squawked and nearly fell to his knees. Bloody hell, a woman in labour had a grip that could crush diamonds.
"Aziraphale," she panted, her face going red then white, "please, it hurts and I'm afraid…"
He nodded, finally getting his bearings. This was his purpose, to aid and to comfort. He sat beside the trembling girl. "There, there, my dear," he said, his voice at its most soothing. "I'm here now. Crowley is waiting outside with Newton. You're in good hands…" To make his point, he reached out his spare hand to her swollen belly and passed his fingers over it gently in a swirling motion. "Just breathe for me… that's good… everything will be fine… soon…"
All he would be able to do was keep her calm and take away some of the pain. A baby wasn't to be rushed, not by divine means, unless both it and the mother were in serious danger. His mind gently pushed into her aura, just a bit, and he could tell they were both doing fine so far. So all they could do was wait.
However, he wasn't about to tell her that. Keeping her under control was enough.
IT WAS QUITE A WHILE LATER, around one in the morning, that Aziraphale stumbled out into the waiting area, very pale and shaken.
"Why, angel, you look positively ghastly!" Crowley smiled with glee. "What's the matter? Glorious wonder of birth too much for you?"
"Good heavens, no," Aziraphale wheezed as he collapsed into a chair. "It's a beautiful, natural process, part of the cycle of life… and… my dear, you wouldn't happen to have—"
Crowley instantly pulled the flask out again and passed it over.
"Bless you," the angel gasped as he tipped it into his mouth. "My God, the screaming… the blood… and dear Lord in Heaven what a grip she has! Nearly broke my fingers and you wouldn't think that's possible!" He massaged his right hand gingerly and handed the flask back to the chortling demon. "Anyway, mother and baby are absolutely fine and resting comfortably. It's all over but the naming."
Newt was barely aware anymore, but he registered this information. "Ooh, yes, um… goy or birl?"
"Hermaphrodites are your only choice, Newt?" Crowley sniggered.
"Girl," Aziraphale said firmly. "And as Anathema has officially named both Crowley and myself as the child's godparents -– bit of a misnomer for you, demon dear, and I'm assuming she was slightly delirious when she made the decision – we are happy to help in any way we can. Including names."
"Oh, goodie. Another godchild. I'm really racking up the bonus points this decade," Crowley sighed. "Hell loves me, I can tell. Okay, how about Antonia Judith," he smirked. "Name her after me so people will wonder if I'm, heh, involved."
"No, they'll simply wonder at your extraordinary vanity. Naming her for you, indeed!" the angel sniffed in disapproval. "'Judith', eh? So what have you been using for that 'J.' all these years?"
"Judas," Crowley grinned hysterically. "Like it?"
"Oh dear," Aziraphale put his head in his hands for a moment. Then declared, "The child's name should be something that suits the nature of sweet, innocent little girl. Something like… Angelique Christina."
"Talk about advertising!" Crowley hooted. "And you call me vain?"
Another voice drifted by, speaking from the depths of darkness itself.
I'VE ALWAYS LIKED THE NAME YSABELL, it said. OR POSSIBLY SUSAN. ¹
Two heads turned as the tall form in black glided by.
"Hey, Azrael, what are you doing here?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.
JUST PASSING THROUGH, the spectre of Death said casually. I ALWAYS HAVE BUSINESS IN SUCH PLACES. NICE SEEING YOU AGAIN. TAKE CARE…
When the former Horseperson rounded a corner, Newt shook himself out of his stupor. He hadn't seen Death, which was definitely the best thing for his state of mind. He'd barely heard the angel and demon bickering, being rather used to it now. But he did realise that they were talking about names, and that rang a small bell in his head.
He said, "We'd already planned, if it was a girl, to name her Rachel. That's what my mother would have named me if I'd been a girl, so…"
"Lovely name!" Aziraphale declared. "A good solid Biblical name, too. It means 'lamb', did you know? Perfect for such a darling little girl." He was all smiles as Newt nodded, still a bit hazily.
A nurse was now approaching with a sheaf of paperwork. Newt had already filled out dozens of papers while Anathema was doing her part, but apparently the father was subjected to just as much work. He'd go home with writer's cramp bad enough to nearly match her labour pains.
This time it was the actual birth certificate, needing the child's full name. He'd gotten the first name already, but couldn't for the life of him remember if they'd decided on a second name. He considered leaving it off, but his accountant nature rebelled at leaving anything unsettled. The blank space stared at him accusingly, and he wracked his brain to think of something suitable. The low-level quibbling from the angel and the demon weren't helping, and he had a terrible headache from the coffee and a rather odd taste in his mouth. He was beginning to suspect the demon had done something to the drink.
Finally, in sheer desperation, he looked up at the wall of the hospital and saw the following:
St. Collumae Hospital
Sacred Order of the Returning Dove
"Colomen Ymchwelyd"
The words simply seeped into his brain and dribbled down through his fingertips, becoming, thanks to near-delirium, 'Callamae'. Thus was his daughter named, and it could have been much worse. He signed his own name as badly as the doctors do, and passed it back to the waiting nurse. Then he slid backward in the chair and all but fell asleep.
"By the way," Crowley said to Aziraphale as the angel tutted over Newt's exhausted form. "Got this in the gift shop for you. Happy Easter."
And he thrust into a surprised Aziraphale's hand a stuffed toy baby duck wearing a tartan vest. He mentally dared the angel to resist that.
"Oh dear!' Aziraphale examined the toy with delight. "That's adorable, Crowley. But shouldn't you give this to the baby? I think that would be more appropriate." And he tucked the duck under Newt's limp arm.
