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[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

Time: January 6, 2001
Status: Private (John, Crowley - Complete)
Place: John's and Crowley's Rooms
Summary: Post-Kit fallout.



John made it as far as his door before the shakes really started to set in, but it took him a few tries to get the key in the keyhole so he could unlock the thing.*

Kit, here in the Manor. In his world, this was roughly the equivalent of the Titanic rising from the deep and running aground in the middle of St. James Park.

He didn't know what to do. She wasn't prepared for a place like this; nothing in her experience provided the framework she'd need to deal with the people and things she'd find here. And he wasn't prepared to shield her from it, and had sod all chance of persuading her to leave if she didn't want to go--if he could even bring himself to try. He didn't really even know why she'd come, though everything she'd said downstairs seemed to add up to her being worried about him.

Worried about him? It had been seven years since she'd last laid eyes on him. She'd left poor old Brendan to slowly pickle himself to death, hadn't attended her own dad's funeral. Since when had Kit Ryan ever troubled herself to worry about the men she'd left behind? And why was he even contemplating giving her the chance to tear him down again? Why had he been daft enough to go to Belfast in the first place, for that matter?

He stumbled inside on the dark current of these thoughts, not bothering to put a light on, and sank into the nearest of the big posh armchairs, scrubbing wearily at his face. A civil, sober conversation lasting less than half an hour, and it had left him feeling exhausted and completely out of his reckoning. Only Kit had ever been able to do this to him, and before today she'd only done it the once.

All things considered, he thought, it really was simpler dealing with Hell.

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and still the tremor in his hands before he went to make sure Crowley wasn't too freaked out. It must have been a shock for him, too, meeting a woman he'd shared memories of loving but never actually seen.

---

*He absolutely, positively refused to acknowledge any unfortunate metaphors this difficulty might bring to mind.

Comments

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

When the knock at the bathroom door came, Crowley was ready. He was lounging languidly on his bed, reading, and petting Chicago who was pooled against the warmth of his stomach. But the two chairs beneath the round table and the two glasses on top, next to a bottle of Glenlivet that had once been Goldschlager, belied his casual pose. He'd planned for this.

The demon waved the door open without moving. He didn't want to disturb the cat.

"John," he said neutrally, in a moment taking in the sad state of his friend. As any direct inquiry would probably be stoically ignored, he just added, "Drink?"

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"...yes," John said decisively, silently grateful both for the offer and for a question to which he had a simple answer.

He trudged to the table, hauled out one of the chairs and collapsed into it, not even reaching for the whiskey just yet. He wanted a drink, but he wanted more to sort out the quagmire his thoughts had fallen into.

"Kit's here," he said unnecessarily, mostly to remind himself it was true and not some product of his own somewhat masochistic imagination.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Dislodging Chicago, gently, and ignoring her meow of protest, Crowley slid out of bed to join John at the table. Silently he opened the bottle and poured two generous measures.

"I know," he finally said. "I saw her when she first arrived. Recognized her immediately." The demon downed his drink in one go, trying to use the alcohol to dislodge the images in his mind. It felt disrespectful to have taken John's memories of her, even if he'd had no choice. "I looked for you for hours. Wanted to give you a heads up. You see how well I managed..."

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"Adam, I'll wager," John muttered, picking up his own glass and staring at it moodily for a moment. "Kid's playing some kind of fucked-up game. Had her more'n half convinced you and I were screwing. And he put her in my old room." He slammed back the whiskey.

"She came here," he added deliberately and a bit hoarsely, chewing over the words as he spoke them, "because she's been worried. Wanted to make sure I was all in one piece, she said."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley frowned. "I was talking to him when she arrived." Which prevented him from finding John, perhaps? The screwing and the old room only got a raised eyebrow. There were some missing pieces there. Something they didn't understand, but ultimately wasn't important. Not with John in this condition. He refilled the man's glass.

"And... that's a problem?"

