The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 95: To Hold Reflections in Your Hand

Chapter 95: To Hold Reflections in Your Hand...

Crowley had never had this many people in his flat. (The seventies didn't count. A lot in the seventies didn't count, or were best forgotten.)

As he turned the key he automatically proclaimed, "No one touch anything. No one ask questions."

Ignoring their curious path through his apartment he headed straight to his plants, and after a few approving grunts, it was then he decided to come back to frown at the group.

Aziraphale's hands were up on his chest again and he caught the demon's eye. "They haven't bothered anything Crowley," he said almost curtly. "Dish out your treasures."

Crowley blinked.

"The ones in your jacket, dear," the angel explained, doing a double take as Newt drifted his way to the sculpture of the angels. "Oh, bother..." Quickly he advanced to intercept.

Crowley's frown grew heavier.

His hands found their way into his jacket and he wordlessly withdrew the items. A shadow past over his shoulder. He turned to see Tracy as her eyes darted back and forth between his activity and those of the group. "You never touched anything," he reminded her.

"Only you, dearie."

"Look at'em gaupin' at my things. Do I look like I'm in the mood for a Q and A?"

"No one's done that yet, but it does invite questions. You have some astonishing possessions."

"They were meant for me."

"I'm not even sure about that." Tracy closed her eyes and lifted her hands.

"Does this place remind you of a museum?"

"No," she admitted breathlessly, fluttering her eyes back open and smiling warmly. "More like a shrine." He grunted, and turned back to the others.

If Crowley had been in a better mood, he might find it funny how each human reacted to his things. The witch took in a quick scan of the place then made a beeline to the eagle. Newt, as stated before, wandered over the angel statues with Aziraphale harried in his attempts to stop in predictable analysis. And Shadwell...

Well, Shadwell...

His soft-boiled eyes gleamed as he appraised everything, and you could see the mental calculations adding up in his head as his face worked in bewildering ways. No one could look as "Oh shit, Cha-Ching" as Shadwell when he was on a roll. And it had been so long. Old ideas resurfaced in his brain. A new energy coursed thru him since the mention of Newt's leads. Skills of yesteryear begged for exercise. He paused at last on the sketch, and both Tracy and the demon witnessed his fingers twitching. Just a little exercise.

The adept patted Crowley's hand and wordlessly headed him off.

Crowley regarded the witch, and sighed, and sauntered over to her.

The eagle perched in its warm light, as solid as the decades. In observing it, the dark woman was unreadable. When she felt Crowley at her side, she looked up and told him," You are so fucking sentimental."

"Gonna judge your host?" he offered lightly, gazing at the statue. "Not very polite."

She pointed. "This thing is from a church."