The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 15: To Reach Out Thru a Fog

Chapter 15: To Reach Out Thru a Fog

Anathema twisted her body around the silent angel, but never laid a hand on him. She turned this way and that, looked hard into his face, into the hooded eyes and the half-opened smile. She said hello to him. He replied, but he acted as if he were sleepwalking, not truly seeing her. His head tilted to the sound of her skirts swishing around him.

"So, I guess taking his pulse is out of the question?" Crowley told her non-candidly.

She treated it like a real inquiry. "Be no good, with an angel. Have to try other things."

Then she raised up and remarked to the demon. "He's very serene, isn't he?"

"Off with the fairies, he calls it."

"Hmmm." She looked down at some light movement by at the angel's side. He was sliding his thumb repeatedly over his pinkie ring. "Truly angelic."

Crowley was silent.

"Did he look like this before the Fall, I wonder?" It had been a rhetorical question.

"Oh yes."

Anathema locked eyes with the demon, but he stared back blankly. She let it drop, and slapped her hands on her thighs. "Well then, let's begin."

The session, for lack of a better word, started with a battery of questions directed to the angel. Name, date, time. Do you know where you are? That sort of thing.

Then, it led to headier things. Hypothetical situations. What would you do if? His answer to every one of those was pretty much what you'd expect.

"And if Crowley or I were to demand that you—" she mentioned the worst thing she could think of. Crowley actually winced. The angel merely smiled.

"But that's preposterous," he murmured. "I could never do that."

The witch stood up straight. She took off her glasses. Then, out of nowhere, she grabbed a letter opener left somewhere and held it to her throat. Crowley jerked away to stop her, but the angel beat her to it. Without moving his body, his hand had instantly come up and grasped her wrist firmly. He still smiled.

"Well, that's encouraging."

She let the letter opener clank to the floor. The angel genteelly bent down, retrieved it, and placed it out of her reach.

"Have you lost your mind!" Crowley exclaimed as he drew Aziraphale close to his side. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at all," she admitted frankly. "And I'm not finished. Calm down or I can't do this."

He pointed at her with his full hand," You're not going to eat a gun next, are you!"

"No," she said, "Going into another direction." She spun around, looking up, looking down. "Is there anything around here he particularly treasures?"

"Take your pick, he's practically a hoarder."

Anathema decided on the rather dog-eared novel the angel had previously had in his hand when she first arrived. Stepping forward, she placed the book close to his face, then drew it up to her own. She folded it open at the cover page, then with her other hand, attempted to tear it.

And it wasn't so much a movement. Well, it was. It's just that it didn't seem like one. No time elapsed at all from the time her fingers put pressure on the page until Aziraphale's hand was once again firmly grasping her wrist. Without commit she offered him back the book and once again, he blindly took it and placed it beyond her reach. She rose up on her toes then settled down again. "Promising."

"Yes, but what does it tell you?" Crowley hissed irritably.

She put her hands to the small of her back and approached Crowley. "That he reacts to his environment. That he can't be in thrall to anything he doesn't want to do. Now, one final thing."

Anathema stepped so close to the demon that her hair brushed his nose. "I'll need your help with this one."

"Whot?" he asked, a little worried. He glanced at the angel, standing with his back to them, his head tilted to their movements.

"I'm going to strike you in the nuts."

"Oh, is that all?" Crowley straightened. "I thought you said you weren't going to touch anybody."

"I said I wouldn't touch him. I didn't say anything about you. Are you ready?"

"Look, how does this advance the plot?"

"You'll see. You want to help him, don't you?"

"Woll, yes, but usually I need a bit more warning, and better lighting—"

Her knee came up. It never had a chance.

Out of nowhere came a cyclone of white and wind and the sound like an exploding parachute. Crowley was nearly knocked to the floor. Anathema was swept back. Disoriented, she grabbed the side of a table, then blinked and looked up.

Aziraphale stood right in front of the rising demon. Same cheesy grin. Same hooded eyes. Same relaxed body. But sprouting out of his shoulders in a dazzling display of pearl white were two enormous wings. With their arrival a soft glow shimmered over the angel. Crowley, just at dumbstruck as she was, stood amidst the gently flapping wings. With his every move they guarded him, right and left.

"Angel," he gasped.

"His instinct is to protect the things he holds most dear," she whispered.

They both held there collected breath.

And then, thru no volition of its own, the witch's hand came up. She shuttered and held it there. She struggled.

Crowley tilted his head. "I've seen that look before. It's hard to fight, inn't it? The instinct to touch an angel's wings?"

"Overpowering," she whispered, trying to step back.

"You don't want to break your promise, so here." There was a thunderous noise, a whump that shook the very air, and Anathema's eyes were mesmerized by the sudden appearance of Crowley's sleek black wings. Rainbows glinted off the feathers as he rose them above the angel's head.

"It's a poor replacement for his. But it'll do."

After whipping them around a few times, he slowly stretched them further out to her, and she let her hand go and touch them. A shiver went through both of them.

She retreated, as did his wings. In an instant they disappeared from sight.

She was blushing hard.

"Well, that was...electrifying."

Crowley offered," It's nothing to be embarrassed about. No angel, and very few demons in certain dress, has ever encountered a human that didn't feel the urge to reach out. Bravo for fighting it."

"It was an honor," she admitted reluctantly

"Well, think of it as a thank you," he replied in the same tone, "For all you lot are doing. Not that we asked."

"She can touch my wings," the angel murmured. Crowley and Anathema snapped their heads around.

"Did you hear—"

"I did," said Crowley in disbelief.