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

John tossed back the whiskey without missing a beat, and scowled. "Problem? Nah, why the hell should it be a problem? Just because it took her seven fucking years to get around to thinking of it?" He hadn't realized he was angry about that until the words were coming out of his mouth. "Took me going all the way over there and not leaving a message, apparently. And now I can't help but wonder if that's what she wanted all along, for me to follow her. Like I had any reason to think it would help." His grip on the glass tightened as unwilling memories crowded in, of the days after the breakup and how close he'd come to simply lying down and dying. "Where the hell was she when I needed--"

He cut himself off abruptly just as he was about to throw the glass at the wall, and slumped in his chair, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry. She's thrown me," he added quietly. "That's all. Kit's normal, Crowley. I mean, for her demons and Armageddon and all that are stuff you read about in the Bible but don't get to see until after you're dead. She never wanted it any other way. And she doesn't look back." He made a helpless gesture. "And she's--I don't think she's telling me everything. If she could find this place, she could have got the number and rung to check I was all right. I have no fucking clue why she'd come looking for me or what to do about it, and that's the truth." And it terrifies me. Just don't ask me to say it out loud.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

I won't, mate, was the unspoken response to the man's broken posture. But Crowley was satisfied that he'd gotten John to open up a bit. The medieval surgeons weren't entirely wrong. Sometimes it was good to lance the wound and let it bleed out for a bit before trying to patch it up. Otherwise all the pressure builds and you get a nasty rupture instead.

"I can't even tell you what my motivations are half the time," admitted the demon, aware that John was in no position to take advantage, "so there's no way in hell I can tell you what she's thinking. I'd offer to ask, but somehow I don't think that would go so well. She must already think I'm an idiot."

He paused a moment before speaking again. "I don't know what to tell you. But the woman you've described wouldn't come here and she has, so something's changed. Fuck if I know what or why, but I can help you keep an eye out if you want. Most of these fools couldn't blend in if their lives depended on it."

Well aware this question wouldn't go over well, Crowley braced himself and asked it anyway. "You are sure it's her, right? Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but when your lost love shows up seven years later doing things you don't expect... Well, you know how these games are played. Could be a set-up. Can you check?"

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"Set-up?" John blinked at the question. That had never even occurred to him, and though his reflexive reaction was to dismiss it, he forced himself to consider the possibility as objectively as he was able at the moment.

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "Her being here seems all wrong, but she doesn't." A face or a voice could be faked, mannerisms and even memories; but there were subtler cues that weren't so easily duplicated, and his own visceral reaction to her presence had given him no reason to think she wasn't exactly who she appeared to be. Still... "You're right, though. Can't be too careful. Shouldn't be too hard to find out for sure."

Then he smirked, a pale shade of his usual sardonic expression, and refilled their glasses again. "And by the by, she doesn't think you're an idiot. Easily spooked, maybe."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"Either way, I'm sure I made a wonderful impression," he replied dryly, taking the second drink a little more slowly and watching John carefully from behind blank lenses.

Chicago, seeming to pick up on her owner's mental vibrations, picked herself up delicately from the bed, hopped down and began winding her little body around John's ankles and purring.

"So... what happens next?"

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

John sighed, absently reaching down to scratch behind the cat's ears. "Now I take her to breakfast, show her around the place and hope nothing too unexplainable happens while we're about it. Try to figure out what the hell's on her mind, I guess." He drained his own glass, and eyed it glumly. "Cut me off before I get too plastered to drag my arse up tomorrow, eh?" He knew his own tendencies well enough to know that left to his own devices, he'd be headed for a bender of epic proportions.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Chicago happily hopped into John's lap, kneading her paws up and down, claws slightly extended near a sensitive area, until she was certain he was subdued enough to curl up on. She did so and squeezed her eyes shut.

The demon watched, amused. Having a fairly good grasp of his friend's tendencies as well, Crowley tried probably a little too hard to keep things light. "It seems the lady of the house has you covered. Between the two of us, we can probably manage to get you to bed without too many problems." He glanced at John, one eyebrow quirked. "You volunteered to give her the grand tour? Well, for your own sake, then, keep her away from Belial and you should be fine."

