Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

John was busy doodling on his notes in front of Star Tours.

He always had kept notes, but he seemed to have gotten worse about it here, where he was without his little tape recorder. They contained jotted bits of information, the ramblings of his muddy head, any little connections he wanted to keep for later. Considering how full his brain was compared to the average human, he really did need them to keep things vaguely organized.

The corner of his notes had a prowler sketched on it. It was kind of like the Peacekeeper version of an x-wing, a one man fighter with lots of firepower and maneuverability. He had accidentally clipped one on his first day in the Uncharted Territories, having been a bit disoriented from getting tossed out of a wormhole.

It was also the kind of ship that Aeryn had flown as a PK soldier.

Draw something different, John. How about that weird necklace Chiana bought on that commerce planet, the one with those bird people who had nests above the market....

He thought maybe he'd go find Daniel later, but he was pretty sure the anthropology wonder boy was giving a Latin lesson at the moment (which, intriguing as the subject was, would be a singularly useless skill for him to have back on the farm). So he contented himself with scribbles and ignored Harvey's harmonica playing at the back of his head.

((closed to John, Crowley, and I'm presuming Cayce at some point ^_^))

Comments

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley was taking a walk.

Normally this activity didn't involve quite so much violent swearing, but normally this activity wasn't quite so painful either. His burns had healed fairly well over the preceding weeks, assisted by a supernatural metabolism and a supernatural nurse, but his legs still needed to be exercised and the skin stretched so that the scar tissue wouldn't permanently freeze them in one position.

Holy water burns went more than skin deep, it seemed, so it was likely that as long as he'd have this body, Crowley would have scars, which he could easily conceal behind black trousers, and a limp, which he couldn't. The limp was probably causing more cursing than the pain, in fact, as he'd spent years perfecting his graceful saunter and now it was gone for who knew how long.

Thus it was a demon in a vile mood who came across the peaceful looking man in Tomorrowland. Recalling having stepped into the Starcade some time ago to speak to Cayce on her own turf for once and finding him crawling all over her (http://community.livejournal.com/dizzy_land/179979.html?thread=10434571#t10434571), Crowley decided to take his frustration out on a convenient and for once, just target. At least in his own mind.

The serpent is subtler than the beasts of the field, so rather than storming over and starting a fight, Crowley consciously stomped down the anger, smoothed out his expression to its regular cool state, and slowly limped his way to where John was sitting. He peered down at the reversed images on the paper.

"Nice spaceship," he said.

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

John glanced up without jumping, though he did look a bit startled once he took in the face in front of him. Far as he could remember, Crowley didn't like him very much. In fact, they hadn't spoken since John's arrival, unless he counted the casual bitch-out he and Daniel had received on their Fourth of July radio show for mentioning a Queen song.

Still, John was (nearly) always reasonable when other people were willing to be; a negotiating tendency that he probably had inherited from his mother. Crowley would get no sniping from his end for starting a simple exchange.

He scratched the back of his head and looked down sketch. "Heh, thanks. It's not very good, actually. The real deal was much prettier to look at.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Oh, everyone was perfectly reasonable here... And no one had played a Queen song since then, so Crowley reckoned it a victory.

"She's got nice lines, but I think I'll stick with my vintage Bentley," he said casually. "I'm not good in the air." At least not unless he was under his own power. The problem usually came in airplanes. More than one trans-Atlantic flight had ended in blood and tears. Other people's.

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

"Vintage Bentley?" John whistled, impressed. He had a thing for old cars, actually. He'd restored a 1962 Thunderbird himself back home, loved the thing to death, but it stopped mattering to him so much once he'd been away from home long enough. Lots of things on Earth had.

"Well, you might fly better in something like that," John told him, motioning to the sketch again. "It can fly in atmosphere, but it's designed for space flight. Makes things a lot less bumpy. 'Course, it depends on who you're driving with...."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"1926," clarified Crowley. "Black. 6 litre. Finest damn thing on four wheels." He missed his car. Nothing else in his life had that kind of reliability.

"And I doubt it. Why are you drawing it?"

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

He shook his head in something close to awe. "Wouldn't disagree with you on that one. The Bentley was classy before automotive companies had figured out cars should be." Crowley had to know his stuff to be able to keep a car that old in good enough condition to drive. Especially if he used it for more than the auto show, which was the impression John was getting.

A sheepish expression flitted across his face at the question. "Make sure I don't forget anything. What everything looks like back home." And he had a moment to realize what he had called it, called Moya. Home now, not 'that place he was trying to leave so he could get back to Earth.' Little lost John Crichton, still trying to find his way back to Kansas. Only now Kansas had changed shape. "It was the vehicle of choice for someone back there. Who I miss. I guess that's what brought it up."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

It was in more than good enough condition to drive. The Bentley was pristine. Well, after Adam had restored it anyway. It was especially fun to drive at 90mph down Oxford Street at rush hour. But Crowley wasn't going to go easy on John because the man appreciated a fine car.

