Huddled in a far corner of the greenhouse, a slender figure emerged slowly from the small space into which she'd curled herself when the name of Michael had reached her ears, allowing her own aura to normalize now that the danger had passed.

Ellie wasn't quite sure what it was that she had just heard. Though the demon on one side of the conversation hadn't been addressed by name, it wasn't too hard to pick out of context who he must be--but the accusations one of the archangels had leveled at him sounded wildly out of character for the Crowley of whom she'd heard Aziraphale and John speak so affectionately. That discrepancy paled, though, beside the frenzied shrieks and the wash of power that flooded the greenhouse, all courtesy of Raphael. Raphael, the Great Healer. What in Somebody's name had got into the little twerp?

The archangel's meltdown had caused Ellie no more than an uncomfortable stinging sensation all over her body--one fortunate side-effect of her neutral status was a decreased sensitivity to all things holy--but she had cringed sympathetically on Crowley's behalf, guessing the effect it would have at point-blank range on a relatively minor demon still wholly subject to Hell's influence.

Crawling out of her hiding place and brushing traces of potting soil from her skin-tight black jeans, she cautiously crept around a row of luxurious ferns that now resembled something out of a book on prehistoric Earth and studied the figure crumpled on the ground where the archangels had left him, apparently in the grip of mild hysteria.

Aziraphale was going to be so upset when he found out about this, and John would be absolutely livid. Come to think of it, Ellie was more than a little irked herself. Being something of an expert on emotional manipulation, she knew a con job when she heard one, and regardless of the truth or falsehood of his story, it was clear Raphael was leading Michael around by his blessed make-an-effort. The great oaf got off on playing with his sword more than enough without added encouragement.

Besides which, this angelic penchant for casually slapping around any demon they came across and then leaving their victim in the dirt was really beginning to piss her off.

Choosing a circuitous path that would ensure Crowley could see her before she came within arm's reach, she sank into a crouch beside him, pushing her long hair behind her ears automatically as she scanned the other demon for signs of damage. He looked surprisingly intact, all things considered, but the metaphysical clobbering had obviously taken its toll.

"Hey," she said softly. "Crowley, right? I'm Ellie. I come in peace, okay?"

At this close range, her sharp eyes could penetrate the near-opacity of his sunglasses well enough to register bewilderment and, she thought, lingering pain. Being a tactile creature by nature, she couldn't repress the urge to touch, raising the temperature of her own skin slightly to counter the chill of shock as she stroked his disheveled hair carefully back from his face. "You really must've worked overtime to get Raphael so riled up," she murmured. "He leave you two brain cells to rub together, sweetheart?"

So you're Crowley, huh? Well, full points for guts, but that mouth's really going to get you into a jam one of these days, she thought, trying not to be too charmed. Repeatedly standing up to Michael even on neutral ground wasn't exactly an act of genius, but she couldn't help but admire the sheer chutzpah.

And in all the times his name had come up in conversation, neither John nor Aziraphale had ever mentioned he was so darn cute.