(no subject)

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Date: November 6th, 2000
Setting: Tadfield Manor - Crowley's bathroom
Status: Private - Aziraphale, Crowley, Chicago
Summary: He misses.




Aziraphale knew, like he knew authors and books and the irreversible fact that tartan was eternally stylish, that he'd been - he was hesitant to put a word to it - moping for a great deal of time, and absolutely none of it was accomplishing anything but for the consumption of massive amounts of tea between his library and Ellie's room.

It was with this thought in mind - even, indeed, the accompanying, Perhaps I ought to do something about it, like... - that their black-faced, white-pawed kitten stumbled upon him.

Aziraphale startled with the first touch of fur and the bat of claws (so much larger than he remembered) and broke into a smile, deep and true and bright. "Why," he cried, "where have you been, O mischievous one?" Her appearance brought immediately a stab of loneliness and misery, a reminder of what they had done together, but Aziraphale found he could swallow against it, and ignore it by focussing on her.

Of course, no answer but a meow returned, and the angel smiled and bent to pick the cat up, certain that she was lost, when she turned and ran, racing out the library door. The angel followed, wondering if he'd scared her by accident (goodness, it had been too long, she could hardly even be termed a kitten anymore), and caught a glimpse of tail disappear into his own room (door open) just as he rounded the last stair.

He stood there; he spent time pacing to the door and back; he stood again. Somewhere inside, Chicago meowed piteously, and the angel sighed. There was really nothing else for it, he thought defensively, stepping into his own white-and-blue room with a stab of worry, there could be something that's the matter here, such as C- he could be hurt and she could be fetching me, the dear, or perhaps she's hungry...

But no: Chicago meowed a last time, a player in the game of Marco Kitty, and Aziraphale stepped into the shared bathroom (with only the slightest glance at the closed door to Crowley's attachment). She was standing in front of the litterbox and meowing piteously.

It smelled, too.

Oh.

Aziraphale glanced down. Well. If it needed to be cleaned... He knelt for a better look, miracling the tools (scooper, rubbish bags) as he did so, and with another onslaught of that smell rolled up his sleeves.

"Of everyone, Chicago, you did have to pick me, didn't you."

A meow, followed by a purr, almost apologetically, and a twining of liquid fur and sinew around his feet. It was nearly a full conversation.

"Well, nothing a bit of elbow grease and some nice scented candles won't fix..."

Comments

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley had been in his room trying to read a popular novel that he'd picked up in a bookstore in town, not willing to brave the library, but it was getting hard to concentrate when that bloody cat kept yowling. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. He stood and stalked towards the bathroom door not worried that Aziraphale might be in there because as far as he could tell the connecting door hadn't been opened in weeks.

"Would you shut the hell up, Chicago? What the fuck is your..." he wrenched open the door, "problem..."

Shit. Well, this was awkward. The demon was half tempted to just turn around and walk out. But he'd be more damned if Aziraphale was going to take his cat, too.

"I'll do that," he said coldly. "You needn't concern yourself."

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

This was not, actually, the best thing that could ever happen to him while he was occupied with cat feces.

He had recognized the voice as it approached, and winced, even before the door inevitably opened.

"No, it's, ah, it's quite all right," Aziraphale said, wondering if the proper protocol would be to shed his gloves, and set the scooper down, or merely stay where he was and finish up. "She seemed to need... ah, well, you understand." He tried for a smile and it failed, miserably.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"No. In fact, it's not all right," he said angrily, "because I told you I would fucking deal with it." Crowley snapped his fingers and the cat box was spotless. Chicago's food and water bowls miraculously filled as well. "I bloody well know what she needs."

Chicago let out a meow and ambled over to her food bowl, crunching on the hard treats.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

His back stiffened at the slight, and he removed the rest of his own paraphernalia - honestly, why didn't he ever think, of course he could have simply miracled the box clean - with a slow wave.

"You needn't use that sort of language; I can understand you perfectly," the angel replied coldly, rising. A heavy sense of disappointment was making itself felt, and it crept into his tone, removing the coldness. "Chicago simply came to me, my dear. It isn't some deeper scheme where I try to undermine your taking care of her - and you have been taking good care, I see it now. It's only that... I merely wanted to help." He finished the last softly.

Aziraphale realized then that he had been staring at Crowley, a near-wistful look to his face, and he glanced away quickly, a blush starting in his cheeks. There was something entirely wrong about an angel being attracted to an angry demonic ex-lover, really. Even if said demon had very, very nice cheekbones.

"What were you working on?" he asked, suddenly reluctant to leave.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

This was not helping. Crowley had returned from his trip to New York with almost fond memories of the angel, but the longer he spoke to him, the more he remembered why it was all wrong, why they'd never get along, and how hurt he really was. The look on Aziraphale's face, the blush, only made him angrier. Was sex the only thing he ever thought about?

"I can fucking well say whatever the fuck I want to fucking say. You forfeited your right to have any say in my behaviour, Aziraphale. And why the sudden interest in what I'm doing? You never gave a flying fuck before." Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Chicago doesn't need your help and I sure as shit don't. Why don't you go 'help' some human instead. That is your job, isn't it? You know, the thing you're supposed to do?" he sneered.

For her part, Chicago stopped eating and walked over to wind herself around Crowley's ankles. She didn't like it when her pet was upset.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

He conceded: "You're right, actually." He didn't specify to which point, but it's painfully clear to him now that Crowley was right. He hadn't cared, but it was out of his own self-absorption than deliberate ignorance. He never meant- it didn't matter now.

"You're right. It is my duty. In fact, I did want to tell you that, in the interests of my duty, I have decided it would be best for me to return to London."

And he was disappointed. But not in Crowley; none, or very little, had been Crowley's fault. He was disappointed in himself; this was entirely his own doing, and the angel knew it. He had, not to put too fine a point on it, rather "screwed up" (as they said) his affairs here, both literally and not-so-literally.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Planning what was supposed to be another scathing rejoinder, Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but deflated slightly. Aziraphale wasn't supposed to agree, damn it. How were they supposed to fight if he bloody well agreed?

"Fine," he snapped. "Fine. Go back to town."

The demon wasn't sure if he felt disappointed or relieved. He wanted to say, 'I might see you in a couple hundred years,' but that sounded hopeful and he wasn't at all sure that it was true. He wanted to say, 'Yeah, go back to London, find a new place to live, and start your life over again, alone,' but that sounded bitter. He really wanted to say, 'You fucking, selfish coward. Run away from your problems. Enjoy your mundane life. You deserve it. While you're off seeking personal fulfillment, we'll all be here saving the bloody world again,' but he couldn't.

How do you tell the person that you know better than yourself goodbye?

Crowley turned away and said, "Ciao, then."

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Expecting - well, expecting something else, Aziraphale watched him, taken somewhat aback at the sheer deflation-

"Goodbye, my dear."

Manners first.

He himself wanted to walk closer instead, apologize for everything that had brought them to this prickly and somehow cold departure... but the lure of the door, and his sensibilities turned him away from the demon as Crowley had just turned from him, and walk towards the door.

But.

Well. He had regretted so much in the nineteenth century, after all; things he hadn't said before Crowley had gone to sleep had eventually haunted him, and the memory of that aching regret made the angel turn firmly around, stride up to Crowley's side, and say, with the tender expression that truly made others believe he was an angel at all,

"I'm sorry. I am."

He left. Being sorry wouldn't stop him from leaving.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The only response was a sharp, bitter laugh and the snicking sound of a door closing.