BAD GRACE - quantum witch © 2005

see Prologue for warnings, rating, and summary

In which Aziraphale has a troubling dream and a revelation, then helps Anathema name her home.

5:02 – WHAT'S IN A NAME

ANATHEMA AND NEWT GLADLY LET Aziraphale stay overnight. He hadn't anywhere else to stay while in Lower Tadfield, had no way back to London until morning (he'd taken a bus). And he was simply too forlorn for them to, in good conscience, insist that he leave. Besides, he didn't sleep anyway, so they didn't even need to make up the sofa as a bed.

The couple had already bunked down for the night, and Aziraphale had contented himself to sit in the main room, thumbing through a book. It was the first time in ages he found it hard to actually read the words. And he knew why that was. Everything he saw, everything he read, everything he ate or smelled or touched or heard, reminded him in some way of Crowley.

He'd come to define himself, his existence, around Crowley. Around a demon. And now he was paying for it. It was as though half of himself had been torn away and the tattered edges were being sucked at by an unseen wind. He didn't like that sort of metaphor. And he didn't know what to do.

Another week had passed after Crowley's departure, and he'd done everything short of hypnotise everyone in the demon's flat to see if they knew something they weren't able to consciously remember about where Crowley had gone. He couldn't bring himself to that, no matter what. Instead he watered the plants for a few days, then was told by the old lady downstairs that Mr. Crowley had arranged for her to do that until further notice. Feeling useless, Aziraphale left.

A few days later, it had begun to seem very silly. How could he believe that Crowley had paid his rent for a year and simply left. Firstly, he found it hard to believe Crowley paid rent at all. Secondly, he would never go that far and leave his Bentley behind. The demon loved that car like he loved… nothing else.

When Aziraphale came back to Crowley's flat again, and asked the manager if he knew where Crowley had stored his vehicle, he was told Mr. Crowley had made a special point of taking it with him, as he'd intended to do a lot of driving. Aziraphale skulked away again, feeling lower than Mr. Crowley's original scaly abdomen.

After that, he hadn't known what else to do. He had no desire for much of anything left. Even gourmet food became rather bland. Wine was nice, but drinking by himself was probably a bad thing. And boring. The park was pleasant enough until he ran out of bread, and though he could have conjured more, it wasn't really good for the ducks to be so stuffed. Even the bookstore no longer held the same charms. Nothing had much meaning anymore. Because Crowley wasn't there to create the balance, the other side of every petty little issue, right down to whether salad cream should be kept refrigerated or left on the shelf (Aziraphale preferred the latter).

He missed his devil's advocate more fiercely than he'd have ever thought possible.

When he started doodling Crowley's name, with little horns and wings, in the margin of his first edition Dante's Inferno,he knew that if he didn't spend some time away from London, he might lose his mind.

So he'd come to Lower Tadfield, hoping and praying that they wouldn't mind him simply showing up. They hadn't. They had in fact treated him like a member of the family, which had brought further tears to his eyes.

Sitting now in the darkened cottage, he realised he was being called in a silent way. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, just the gentle murmuring of the baby. Ah, that must be it. His newfound Guardian status was telling him to attend his duty. Smiling, he went to her crib and stroked her soft cheek. Even in the dark he saw her clearly, as if they both glowed with a heavenly light. But of course he would think such a thing. All babies were God's gifts, but she was his personal charge and therefore even more special.

He carefully picked Rachel up, cradling her in his right arm. "Oh, hello dearie. Uncle Aziraphale is glad to see you. Would you like to hear a story? Well, let's see what books we have in here…"

As silently as possible, he sifted through the shelves. There were fairly typical picture books that any parent would own, teaching about colours and letters and shapes. And a few more likely to be found in the home of someone like Anathema who had virtually been teethed on Agnes' book. Such as A Witch's First Familiar and Baby Chthulu Goes to Town. He chuckled at the very idea, then predictably chose the book he had bought for them himself. The children's Bible.

Sitting back in the rocker, he began to read to her. Then he began to simply talk to her about the things he read. After all, he had been there personally for a large number of the events in the book. And when one gets to a certain age, one spends it largely in reminiscence with others who have 'been there', as he had done so very often with... well, never mind that right now. One must push on...

"Well, I can assure you," said Aziraphale conspiratorially, "that, had I been the one making the lists, Noah would have gone to a little more trouble about how he filled up the ark. He completely missed the unicorns, for one thing. And those poor things weren't good swimmers like the dragons, and couldn't fly like the griffins. So they're extinct now," he shook his head and sighed. "Of course, Noah always did like his after-dinner drinks – before, during and after dinner – so he might well have thought they were figments of his imagination. He did think he saw pink elephants a lot."

Aziraphale could have sworn the baby giggled. But that was impossible at only two weeks of age. It didn't matter, he was feeling happy for the moment. A beatific smile on his face, he looked down at her and said with utmost tenderness, "I'm so glad that I was given this duty. I think we will become very good friends indeed. Much better company for an angel than… a demon."

The damned tears were starting again. And he couldn't seem to put the baby down, like it was vitally important to hold her. So he rocked and fought the tears, while he muttered words that were far too appropriate...

