Aziraphale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tartanisstylish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caveofsapphires2012-04-24 10:28 pm
tartanisstylish) wrote in caveofsapphires2012-04-24 10:28 pm
some days I don't know if I am wrong or right;
WHO: Aziraphale (John) and Liam (Owen).
WHAT: Memory rehab feels, OR an unwise conversation.
WHERE: Aziraphale's condo.
WHEN: Tuesday, April 24, evening.
-
It was not an unfamiliar story.
God made the angels and God made man, and whatever Aziraphale currently knew of God and himself the story was the same.
Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
Good and evil were, perhaps, rewritten here; and even if they were not, hadn't he been warned? Everyone had said, and he'd sensed it, an undercurrent of tension never quite mentioned but nigh physical in its constant presence.
In his way, he wondered if he had been judged. After all, in his brief time as a human he had not lived well. He had disobeyed; he had been gluttonous. He had insisted on his glory and a history of which he had no proof other than his own memories. And there was still that spark hovering on the edge of his mind that said, No, you were right all along. You know better. You're an angel, and you shouldn't be here.
The worst part had been the physical blow of emotion. He'd remembered lying still and silent, staring at nothing in particular on the ceiling, dirty and smelly and empty-minded, as if he was there right then. He'd missed work. He hadn't left the house for a day and a half until it started to seep away, and even then he hadn't been able to escape it entirely until Saturday. Such a vulnerable feeling - nothing he'd ever felt had been like it - a raw, gnawing, empty hunger. He'd cried. He didn't think he'd ever cried, in his Dream.
It was so tempting to blame all of this on Gabriel, but really Gabriel had had nothing to do with it. He'd sinned and he'd suffered. Gabriel had simply been a convenient excuse. In any case, he'd been careless before he met the other angel (or whatever). Careless enough to apparently miss something that had happened to Owen in the last week, although admittedly everything had been foggy recently. And careless after, allowing himself to be persuaded into this meeting. (Persuading himself, he chided himself silently; no good trying to lay the blame on Owen after all of this, he didn't deserve it.)
It would be lovely to scurry away into a quiet corner with a window out onto the busy street or the chalk, he wasn't picky, open up something old and clever that he'd read a hundred times before, and forget all of this. As it was, he had the choice of either putting Owen in further danger or being cautious, for once.
So he made his way to the front of the building, head down, brow furrowed, to head Owen off. He would never forgive himself if something happened to him because Aziraphale was feeling sorry for himself. By the time he made it out the front door, he had nearly figured out how to persuade Owen that everything was actually fine and he should go home to his husband.
WHAT: Memory rehab feels, OR an unwise conversation.
WHERE: Aziraphale's condo.
WHEN: Tuesday, April 24, evening.
-
It was not an unfamiliar story.
God made the angels and God made man, and whatever Aziraphale currently knew of God and himself the story was the same.
Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
Good and evil were, perhaps, rewritten here; and even if they were not, hadn't he been warned? Everyone had said, and he'd sensed it, an undercurrent of tension never quite mentioned but nigh physical in its constant presence.
In his way, he wondered if he had been judged. After all, in his brief time as a human he had not lived well. He had disobeyed; he had been gluttonous. He had insisted on his glory and a history of which he had no proof other than his own memories. And there was still that spark hovering on the edge of his mind that said, No, you were right all along. You know better. You're an angel, and you shouldn't be here.
The worst part had been the physical blow of emotion. He'd remembered lying still and silent, staring at nothing in particular on the ceiling, dirty and smelly and empty-minded, as if he was there right then. He'd missed work. He hadn't left the house for a day and a half until it started to seep away, and even then he hadn't been able to escape it entirely until Saturday. Such a vulnerable feeling - nothing he'd ever felt had been like it - a raw, gnawing, empty hunger. He'd cried. He didn't think he'd ever cried, in his Dream.
It was so tempting to blame all of this on Gabriel, but really Gabriel had had nothing to do with it. He'd sinned and he'd suffered. Gabriel had simply been a convenient excuse. In any case, he'd been careless before he met the other angel (or whatever). Careless enough to apparently miss something that had happened to Owen in the last week, although admittedly everything had been foggy recently. And careless after, allowing himself to be persuaded into this meeting. (Persuading himself, he chided himself silently; no good trying to lay the blame on Owen after all of this, he didn't deserve it.)
It would be lovely to scurry away into a quiet corner with a window out onto the busy street or the chalk, he wasn't picky, open up something old and clever that he'd read a hundred times before, and forget all of this. As it was, he had the choice of either putting Owen in further danger or being cautious, for once.
So he made his way to the front of the building, head down, brow furrowed, to head Owen off. He would never forgive himself if something happened to him because Aziraphale was feeling sorry for himself. By the time he made it out the front door, he had nearly figured out how to persuade Owen that everything was actually fine and he should go home to his husband.