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"Oi, mind where you put those things," John mock-growled at Chicago, ruffling her fur. "Cats are a delicacy in some countries, y'know. ...Yeah, I dunno what I was thinking. 'cept I didn't want her exploring the place on her own. My luck she'd run smack into Beelzebub or Mictain and wind up trying to punch his lights out..." He grimaced. "I dunno, I'd have been more worried about Belial before he took up with the Snob. But I'll keep it in mind."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The cat just blinked up at him with wide, yellow eyes before getting comfortable once more and starting to purr.

Crowley shook his head. "I don't think Belial being with the Snob would prevent him from flirting with a looker like Kit. And his definition of flirting is a bit more all-encompassing than ours. Hell, I nearly got nailed because we were signing a contract." He laughed a little. It was kind of funny now.

Sipping his drink, the demon nodded. "That's probably a good idea, though. But you won't be able to chaperone her for long. How long's she staying?"

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"Good question. I don't think she's decided yet." In fact, he'd sensed a surprising degree of uncertainty in Kit all around, and that was probably bad: one of the strong points in their relationship had been that at least one of them always knew what they were doing. "It might depend on what happens tomorrow. Least I can introduce her around so she's not flying completely blind."

He glanced up at Crowley soberly. "I should try to talk her into leaving. She's strong, but it isn't the kind of strength that'll help her here." It went without saying that he wasn't sure he could.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

That got a raised eyebrow. "Not decided? That doesn't sound the the Kit I-you've described." To cover his gaffe, Crowley spoke quickly. "We can get Adam to keep a close eye on her, I'll bet, and I don't mind hanging around a bit and distracting a few characters." It was a mark of his friendship with John that he was actually volunteering to help.

He looked intently at the wan figure across from him. "But isn't that where you ran into problems before? She didn't want you telling her what to do, controlling her life? I think it's a bad idea. Start you off on the wrong foot. She'll be safe here. More so than anywhere else. And don't underestimate the power of denial in the human female," he tried to joke. "Honestly, if someone came up to you and said she was a succubus or the archangel Uriel or a cat goddess, you'd just think she was crazy. But these people are used to being discrete." He hoped.

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

John nodded, noting Crowley's stumble but not commenting on it. He really wasn't sure just how much of his history the demon had picked up in Belfast or how seriously it had affected the demon, but he had little choice but to trust Crowley could handle it (and wouldn't use it against him, even with good intentions.) "No, it doesn't. But then, I'm not the same person I was then either. Not completely." And Kit herself had been a big part of the reason. "Thanks, mate, I do appreciate that."

He settled back in his chair, shaking his head. "I never tried to tell her what to do. It was more she didn't want me telling her what I was doing, or letting it come near her. But you're right, I shouldn't start now." That was something of a relief. The reflex to take the responsibility or the blame for everything was an old and persistent one that he'd fought for years, even when he'd protested outwardly, and it wasn't helped by the fact that a lot of other people seemed all too willing to let him have it. Kit included. He wondered if he'd finally get a chance to speak his piece now that she was here, and whether it would sound as reasonable out loud as it did in his head.

"Heh. I would, but then I'd have to conclude I was in an asylum. Again. Maybe I should have introduced you as Dr. Crowley." He smiled slightly at the "discrete" remark. Some of them were, and some of them weren't, and some of them walked around naked, with wings or animal heads, magic wands or goblets of virgin's blood. Yeah, might as well face it, the best they were likely to do was cushion the shock a bit. Maybe that would be enough.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The demon nodded. He could see the sense in that. Then he laughed. "But this is an asylum, John. Whoever's not actually insane is a political hostage. Adam's got us both coming and going. Think she can accept that?"

He finished his drink. "I do like 'Dr. Crowley' though..."

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

"Don't know. We'll find out, I guess." He would have said no, but then, before coming here, he would have said he couldn't have accepted it. Funny how these things worked out. "You could always ask Gabriel if you can borrow his white coat...not really your color, though."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"Absolutely not my colour," the demon retorted. "Wore it once in 1922. I think Aziraphale actually went comatose for a minute. But I gave it up. I looked like a waiter."

Ensconced comfortably in their old bickering roles, Crowley sighed silently with relief. It looked like, for now, John was going to be okay.