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Christmas Comeback

The irony wasn't lost on Crowley. As the sun rose higher, he stretched and yawned, and promply rolled off the roof of the stable outside of the church. Quite certain he'd made a loveley addition with his charred scales and gleaming wings as the Herald Angel, he picked his naked self up off the ground and, after looking at his surroundings, he wondered why no one had given him a shiny trumpet and a sash to complete the mockery.

Being back on Earth, around them, he manifested a pair of jeans and snakeskin boots and proceeded to saunter to the Rare Books Shop for a proper cup of tea on this lovely Christmas morning.

In his fist, he carries a gift for Aziraphale...not from him, but rather from The Adversary. The angel's tear holds the millenia of Aziraphale's influence over Crowley...who has been instructed to give. it. back.

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Aziraphale hasn't seen any point in opening the shop officially, with so few people in town and his own employees on holiday. He'd considered stopping at the church, but he'd heard some rumours about the new priest and wasn't certain he'd last the service without doing something inappropriate -- like laughing.

He's actually been in pretty good spirits since his evening with House, and he's sitting quietly in the lounge, one ear listening for the door in case an errant customer wanders in, working a crossword and -- of course -- drinking tea.

Flinging the door open, he stalks in. Sniffing the air momentarily, he heads straight back to the lounge. Cigarette between his lips, smoke curling around his hair, he leans against the doorjamb...his black wings unfurled wide and his shirtless blody smudged with ash. His acid yellow eyes blink slowly as he pulls the cigarette out, exhaling a blue-grey cloud.

"Happy Christmas, Aziraphale." he says flatly, a sneer curling his lip. He casually tosses the gem to the angel.

Aziraphale's surprise at seeing the demon causes him to overlook the somewhat unusual attitude. He instinctively catches the gem as it's tossed to him, glancing quickly at it before jumping up from the chair and striding across the room to where Crowley stands.

"Dear boy, you've come back!" The angel's eyes are bright with pleasure, and he puts a hand to Crowley's cheek as he smiles. "I mean, I knew you would, I'm just pleased that it's so soon."

Finally taking in the demon's appearance, his smile changes to a rather horrified expression. "Crowley, you look a wreck! Come sit, and have some tea."

Jerking his face back, away from the angel's hand, he strides into the lounge and flops on the couch. Pulling one leg up and stretching his wings comfortably, he takes another drag.

"I look just fine, Aziraphale, all things considered."

The sudden move away startles the angel, troubling him a little. It's so unlike Crowley, although Aziraphale supposes that the trip can't have been much fun and that the demon is probably suffering a little for it.

Calmly, he slips the jewel into his pocket and pours a cup of tea, coming to sit at the foot of the couch. Holding the cup out to Crowley, he smiles worriedly. "Yes, all things considered, I suppose you do look well. But...you look as though you had rather a rough time of it. Is there anything I can get you?"

He lays a hand gently on the demon's leg.

Pulling away again, he takes the tea. "You could stop crowding me, Aziraphale. It's not often a fellow wakes up on the roof of a Nativity stable, only to fall off...I'm not in the most pleasant mood." He looks around, taking another drag. "What's going on? Have you replaced me so quickly?"

"The roof of the... I'm sorry, dear boy. They do have the most unfortunate sense of humor, don't they. And I'm terribly sorry for crowding you."

The angel moves away a bit, frowning at the request. "What do you mean, replace you?" Aziraphale looks around the shop. "You know I would never do that, Crowley. What makes you say so?"

What happened? he wants to add. But he doesn't.

Blinking at the angel and his demonic guest from the doorway, she can't help but hiss and then shriek.

//Wiling and thwarting doesn't mean sharing tea, Aziraphale! He's not your friend. Not your companion. He's your nemesis!//

Still shrieking, she dashes out of the Shop, away from the demon.

He jumps at the sudden sound, nearly spilling his tea. The admonishment hits him a moment later, and he sits staring at the door.

"I don't believe you've met my guest, dear boy. That was Magdalene. She's here to inspect me. And I don't think I'm doing a very good job of passing."