Crowley groaned in exasperation and bit his lip until it bled.
NEWT WAS ALLOWED TO STAY IN Anathema's room that night. Crowley wanted to leave for London, but Aziraphale insisted he himself had to stay because it was his duty. So Crowley stayed as well, sighing like a martyr already nailed to his personal cross.
That meant they had to find a room somewhere, and in a town this tiny, even using his powers wouldn't help matters. So they drove to Llandeilo, which was hardly bigger, and got lucky with a small bed and breakfast. With a single bed
Both of them were privately nervous, but refused to admit it. Crowley refilled the flask and they both had another drink. Crowley was tired and horny and really would rather have been back in Mayfair so he could deal with those problems alone. But now he was stuck here, obligated to drive slowly back to Lower Tadfield while following the new parents in their van. Oh God, how had he sunk to such a level?
Because of the angel. The lousy bastard.
"Poor dear," the angel sighed as he poured some tea for himself, seeing that Crowley preferred his whiskey. "You really seem to be having a rough time of it lately."
"Huh?" Crowley grunted. "You mean, you've actually noticed that?"
"Well, of course, silly. You've been getting bumped and bruised and cut and all manner of things, including virtually killing yourself with holy items." Aziraphale sipped his tea then looked carefully at Crowley. "And I think I know why it's happening."
"Yeah, me too. It's anytime I get too close to you with more than friendly intent," Crowley grumbled, collapsing onto the bed. He was well into his own cups now with the flask having refilled itself a third time. "And it bloody well sucks."
Aziraphale lowered his eyes, thoughtful. "I realise that. I, uh, wonder if it's for a reason."
"Huh?" Crowley asked again. "It's just coincidence, ineffability, or some crap."
"I think… it might be more."
"What do you think?" Crowley sat up on the bed, and looked intently at the angel.
"Well… it might simply be because of what we are."
Crowley frowned at that. "You mean, demon and angel? Is that it?"
Reluctantly, Aziraphale nodded. He was thinking something else in addition, something to do with virtually identical anatomical areas, but refused to admit it.
"Bullshit. We've spent thousands of years in each other's company. We've gotten used to one another's auras. Accustomed to every nuance and fluctuation of divine and demonic energies. Getting tainted by each other." Crowley frowned even harder at the angel, who avoided his gaze. "Our differences haven't gotten more different. They've gotten more similar."
"…That really made no sense."
"You get my damned point."
"…Yes," the angel sighed.
Crowley stared at Aziraphale with true concern now. "You really do think that we're incompatible on some metaphysical level."
Aziraphale smiled apologetically. "It's possible. It could all be due to our very natures. Yes, we've gotten used to one another over the millennia. Yes, we've tolerated each other's... intrusions into personal space and come away without much damage. But there's nothing in all of history with which to compare our current, er, situation, so we really don't know what might result from it. No angel and demon, before us, have ever... kissed one another."
Crowley blinked for a moment. Then he shouted, "Oh. How I fucking love being a guinea pig for the Ineffable!" He rose and began to pace, waving his arms about and growling at the ceiling. "It's just stupid! I'm not that bad a guy. I have held myself back from doing truly evil things many, many times. I've even backed up and repaired things I've done, mostly because this angel made me feel guilty about it. Demons don't do personal guilt! I've never been that bloody evil, and everyone bloody knows it. I'm practically St. Fucking Crowley of Assisi compared to the rest of Down Below."
Aziraphale winced at the rant, and said quietly, "Preaching to the choir, dear."
"And you," Crowley turned and pointed at Aziraphale. "You're not exactly Mr. Sparkly Pristine yourself! You've done plenty of not-so-pure-and-perfect things. Yes, yes, we've got the Arrangement. But you still did everything of your own free will. And we do have free will, you know. They'd like us to think we don't, but it's a crock. Propaganda to keep us in line. But right now, especially now, we can do damned near whatever we want! I can bloody well kiss you if I want!"
He strode over to Aziraphale, gripped his waist, pressed him full-length against his own body, and planted their lips solidly against one another. For a few moments, there was no sound but muted whimpering and a soft smacking. Then they parted and Crowley waved his hands about defiantly. "See? No lightning bolts, no rain of toads, no spontaneous combustion... Yet. Is there any reason why I can't kiss you?"
Aziraphale licked his slightly bruised lips. "Er. Not… especially, no."
"Well then, consenting adults, that's what we are! No reason not to. And I refuse to believe it's just because you're an angel and I'm a demon that trouble keeps befalling me. In fact, we could probably go well beyond snogging without that sort of trouble. We could skip right over groping and go straight on to sweaty sheets, and still experience nothing worse than a few sort spots, strained muscles and a bit of morning-after embarrassment!"
Aziraphale's face flamed redder than any neon light in Soho. His fingers gripped his teacup hard enough to crack it as his knees sent up signals indicating imminent collapse. He couldn't seem to look away from the demon, even though his voice failed him due to the large knot of panic in his throat.
Crowley didn't notice the angel's condition as he continued his tirade. "No, my difficulties are just Ineffable bloody-mindedness." He smacked his palm against the wall, making Aziraphale jump. "Or it's Hell, taking their fucking revenge on me! I don't know, but something has got to give here because I want-"
The wall he had smacked crumbled under his hand. His hand pressed through and made contact with fairly old and shoddy electrical wiring.
Crowley only avoided discorporation by aforementioned spontaneous combustion through Aziraphale's extremely swift interaction and a true miracle.
The fire was pretty, if you weren't really fond of the building.
º More like 130; any faster and he'd have had trouble convincing the car to cooperate.
¹ - If I have to explain this inside joke… why are you even reading this story?