The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 163: A Working Record

Chapter 163: A Working Record

Midway through April Aziraphale had exhausted the books.

                And, himself.

                Thing is, while Crowley could sleep an ungodly amount of time, the angel was just the opposite. He worked insistently. Once he was on a roll, there was no stopping him.

                He only paused when he came to a solution or he was finally stumped. And if Crowley discovered him at the end of this state, he could usually tell which one it was.

                The bookshop door flung open, and the demon dragged himself in, knuckles nearly scrapping the floor. Aziraphale was at his desk, sitting very quietly staring at the air, piles of books so high around him he had practically built a fortification with them, with a narrow door out. As he passed by, Crowley took one bedraggled look to his friend, and said," Stumped, then?"

                The angel nodded numbly. Crowley nodded back, and fell headfirst into the couch like a sack of wet laundry.

                Eventually, he came for air, and rose. The angel hadn't budged. The demon leaned in, inspected him, then lightly brushed off the dust settling on him. After that, he asked," Ready to give up yet."

                Aziraphale's head mechanically turned left and right.

                "Me neither, but I want to."

                The angel finally engaged him, if only to look into his eyes.

                "Won't admit that, will you?" Crowley asked. "It's olright, you know. It's not givin' in. But at some point you're just---tapped out."

                "Yes," the angel whispered dully," but as you might say, being tapped out, I must tap out," he regarded the absolute spent demon, "and there is no one in any condition to tap in."

                "Look like I got run over, do I?"

                "Like you were playing fetch with the Bentley and forgot to get out of the way."

                "Oi, that is bad." This time it was the demon that went for the tea. He knew where it was. Presently he was more capable of setting it up than Aziraphale the statue.

As he got up and rummaged around, the angel asked," Another long drive?"

"Um-um. I say where's you tin?"

"Behind the copy of The Diaries of Ellis Hughes. Where did you go?"

"Turkey."

A long-stunned pause. "That's weeks away. Not to mention the water."

"Just zoomed through, like skipping a stone."

"Super-sonic," Aziraphale drawled. And then he shook himself and added, curtly," Here, could you have more care over there? You're smashing things, rifling around."

"My bad. You want some biscuits?"

"Not hungry."

"Now you're scaring me. You're eating the biscuits."

The angel groaned, finally taking in the site of the books, and made an attempt to free himself of his cocoon by rearranging the piles. "What time is it?"

"Evil day star is still hanging in the sky." Arriving with a clatter he really didn't intend, Crowley set the tea on the coffee table and fell back against the couch cushions. He didn't move until he watched Aziraphale serve himself.