Aziraphale sets the teacup on the table, hands shaking a little, and turns to Crowley for reassurance.

"Of course you aren't. You've been as lazy as I have. She's not so stupid as to not realize you've gone native." he shrugs. "You're buggered, but good. Why's she so short...and strange looking?"

"She's...she appears to have somehow corporialized from the feathers we left in the wardrobe. And she acts like a child, although she isn't one. I haven't any idea how to deal with her, she asks the strangest questions and runs about playing games with the mortals."

Crowley's reaction isn't quite what Aziraphale had been hoping for, and in fact his entire demeanor has been rather off-putting.

"Dear boy, aren't you...aren't you pleased to be back?"

"Of course I'm pleased to be back, Aziraphale. I've plenty to catch up on. The world isn't corrupted by bad traffic and cell phone ringtones all on it's own, you know." Sneering, he polishes off his tea, standing. "Just thought I'd pop in as professional courtesy and all. Any decent nemesis does that, right?"

"'Professional courtesy?' Crowley, what are you talking about? What do you mean, 'pop in'? You can't...you can't be heading straight back out, without at least a bit of a rest." He waves his hand at the couch. "Sit back down and I'll get you the paper, and you can put your feet up for a bit. I can't see why the rest can't wait until tomorrow."

The demon's attitude is really starting to worry Aziraphale now, and he stands and walks over to Crowley, putting a hand on his arm. "Dear boy, what's happened?"

"Aziraphale, you're so...close." he shakes off the touch once again, and stands, moving toward the fire. "Nothing's happened. Nothing to concern yourself with. I've just been made aware of how very important is is I actually do my job and stop taking time for personal indulgences." He shrugs, then tosses his cigarette butt into the fireplace.

"'Personal indulgences...'"

Aziraphale realizes that half of the conversation thus far has been repeating things the demon says. But it simply hasn't been making sense. Although it's beginning to.

"They told you to step off, didn't they? To stop...to stop being involved with me. Did they threaten you, Crowley?"

He moves back into the demon's space again, putting his hand more firmly on Crowley's shoulder, turning the demon to face him.

He snorts, trying without success to shrug off the grip. "Of course not, Aziraphale. No one threatened me. I just had a very nice chat with Lucifer, followed by an eternity of torment. It was quite a time." He grins, colder than usual. "You're just bothered by your little watcher. Don't think about me. You'll wind up with your ass in a sling."

"I can't help think about you, Crowley." The words come out perhaps a little stronger than Aziraphale intends, but he's beginning to think he understands what's going on, and he doesn't like it.

"Are you leaving me, Crowley? And if you are, is it because they told you to, or because you want to?"

"Oh, angel, I'm not leaving you. You can't get rid of me that easily. No, I'm sticking around for as long as the ineffable allows. I'm just going to be...busy." So much goes unsaid in that one small word. He smiles hard at Aziraphale and reaches up, brushing his hand off.

"Get out, Crowley."

The angel steps back and turns to clear away the tea things.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, but it's time for you to leave. Next time you come here, I'll expect an explanation. And better manners."

His voice is cold and sharp, and he doesn't try at all to hide his hurt.

"No game, Aziraphale. This is the job we were given thousands of years ago. Have you forgotten?"

Moving toward the doorway, a fine, black Armani suit manifests, along with a pair of Foster Grants. He turns back, looking at the angel over the top of the lenses.

"I'll see you around, dear boy. I hope you like your gift. It took nearly the legions to pull it out of me." He wrinkles his nose and pushes his glasses up, stalking out of the Shop.

Once the demon has gone, Aziraphale pulls the little jewel out of his pocket, holding it in his palm as he studies it. As the realization of what it is hits, he drops into a chair, bowing his head in defeat.

"That's it, then?" he whispers. "Six thousand years, gone?"

The door of the shop locks, and the angel sits staring into the fire.

[ooc- *wibbles*]

(([is also wibbling]))

((OOC: joins in the wibbling

OOC but IC: is possibly the tiniest bit happy, okay, more than the tiniest bit.))

((*adds to the wibbling*))

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Christmas Comeback

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