The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 45: Unscheduled Fun Part 1

Chapter 45: Unscheduled Fun Part 1

Morning came as a lazy nudge. Crowley woke, his hand extending outward to the pillow next to him, and he felt how cold, but how misshapen, it was. Opening one eye, he peered in the golden light at the empty space, then turned his face into his own pillow. His hand, then his whole arm, traveled down thru the rumpled sheets, and back and forth, at the spot presumably where the angel had tossed and turned the night before.

Then the demon rolled his head back, opened both eyes, and edged over into the spot. He inhaled, and drew up the mangled covers to his chin, and stretched into them. The smell of the angel was everywhere, lingering but present throughout the fabric. Crowley moved his limbs, huddling then splaying out, letting his naked skin brush hard against the linens, until he was enveloped in the aroma.

At last, his ears picked up on humming downstairs. Clinks and clanks and little mutterings, musings, shuffles, chuckles. A few happy noises as Aziraphale danced about below, gathering up the accoutrements and food for the noon meal out. Crowley coiled and rolled out of the wonderful nest of bedding.

There he sat, his long lithe body slouched over, his knees wide apart, and listened for a few minutes longer. No bready smells came up the staircase. Perhaps the angel had gone out earlier and purchased the food instead of making it himself. Maybe it was just sandwiches and beer.

How long has he been planning this? Crowley thought, finally rising and scratching his ass. Fifty years? Did he go through a thousand scenarios? The demon grunted and entered the bathroom, coming out clothed but slightly bedraggled. Snapping his fingers, he miracle away all the wrinkles in his clothes, the leaf bits and dirt still clinging to his jeans from the night before, straightened out his hair. If he has, I don't think he's fretting about it anymore. Otherwise, the kitchen will be a disaster zone of crookery and half abandoned meal ideas.

Crowley went back to the bathroom, checked himself in the mirror, and with a satisfied nod, made his way downstairs. No, at this point, he's just so happy for the chance to do it.

As the demon exited the bathroom, something flickered over the surface of the mirror, flashed brightly. And was gone.

Ok, maybe there was some fretting.

Every time Crowley tried to pull over somewhere, Aziraphale stopped him. "Not here," or "This isn't quite right," until the demon lost his patience and ground to a halt near a wood-edged glade. If they went any further they'd end up back in London.

But the angel seemed too pleased or preoccupied to argue, and jumped out of the car to retrieve everything out of the boot. Crowley unwound himself and got out, coming round the other side of the car to watch Aziraphale rummage around. Soon the demon was wordlessly be handed things, the angel patting each item on top as he stacked them in Crowley's arms. He was beaming the entire time, humming, and when he turned to lighten some of the demon's burden, he exchanged looks with him, and he blinked.

"What's the matter?"

"Hmph?" Crowley shook himself.

"You're a million miles away. Did you sleep well?"

The demon stuck out his lower lip. "Mm. Just watching you." Aziraphale's cheeks colored. His eyes didn't change, but his mouth worked a little. "You didn't, though. Sleep well."

That twisting mouth opened and the angel fluttered about. "Ah, um," he blew out his cheeks," Jitters."

"Jitters? Angel, it's chicken salad in the woods." Then Crowley tilted his head, "Or was it 17 other things before you finally decided on chicken salad?"