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KarotsaMused
Author of 76 Stories |
Beta-read by Optimoose. I doubt I can live up to her standards, but I try ;)
The title, if you haven't already guessed, is a terribly bad pun. Deafness is life without Ears.
I'm proud of myself with this one. I really do like it, surprisingly enough, and I'm glad I managed to tie in a bit of "The Gameboard and the Hourglass" - reading that, of course, is not integral to understanding this (although having my brain might help) but this could very well be construed as one of God's helpful nudges in the right direction during game-play. Bwahaha. Comments and criticism, of course, are greatly appreciated - this thing is still most definitely open for editing.
Aziraphale awoke and surveyed his surroundings. No paramedics were warming up the defibrillator; no worms were drooling in anticipation. He was in a dusty, comfortable armchair that smelt slightly of mold. A bit of the bookshelves at his side had been cleared, and on that shelf rested a mug with the room-temperature dregs of a cup of tea. He was completely alone.
Aziraphale hadn't been alone for a while. Longer, in his emotional sense, than the time period really was. Crowley was gone, had obviously left a while ago with no fanfare. And Aziraphale knew, despite his direst wishes, that the back room was also empty, cleared of any remnant of the presence of a small, battered kitten.
Fervently, Aziraphale wished Crowley had let him clean out his own back room. Or let him shovel the dirt over the shoebox in the park. Aziraphale had no labor for closure, no physical work to put the final point at the end of the metaphorical sentence. There wasn't even a mound in the grass to mark the grave. Crowley was terribly impersonal like that.
Aziraphale straightened up, shaking the dust out of his hair. Out of metaphysical habit, he sneezed. The reaction was so jarring that he gave a few extra, pathetic little sniffles and indulged in memory.
Ears truly was a wonderful, unassuming little creature. There had been days when Ears had opened his one good eye to watch Aziraphale as the angel bustled around the back room, and days when Ears had been strong enough to eat on his own. Ears never mewled for attention, but sat patient and silent in waiting. Even before Aziraphale had thought to make a litterbox for him, he'd set up his own practice, a little cordoned-off area of the incubator, as soon as he'd been able to walk on his own. Ears' first dizzy, tentative steps were wonderful for Aziraphale. He'd almost called Crowley to get the demon to come and watch.
Ears had been strong enough to walk for six days before he suddenly collapsed and was unable to move again. Aziraphale had stayed with him through his decline, singing to him and stroking his little body and trying to get milk into him at every time Ears was willing. Aziraphale, if he had to leave the back room, left Ears cuddled in a nest of blankets inside his incubator.
Ears died when Aziraphale was out of the room, in the middle of a fevered nap.
Had Aziraphale been younger, less patient, less experienced, he would question God and His Ineffability. Anger would be easy, but logic is more consuming. Aziraphale had learned it best not to ask Why but What Next. Ears had, presumably, died for a reason. God, who loved all His Little Creatures, couldn't possibly poison an innocent ball of fluff - here, Aziraphale blew his nose into his handkerchief - couldn't possibly allow the elements and circumstances to murder a perfect baby without some higher plan.
Thinking slowly, so as not to incite himself to another bout of tears, Aziraphale worked from the bottom. God does not show favoritism amongst His Creations, despite what some men may think, so it couldn't be to save a colony of starving fungi below ground. Aziraphale had to stop and wipe from his mind the image of decay. He quickly got up from the moldy chair, suddenly hating the smell of it, and took a few decisive steps toward the back room before stopping. He leaned against another row of bookshelves. The issue of Love also ruled out God's wanting to torture Aziraphale. It was Aziraphale's own fault for getting so attached to the kitten, wasn't it?
Unless God meant for that attachment. Aziraphale's bonding with Ears, giving him a name. But Crowley had named him, had cemented him in Aziraphale's heart and consciousness. Everything lies in the name. Crowley had given Ears his name.
Edgar Winthrop Hershey. A white kitten with such a black name. That was Crowley's sense of humor, and possibly Ears' death sentence. A creature so small must have suffocated under a name like that. Yet it was obvious Crowley knew that the kitten wouldn't survive for very long, and had probably been surprised that Ears lasted as long as he had. Aziraphale himself had been surprised.
Maybe Ears would have survived with a lighter name.
Aziraphale clapped his hands over his mouth as if he'd spoken it. Not Crowley. He knew Crowley. Crowley was the only constant face over six thousand years that wasn't draped in piety and a white robe. Crowley was...was a demon. An angel that had turned on God. He could turn on another angel without a second thought. Aziraphale knew some of the things Crowley had done, what Crowley's contemporaries and compatriots had devised. And if Heaven and Hell were against one another, what reason would Crowley have not to want harm to come to Aziraphale?
