The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 191:No Matter Where We Go, We Take a Little of Each Other Everywhere

Chapter 191: No Matter Where We Go, We Take a Little of Each Other Everywhere

Strange things were happening in the elven world.

Strange murmurings carried on the winds: the queen was keeping company with strange people in her private quarters, agreeing to secret contracts that sent forth strange activities making everyone busy and wondering and cautious.

And throughout all this busy but hushed undertaking, a strange knoll shuffled its way through its daily routines, unhindered and unnoticed, and in strange lonely corners it found a moment to both laugh and weep at once. For it was the only one that knew.

Someone had touched the queen.

Crowley did not go directly to the Barrowlands as Aziraphale had assumed. He went home for a spell.

Woll, not a real spell. Coulda' helped if there were an enchantment strong enough to protect him there. Iron was good, but it's a real bad idea, y'know, to dangle a nail in front of the queen's court when there are thousands of fay who very much like having their monarch unscathed and you not so much.

Nope. He just sidled in to gather his bearings. As grey as he was feeling, he needed a touchstone of sorts.

He passed the full-length mirror, shooting a fleeting glance to his reflection. A minute later he stood in front of it without his jacket and shoes. Her regarded himself, his chin resting on his thin neck, and then he peeled off his shirt to scrutinized what six months of life-altering events had wrought on him.

An emblem over his heart, in the very shape of a heart, an impression like a brand with swishing liquid metal pooling in the indentions. A thing he couldn't see under his heart but now known to Aziraphale: a collection of angel tears from every time Crowley lent him a shoulder. A silver chain, shorter than his older accessory, and not an accessory at all.

None of these things were accessories, he thought.

They are me.

And the snake? He tilted his head and looked hard. He touched it. He starred so long he got a crick in his neck.

Then he turned away, grabbed the nearest bottle of whatever was "drinkable," masturbated, then soppily and tearfully spouted curses while he released the liquor from his bloodstream and went down to the Bentley.

Aziraphale waited up all night for Crowley.

Coming back into his own body, and unbalanced, he found himself still at his own door, looking out. In a daze, he shut it and sat at his desk to unpack his brain.

The medallion pulsed, but never blazed. A few times it flickered as if it would. Then it went ice cold.

The morning light fell into the study, and Aziraphale prepared some tea. Just tea. That too, went cold.

Crowley arrived just before noon. Slamming the door and marching in as if on autopilot. No saunter, no show. His took off his glasses to reveal huge flaming eyes, and that tick in the corner of his mouth was beginning again, revealing that his fangs were starting to lengthen.

Aziraphale rose from his seat and approached the demon cautiously. Crowley didn't even blink, but said," I see whotever you're planning could wait after all." The angel didn't respond except to guide him to the sofa to sit down, snap his fingers to warm the tea, and go about fussing with the cups.

As he offered the demon one, Crowley numbly took it, then pulled out his phone and flung it on the table. He sipped, watching the angel's mesmerized reaction to the picture.

"Not long now," the demon said, owl-eyed.

"This is her, sculking about?"

"They've found her hidey-hole, if not her. Elf magic cameras, or whotever the hell that is, caught this before she disappeared again. But," he added, taking back his phone a bit roughly," she's as good as caught, soon."

"When?"

Crowley sniffed. "They think this afternoon."

"That...quickly?"

"Yep, that quickly," Crowley answered with a dull finality to his voice. Then he rose, and walked to the door. "I'm getting some shut eye, angel, before the final show begins."

"But you've just arrived!" Aziraphale rushed to stop him at the door. But Crowley already had his hand on the knob, and his face was still ticking, and he still hadn't blinked.

He took one long appraising look at the angel, gave him the tiniest of smiles, and kissed him on the forehead. "Thought it better to pop in at least to show you. But, woll.... anyway. We've got a lot to prepare for, respectively, don't we?"

The angel found his hand had slid into his pocket and gripped the coin. Crowley's eyes followed it knowingly. He finally blinked.

"Roit," he sighed, swinging the door wide open. "See you in a bit," he called over his shoulder as he marched out into the street to his car. Aziraphale bit his lip, and cursed.

And they went out their business.

Respectively.

Separately.

Disconnected, and disconcerted.