Snippet for Lynda

[louiselux]

tboy, this is for you. Crowley and Aziraphale and the Vatican, as requested. It's a sort of sequel to New Day, but it can be read on its own too.


Heavenly Messenger



'The Pope's yours, is he?' Crowley said, idly stirring sugar into his treacle-black espresso. The small white cup and saucer had appeared in front of him seconds after he'd unexpectedly dropped into the chair opposite.

Aziraphale shrugged. 'This one is, apparently.' He sighed. 'I suppose I'd better go and do him.' He glanced at Crowley's wristwatch. Crowley still hadn't bothered to explain what he was doing here. 'Have you got something on too?'

'Hmm? Me? No, no. Just dropped by.'

They were sitting at the tourist tables of a little café, in a pretty square just around the corner from the Trevi fountain. Aziraphale liked it there - it was central, not too far on foot to reach the Pontiff. It was a typical summer's evening in Rome, the air was heavy and warm and liable to make one cough if one breathed in too deeply. The place was packed handbag to handbag with tourists, with noise and life. Aziraphale had been watching them, not thinking too deeply about anything, running over his message. He didn't usually turn up in person, but Heaven had made a special request. Aziraphale had it all planned. A quick hello, shake hands and have a nice afterlife. Point the way to the exit. Nothing too fancy.

Then Crowley had turned up, very Italian in his suit and sunglasses. He didn’t look like he was there for no reason. Aziraphale couldn't read Crowley's mind, but he'd become expert at being able to tell when he was lying, sometimes just by looking. He suspected that Crowley might have the same expertise with him.

'Well?' Aziraphale asked.

Crowley leaned forward. 'You didn't tell me you were coming to Rome. Let's just say I haven't forgotten what happened last time you came here.'

'Last time.' A small cold shock went through him. Aziraphale hadn't thought of it until then, but he knew exactly what Crowley meant. 'You came here because of that?' he said. He put his half-full coffee cup down very gently with shaking hands and got up.

'You haven't finished,' Crowley said in surprise. 'Where are you going?'

'To do my job,' Aziraphale said, and walked away.

*

Aziraphale crossed the dark, empty square. The guards on the gate were chatting, relaxing on the quiet shift. They didn't notice him passing. Through the gate and on, a few steps and he was back in Rome, walking towards the city centre, through squares, past cafés full of noisy people eating ice-cream, drinking beer and coffee, people who liked staying up late. The city was still jumping with life, even this early in the morning.

It was easy to forget the frail old man he'd just left, lying alone and cold in his small bed, surrounded by plain walls, at odds with the gilding and the marble and the priceless art that decorated his workplace. Aziraphale's shoulders ached slightly where he'd got his wings out. He really preferred to keep his suit on for deathbed visitations, but the orders had been for wings and a smart robe. The Pontiff had seemed pleased by the end, as far as Aziraphale could tell, once the glaze of awed terror had passed from his eyes. Or it could just have been relief that his supernatural visitor wasn't sporting sunglasses and a set of fangs. But Crowley surely would have told him if he'd done a deal this late on. Crowley.

Father Benicio was probably still alive somewhere. His first name was Ettore; they used to walk together in the Vatican Gardens. Aziraphale told Ettore to call him Angelo. It made them both laugh, but for different reasons. Why did Crowley have to go and bring all that up again? It was a long time ago, nearly fifty years, though now Aziraphale could picture him like he'd seen him only yesterday. But the young man he'd known would be old now.

Aziraphale rubbed his head, as if he could push the memories out. He could have found out what happened to him, but he hadn't wanted to; it seemed unfair, somehow. He hoped that he'd gone off and fallen in love with someone more suitable, that he'd found someone. People said being alone was a terrible thing. It had taken him a long time to understand that. He thought Crowley might be helping.

Crowley was waiting for him, in the café just near the Trevi fountain, like Aziraphale had known he would be. He looked up as Aziraphale sat down opposite him.

'Coffee?' he asked, pushing a small white cup and saucer across the table - espresso loaded with Sambuca. The warm scent drifted across the table.

Aziraphale smiled very slightly. 'Thanks. Listen, do you want to get incredibly drunk?'

'Yes.'

'All right?' Crowley asked after a minute or two, long enough for Aziraphale to be able to get himself together.

'Fine.'

'You're not going to go all gooey-eyed over all the young priests again, are you?' Crowley said.

'No. And shut up. I wasn't gooey-eyed.'

'Says you. I was there, remember,' Crowley said.

'Yes.' Aziraphale took a breath. 'I never did say thank you for that.'

Comments

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Hee hee! Now, play nice, or the big bad demon will come and get you. *Thinks* That's not actually much of a threat, is it? *g*