"Who will pity a charmer that is bitten with a serpent, or any such as come nigh wild beasts? …So one that goeth to a sinner, and is defiled with him in his sins, who will pity?... For a while he will abide with thee, but if thou begin to fall, he will not tarry…

"An enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips… but in his heart he imagineth how to throw thee into a pit: he will weep with his eyes, but if he find opportunity, he will not be satisfied with blood… If adversity come upon thee, thou shalt find him there first… and though he pretend to help thee, yet shall he undermine thee. He will shake his head, and clap his hands, and whisper much… and change his countenance.."

Aziraphale caught his breath painfully, and pressed on. The last few lines of the passage became about someone other than He for Whom they had been written. "Come unto me… all ye that be… desirous of me, and fill yourselves… with my fruits. For my memorial is sweeter than honey… and mine inheritance than the honeycomb. They that… eat me shall yet be hungry… and they that drink me shall yet be thirsty…"

Then he dissolved into weeping, and had to put Rachel into her crib before she started to cry as well. To avoid disturbing the household, he went out the back door for some fresh air. The sight of the greenhouse made him sob harder. Walking further back and discovering himself in a small grove of six apple trees undid him entirely.

He fell to the ground beneath them, and let the tears simply flow into the earth. It seemed like there was no end to the amount of salt water in his body.

Then he looked up and saw it was daylight, and the grove had become a lush and roaming meadow, with a forest around it as far as the eye could see. He sat up, startled, and looked with awe at the multitudes of animals and plants around him.

He recognised it. It was the Garden. But how could he be…?

"It's a dream," came the hissing sound beside him. He looked down and there was the man-shaped snake. Crowley was nude and beautiful, and typically wicked. "It's all a dream. We could make it a wet dream, if you want." The demon grinned and licked his lips.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aziraphale said, his own lips going very dry. "I can't be dreaming, because I don't sleep."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Crowley said, rolling his slanted eyes. "You are the only person in all of Creation who would debate with the reality of a fantasy. Get over it, and come get over me." He leered again, grabbed Aziraphale's arms and rolled until the angel was lying atop him.

Aziraphale gasped and flailed to get away, especially when he realised he, too, was naked.

"C'mon angel, have a taste of forbidden fruit," Crowley sighed and reached down to grab something that would have made further debate utterly impossible, when Aziraphale managed to fling himself upward and away.

"Stop it! I am not going to Fall for you!" And he ran, without wondering why he didn't fly instead.

When he couldn't seem to run anymore, he fell to his knees again, wheezing. He began to pound the ground with his fists, and howl with incoherent rage and loss.

And then he saw the bare feet approaching. But they were not Crowley's.

"Poor angel. I remember you always were just a bit different than the others." The voice was soft and sweet, like the music of the meadow itself. "Much more amiable, for a start."

Aziraphale looked up into the lovely face, framed by black curling hair. She was like a nymph in the Garden, she who was the First Woman. And that brought a fond smile to his face. "Eve," he said as she sat beside him, "Imagine that."

With a smile like sunlight, she said, "But if you can imagine something, you can experience it. And once experienced, can it be just imagination?"

"Ah, good question. Very zen. I would have to say, no. If you experience something, it is real. Even if you are the only one to experience it." He paused and looked at her oddly. "How on earth did you get so wise, Eve?"

She laughed like a gentle breeze. "I did eat the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, didn't I? Some of that must have stayed with me."

"The Tree…the Serpent," Aziraphale grumbled and pulled his knees up. "I don't want to think about him."

"Yet he's all you've thought about in a very long time."

"A waste of time!" Aziraphale said plaintively. He rose and began to pace the meadow in front of her, wringing his hands and silently begging for help. "I've spent more time on being friendly with a demon than I have in trying to help humanity, as is my job! We worked together to keep the world from ending, but to what end for ourselves? I thought I could offer him something myself, something he might see as precious and worthwhile. But bad things kept happening, and I came to see it was the wrong decision, and by then he was determined to have what he wanted regardless of my feelings… Oh, Eve, I was foolish beyond words to imagine he could feel what I do! But not as foolish as imaging that I felt it in the first place!"

"But if you imagine something, you can experience it. And once, experienced, can it be just imagination…?"

Aziraphale turned his head swiftly in her direction, thinking to declare she was being needlessly cryptic and even a bit trite, when his eyes snapped open and the darkness of night flooded into his skull.

"Damn," he swore softly, sitting up. He was beneath the apple trees in the simple garden behind the cottage. He really had fallen asleep. And he had to finally admit, aloud…

"I've fallen in love… with a demon. Oh… bugger it all, that's it, I've gone stark raving mad."

He sat there with his head in his hands until the sun came up, and Newt found him there, covered in dew but not tears.

"Er," said Newt cautiously, "we've got tea and toast made, if you want something? I've got to be at the office soon."

Looking up at the human, Aziraphale smiled a sad but gentle smile. He felt more distant than he had in ages, less a part of the world he was committed to. "Yes, thank you. A spot of breakfast would be grand…" He rose and drifted past Newt, into the kitchen.

