Sleep No More [closed]

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale's personal spaces are beginning to get a bit crowded. It isn't that he requires privacy wherever he goes. If that were so he wouldn't have put his shop right next to Sunshine's bakery. Spike is a wonderfully effective and low-maintenance employee, and Sunshine is a friend who brings treats when she visits. Crowley's occasional (increasingly occasional) stays in the back room are an assumption. And he certainly doesn't mind having Melanie in his flat - that's quite nice. Nicer than he thought it would be.

So really it's just Illyria. Suffering the God-King of the Primordium, squatting as they are, both in his shop and in another person's body, is really a bit much to ask, he thinks. All the rest would be fine. If it weren't for this one nuisance.

Well, at least she doesn't make too much trouble. And she seems content to mind her business and sit motionless for long periods of time.

Actually, that last part is a little creepy. And right now, as he's trying to read the lovely 1893 copy of the Sanskritized Hindi translation of Macbeth he had the good fortune to come across, it's distracting.

He lowers the small volume and looks at the God-King. "Illyria," he says, "do you ever sleep?"

Comments

[all_the_gifts]

She knew he wouldn't like it, she knew it would upset him, and she wishes she could just go back to bed and pretend everything is all right. It should be all right, because she trusts Aziraphale and she knows he'll do everything he can to keep her safe.

But that's not enough. There is a gap in the armor, and she can't pretend it isn't there or that nothing should be done about it... or that Aziraphale throwing himself between her and the combined forces of the Devil and Crowley (even a reluctant Crowley) is an acceptable solution. If that even could solve the problem, they wouldn't be in such a mess in the first place.

She can't bear the thought of hurting Aziraphale with her questions and doubts. But she can't bear the thought of the whole city - the whole world - falling to the cordyceps because it was easier to just trust that everything would be okay than it was to have a hard conversation about how to make sure that it would be.

For a few moments, all she can do is stand there and look tormented, torn between the desire to spare her angel's feelings and her need to be realistic because this is bigger than just him. Twisting her hands together, she finally forces herself to admit, "I'm not sure that's enough," her tone soft but strained.

[bibliophale]

He stares at her for a moment, shocked. Not just that she's questioning his judgment - though that is startling, he'd grown accustomed to how much weight he carried with her just by being what he was, as has always seemed proper - but that she's right. His trust is enough for him, but not for Melanie, the danger she presents.

He doesn't know how to confront that. He doesn't want to.

"What would you have me do?" he says a bit desperately. "Keep him out? Turn my back on him? He's a prisoner, not a - whatever Lucifer thinks he is. He..."

He cuts himself off abruptly. This isn't helping. This mess isn't her fault, and she's right to want what he promised, absolute protection, against all threats, hypothetical or otherwise. As long as Crowley belongs to Lucifer, he's a danger to Melanie. Even in the abstract. No matter how much he does not want to accept it.

Miserably, he takes his hands from her, staring at the floor. He lifts one hand and makes a limp, half-hearted gesture. A pulse of energy moves through the walls, the floor, the ceiling, pools around the windows and the door. She won't be able to feel it, but he'll know it's there. And Crowley will know, if he tries to come here again.

"I've reinforced the wards," he says dully, "so they'll keep out Crowley in addition to Lucifer. I'll know if he tries to break through. You'll be safe here."

He can't look at her. He should. He knows she must feel terrible about this, that she doesn't want this so much as she needs it. But it feels too awful. He's never had to take a measure like this, not once in six thousand years.

"Will that do?" he asks softly.

[all_the_gifts]

When he lets go of her, she steps back until the corner of the doorway presses into her shoulder blade. He looks like he did in the nightmare, broken and defeated. She did this to him, her doubts and fears as efficient as the nightmare-Devil's evil intentions and horrible weapons. And now he won't even look at her, because she's a monster and not the little girl she appears to be, and now he knows it. Because hurting an angel is something only a monster could do.

She's crying again, but this time she swipes the tears away before they can get very far. She won't make him comfort her, not after what he's already done for her.

"Yes," she says quietly. What else can she say? She presses her lips together, then makes herself turn away and climb back into bed. The impulse to hide beneath the covers is strong, but she resists, because that would be a little girl thing to do and she can't hide from this, anyway. "I'm sorry," she says, hating the way her voice cracks and staring fixedly down at her own lap. "You don't have to stay." She's certain he doesn't want to.

[bibliophale]

"Melanie..." He looks back up and watches her as she gets back into bed. She's refusing to meet his eyes now. After a moment he gets up and approaches her, not sure if he should sit down beside her or give her space.

"It's not your fault," he says. "You're right, this is... it's what we have to do."

He's not sure what else he can say. He does want to get out of there, horribly, but it's not because of her, it's because of what he's done, been forced to do by the circumstances, not by Melanie.

He sighs and shifts his weight awkwardly. "It's all right," he murmurs. He pats his pockets until he finds his phone, hesitating before sending a frustrated series of texts to the only person he can talk to about this. Wretchedly enough. He waits until he gets a response before he looks back at Melanie.

"I will be back," he says firmly. He wavers for a moment, then leans down and gives her a little kiss on the top of her head. "Sleep well, my dear."

He turns and leaves through the door, then stands in the hallway for a long, dismal moment before vanishing.