Not all pain is an act of God. God may just have wanted Aziraphale to realize that he was fraternizing with the enemy and that there was more at stake than the life of one kitten. Crowley was one of Them, a stigma blacker than Ears' full name.
The demon probably laughed once he got away from the mess Aziraphale made of himself. Laughed until saline tears flowed from his disgusting serpentine eyes.
Aziraphale stopped. He rather liked Crowley's eyes, on the odd occasion that he saw them. They reminded him of the Good Old Days, back when there were different rules. Easier rules. Crowley hadn't been bad company then.
Crowley hadn't been bad company for the past few days, either.
Crowley had stayed with him for two nights and a day. Crowley had done things for Aziraphale, probably done some of the things Aziraphale needed to do for himself. But Crowley had done them, and Aziraphale had never asked. Aziraphale hadn't even asked Crowley to come over. That was why he came in the first place. One of Them, one of The Enemy, showed such altruism and compassion, in his way.
Aziraphale slid down the bookshelf, leaning his back against it and wrapping his arms about his legs. "Is that it?" he asked softly. He ran the past day over in his mind. Crowley had been uncharacteristically gentle, if strained, and understanding. Crowley had been patient. Crowley didn't have to be that way, didn't have to stay, but he did it anyway. Aziraphale had never asked him; Crowley had talked himself into it. Had Crowley cared for Ears that much, even if he'd only seen the kitten on the one day when they found him?
Aziraphale put his head on his knees, unused to fighting off the heaviness of sleep and far too many hours' worth of grief. Crowley, he knew, wasn't particularly an Animal Person. Really, Crowley had come over only on the pretense of Ears' death. And then spent two nights and one day with Aziraphale. Focusing completely on Aziraphale. Protecting Aziraphale from the looks of passersby. Holding Aziraphale's hand.
Crowley's face was very obvious when he was about to laugh. He'd also never really caught the hang of hiding when he'd finished. It was the aura of natural smugness that oozed from him. And Aziraphale had seen no laughter on Crowley the entire time.
Crowley had come over on his own free will and spent two nights and one day caring about Aziraphale.
The angel gave a bit of a shudder. "That's it, isn't it." The statement only bore the syntax of a question, nothing more. "You had to kill a kitten, a poor, defenseless kitten...so Crowley and I would spend more time together." He let the tears come again, slipping into frustration. "I could have healed him too, but I didn't. Was that You?"
Free will is a human contrivance, the idea that mortals are in control. Aziraphale had long ago resigned himself to God's Will and his Place in the Scheme of Things. He hardly thought about it, except in times like these. He never questioned God's Plan, but was sometimes worried about his place in it. Who was to say that he wouldn't be a sacrifice as Ears had been? Desperately, Aziraphale clung to his faith and the knowledge of God's striving for a Greater Good. There had to be a goal somewhere.
"I'm not...I'm not mad at You. I shouldn't be mad at You, and I refuse to be." Aziraphale considered his soggy handkerchief for a moment, and decided to let it squelch, untouched, in his breast pocket. He sniffled, burying his red nose between his knees and talking into his legs. Muffled words were broken by hiccups, but Aziraphale knew he must be intelligible to Someone, Somewhere. He had to be, or else Aziraphale had nothing.
"I'm not mad," said Aziraphale. "But why, of all things, should an angel and a demon be...be... Why should Crowley care about me like that? We're on different Sides, and shouldn't You be furious about...about our spending time together anyway? I know You know about the Agreement. You'd know, or else You wouldn't be doing this. Why is it okay?"
Had Aziraphale been younger, less patient, less experienced, he would have looked for some ethereal sign of God's listening ear. A vision in the floating dust made to shimmer by the sunlight. A candle spontaneously lighting. A soft, feline yowl from the back room.
Nothing came.
An angel sat, pressed against a bookshelf, and cried again into his knees because he could not stop himself.
"Crowley? My dear, it's been nearly a year! How are you?"
"Yeah, yeah, angel, listen to me." Crowley paused and listened for an instant to Aziraphale's waiting silence. "Aziraphale, It's happening. The Antichrist is coming to ground zero, and I'm bringing Him in three weeks."
The line was silent for a long moment before Aziraphale muttered, "Oh. Oh, dear."
Crowley laughed dryly. "About what I said. Hey, um. Do you want to meet somewhere and have a few drinks? Got a funny feeling we don't have much time left before the Big One and I'd like to take advantage of it."
Crowley wasn't sure what came over him, but the question was already sizzling as it zipped through the phone line to Aziraphale's waiting ear. He didn't know whether he was annoyed or happy once Aziraphale responded with complete agreement.