When Newt was walking out the front door a bit later, he kissed Anathema on the cheek and asked in a whisper, "So do you think it's safe to have him around? I mean, he's acting a lot differently than before."

"He's better here than anywhere else," she said sagely. "He's in pain right now, a sort he's never had before, but I think Rachel may help him. He's her Guardian angel, yet it may work both ways."

"But it's so strange," Newt insisted as Anathema forced him outside on the pretense of walking him to his car. "I mean you'd think that an angel would be happy a demon went away."

"Yes, just like this witch would be happy her witch-hunter vanished into thin air."

"Hah, very funny, comparing them… to… us. Oh.Ah. I hadn't considered… Is that even possible… I mean, demon… angel…?"

"Have a nice day at work, dear." She kissed him again and pushed the car door shut.

A FEW HOURS LATER, ANATHEMA was sitting in the main room, nursing Rachel and watching Aziraphale read. Or rather watching him stare blankly at a book while occasionally turning pages. It was sad enough to watch in a human, but almost unbearable in a celestial being dressed up in a human body. She was beginning to realise that angels could rejoice and grieve and praise and smite more powerfully than even the most severely bipolar human.

Anathema got up, placed Rachel in the portable carrier and stretched. She really needed to do some more yoga soon, as she wanted as much of her figure back as it was possible to get. Maybe some exercise would help Aziraphale too, as it was good for relieving depression.

She looked at his numb face with eyes that saw back through millennia, and knew they would see forward into many more. And thought again.

Then her own eyes lit upon the old wooden sign they'd taken down from the front porch recently. It really was time to re-name the place and get that sent off to the post master's. Maybe that was a task for Aziraphale. He desperately needed something to think about.

"Hey, want to help me load some mulch?" she asked with a smile.

Several minutes later, Aziraphale was in the small orchard, wearing heavy gloves and using a shovel to move a pile of rotten leaves and other things he wasn't sure he ought to think about. It was definitely a new experience. Anathema had been planning on having the fertilising of her garden outside the greenhouse done by now, but the baby had come rather early. He was happy to help, even if it meant being near the apple trees. He could forget certain things by busying himself with other things, and was grateful to her for providing that opportunity.

While they mulched, Anathema talked.

"The cottage, the grounds… It's such a lovely old place, isn't it? I moved here because Agnes' book said I would, just for the last three days of the world. But then of course she was yanking my chain. And I'm kind of glad, because this place is utterly me, you know. It's natural, it's eclectic, it's steeped in its own sort of history that is still a bit of a mystery to me. Yet I can tell it's home, it's meant to be." She sighed and straightened up. Her body was still sore, but it was a good kind. "Have you ever been in a place that felt that way to you? Comfortable but exciting at the same time?"

Aziraphale tried not to think about it. Because the only thing he could have said was, Crowley's presence.

She saw the shift in his expression, guessed what he was thinking, and moved on. "What I'm saying is, something that special needs a name which really captures the feeling. And we're stumped right now, bit caught up in taking care of Rachel and whatnot. So… do you think you could help us think of a good name for the cottage?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes and breathed the morning air, deeply. It was apple-scented amidst the tang of mulch. It was warm and cool at the same time. It was dreadful and wonderful, and he wanted to fly upward as high as possible and then stop and let gravity take him down into the bowels of the earth.

"Love," he said softly. "What you said sounds like love."

"Well, yes, we love the place –"

"I mean, the things you said. They are about love." He opened his eyes and looked down at her, and the eons in them were never more clear. "What should you name the home of love?"

Anathema was entranced by what she sensed, the truly inhuman beauty behind the stuffy English shell. "I…I'm not really sure…"

"Then what is love, precisely. What does it mean?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "Wholeness."

Aziraphale nodded. "Completion."

"Yes. Essential," she continued.

"Intrinsic."

"Holistic."

"Holy."

"Heaven?" she inquired.

He laughed softly. "No. Earth."

She smiled. "Truth."

"Light."

"Life."

"One.

"And All."

"Alpha and Omega."

Together they sighed, as though a breeze had blown through both of them. He nodded again. "So. Now. What is home, precisely?"

"Hearth."

"Harbour."

"Retreat."

"Refuge."

"Safety."

"Salvation."

"Sanctum sanctorum?" she grinned.

"Probably not. Haven."

"Fold."

They were interrupted by a small sound from above, and both looked up. In the branches of the apple tree, was a dove.

Simultaneously, they said, "Nest."

Looking back at one another, they both said, "Dovecot."

Anathema laughed in awe. "That was amazing, how we…"

"Connected. Yes. I don't think it's ever happened to me, with a human being." Aziraphale smiled. "This place is truly blessed. Not by me, I mean. Just… by itself."

She nodded, and then curved her arm onto his. "Aziraphale, you are an angel, in every way you can be. I am glad you were sent to us, and I hope that you will stick around. Even if your other half is missing for a while… I believe he will return. Because he won't be able to stay away from his other half forever."

Aziraphale smiled, though his eyes began to mist again. He sincerely hoped she was right.

In her basket, tiny Rachel smiled.