The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 69: A Gift

Chapter 69: A Gift

Forget about the ancient lateness of evening. We have moved into a morning so early it isn't born yet.

On its trickling minutes floated the ships of memory, a fleet of bobbing ah-ha moments. Once their cargo entered the ports of the couple's exhausted minds, they drifted away to resupply for yet another day.

Crowley felt a soft nibbling on his earlobe, and the caress of the angel's mouth behind. Slowly he rose his head, Aziraphale pressing his cheek and nose into those small crevasses and down the demon's neck. When they both pulled away, they inspected each other with the dull exhaustion.

The angel touched Crowley's face with his fingertips and drew them back, perplexed.

Crowley's eyes followed the fingers. "Woll, look at that. No blood."

Aziraphale remained silent, turning his hand over.

"Should have seen me earlier. Stuff was pooling everywhere. Got most of it before Olivia popped in."

"She was in town?" Not stated with the expected surprise. Aziraphale seemed to preoccupied with the demon's tears.

"Happen to be on holiday here. Whot are the chances, roit?" Crowley smoothed a thumb over the angel's jawline and woke him up a bit, towed his eyes away from his fingers. "Walked me half-way home. We talked."

"I called the witch."

"And I've...seen 'Jinny.'"

"So have I."

"I know."

"Oh?"

"She told me."

"You're luring her out somehow, aren't you?"

It wasn't an accusation. It could have been, earlier. But not now. Crowley nodded affirmation. "This is going to take a while to get through, Aziraphale."

"It's not our first debate," the angel observed. "But it's so different, and so new." His brow furrowed and he looked down. "I don't like it. I feel trickery afoot."

"The homunculus is trying to take advantage of our relationship, and its newness. To put a wedge between us. She sees the mirrors in my soul. She's seen you there too. With that, she'll try anything."

"First, with the lock of hair, and then her threat to me. Crowley," Aziraphale dropped his hand and pulled away heading for the kitchen. The demon followed. And as the angel spoke, he placed a tea towel under running water until it warmed. "I must explain something to you. I don't know exactly when that happened, her popping up like that. It feels old and recent at once." He turned off the water and wrung the towel out, a bit too much. "I don't know if I'm confused or if...Crowley, dear boy, I feel as if I moved thru time."

"And with that, and the nightmares, you think you're losing your grip."

The angel nodded, his face contorting. As he turned around he bathed the demon's face, thought it was merely slick with salt tears and not crimson.

"I believe you, angel. Something's happened with you, since All Soul's Day, and then Amsterdam. But I don't believe you're losing your grip. You're doing something new."

"But I can't control time like you."

"No one controls time. They control how they move thru it. I only slow us down. Somehow, you've learned to go back and forth." He smiled as the warm moist cloth touched his gaunt cheeks. "Look at you, learning new skills. Why, you're hunting along with me."

The angel's hand dropped from his face. Crowley gripped it. "While inventing new terrors for myself."

"None of that, angel." Aziraphale went back to the sink and cleaned out the towel, then laid it on the side to dry. His head tilted to listen, but he didn't turn around, even after Crowley leaned against his back, pressed his hand to his shoulder, and hissed encouragement in his hear. "A fleeting fancy, that's all. You're letting that monster's words consume you."

"It's revolting, Crowley," the angel hissed, biting his lip, "How can I want that from you? How can I ever dare to ask it?"

"You don't want it, not for real. That's why it's a fantasy. We all have them, once in a while. They're silly things, mostly. Some are harmless, possible or otherwise. Others, well, not at all the same in reality and that's where yours is. You know if expressed the outcome would be not what you desired."

"Then why is it there at all!"

Crowley's arms wrapped around him, and the angel returned it, melting a bit, letting the demon rock him. "You like to be vulnerable, angel: wide open. Didn't we learn that in Amsterdam? On All Soul's Night? Didn't we learn that with the week-long fuckfest that brought us to this point?"

"Yes," he agreed, closing his eyes. "The worship."

"I can give you that, angel, though we switch. I can give you a safe place to explore. I can even occupy that space with you, when required. But you can bet the whole earth that I will never put you under my sway. As if you really want me to."

"Are you so sure?"

"You like who you are. So much so that you've fought heaven and hell for the right to be who you are. Does that sound like a person willing to have his will drained away?"

"No."

They both awkwardly regarded each other, then Crowley tilted his head," I nearly forgot. I bought you a gift before we left France. Last minute, while I was 'out and about.'" He grinned sheepishly at the turn of phrase.

The angel's lips quivered, "A gift?"

"It's the season."

"Why do I feel you have given me more gifts than I will ever know?"

The demon ignored the comment, rummaging around the kitchen. "It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things. Remember the citrus fruit farm?"

The angel knitted his fingers. "The one with the buddha fingers and fifty types of

hybrid—"

"Yes. Ah here it is. Still fresh." Crowley reached into a small alcove, producing a wooden bowl covered by a tea towel and setting it on the table. "Here it is."

"Oh, Crowley!" The angel was suddenly touched. Reaching out he removed the towel to reveal vibrant colors and fresh clean aromas that woke up his senses. "Oh, when did you find the time?"

"When your back was turned, as always. Asking silly questions of the growers."

The angel shrugged his chin to his shoulder. "Thought you'd might like to know."

"I don't grow produce, angel."

Aziraphale blushed and delicately handled the fruit.

"That's not all."

The angel looked up at him.

Crowley pulled out a bag and sat that on the table.

"Dark chocolate? And pralines? While we were in Belgium?"

"Woll, yeah." He made his way past the angel and opened the fridge, then sat a small tray down and pulled off the plastic.

"Seafood? Cheeses? Dear boy, this is my kitchen. However did you hide all this?"

"Wiley, remember?" he chuckled, pulling some bottle out before closing the fridge.

"When were you going to give them to me?"

"Sometime during the holiday season, but things got ahead of us, I guess you might say."

Aziraphale went quiet for a minute, then opened the bag and indulged in smelling it. He said," Yes. I suppose they did."

"For now, I'll indulged that vulnerability of yours." He wrapped his fingers around the angel's wrist as he dropped the bag. He looked at him, questioning.

"Angel?"

"Yes?" he asked uncertainly.

"Angel, close your eyes."