He tilted his head slightly, honing in on something in Crichton's tone. "Best mate?" he guessed. Logically, Crowley was well aware that women could be hot-shot pilots. They just generally weren't unless they had something to prove and that sort of driven, tough woman seemed unlikely to be attracted to someone as... doughy as John.

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

Which again, made John laugh. Because there was no way D'Argo would have ever been comfortable in a prowler. Or caught dead in one, for that matter; the Luxan had his own good reason for hating everything Peacekeeper. "Ah, no. The woman I'm engaged to, actually. She's... well, she was born and bred to be a soldier, and she flew in a squadron of these things. Flying makes her... comfortable."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Ha! He had him, the bastard. Everyone had a way in and Crowley had found Crichton's in less than two minutes.

"Your fiancée?" Crowley inquired. "I didn't know you were engaged. Congratulations."

There was nothing in his manner or tone that suggested skepticism, but there was something just on the edge of understanding calculated to make John doubt the demon's sincerity somewhere in the back of his mammalian hindbrain.

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

Hell, everyone figured out John's primary weaknesses in a matter of minutes. It was one of the greatest flaws in his character, his tendency to wear everything on the sleeve. Scorpius would tell you that, and Harvey, for that matter. Open like a picture book, especially where she was concerned. His Achilles Heel in every sense.

He twitched a little at the congratulations. "Thanks..." he said slowly, and it was clear he wasn't sure how he should be taking it. After all, Crowley had never seemed like a particularly sympathetic sort, so why - "Makes this place all the more frustrating, I guess. We'd be married by now if I weren't here." And I'd be a father. No, he really couldn't spend too much time thinking about that.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The narration shouldn't discount Crowley's victory. It's been a long time since he's been able to torment an individual. Besides, everyone might know John's weakness, but no one can exploit it like a demon.

"Mmm," he said noncommittally. "Must be rough being away from her for Adam knows how long. Still, there are... compensations, I suppose."

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

Adam knows? Okay, some weird religious sect he didn't know about. Or a very forceful relative. Or maybe Crowley was just being deliberately confusing.

There were plenty of things he didn't like about that last sentence, but he couldn't put his finger on any specific part. "I don't really know how you could call anything in this place a compensation for the people you care about the most. I mean, it's nice not being on the run, but that doesn't count for much when it's so important for you to get back. Lot going on when I was snatched."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Or maybe Crowley knew something, or someone, that John didn't.

"No?" he asked. "You don't think that having lots of attractive and bored young women around makes for a pleasant diversion? Being here is practically a free pass for fooling around. It's not like your girlfriend would ever know. Hell, even John Adams - a man famous for his fidelity to his wife - found his little piece on the side."

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

First of all, knowing that about John Adams was just something he... didn't need to think about. At all. He had sort of assumed that article about Susan in Kira's paper had been a total fabrication, and to find out that it wasn't was just a little disturbing. It had something to do with being an American who had grown up hearing about the Founding Fathers and their noble deeds, and also something to do with the fact that it was just TMI, kthnxs.

"I suppose if you're that kind of guy it would be that way," he said, a little uneasy. Far be it for him to pass judgment on people, but that really only made Crowley sound like more of a schmuck. "I'm just not, I guess."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Well, Susan wasn't really anorexic. And Adams never said what he'd purportedly told the paper. But they were having regular sex, yes.

"You're not that kind of guy," Crowley repeated with no particular inflection, but there was that odd sensation of doubt again.

The demon was a schmuck, but not because he was toying with women's hearts...

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

He tried to take it in good humor. Some people backed off if they couldn't get a rise out of a person. Unfortunately, John was in the nasty position of not having any idea what he was dealing with.

"No, not so much," he laughed, but the sound was a little pained. He tapped his pen against one of the many scattered sheets at his feet. This was getting uncomfortable nice and quick....

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"That's funny," said Crowley with the air of someone laying down a royal flush on big stakes, "because the last time I saw you, you were all over Cayce Pollard."

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

John blinked. Started racking his brain for anything he'd ever done to Cayce that could be construed as.... "Wait, you mean when we got a little tipsy a while back?" He snorted. "I'm going to try and not be disturbed over the notion that you were watching us without mentioning you were there, and skip straight to the fact that I never realized tickle fights with a friend added up to adultery."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

He shrugged, unashamed. "You were in a public place. But unless you're a very unusual man, I'm guessing most of your 'tickle fights with friends' don't rapidly segue into straddling them and cuddling afterward. You wanted her. Don't bother to deny it."

Crowley was remarkably good at picking up undercurrents and emotional tensions. And though Crichton's momentary desire had been a completely normal one for a lonely man and not really anything to be ashamed of, Crowley was also remarkably good at making mountains out of molehills. He'd press all the man's guilt buttons just to see what happened.

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

Wanted? That was... maybe another world, some reincarnated copy, in some remarkably less fucked up version of existence -

John had two types, funny as that was. It was understandable that different life situations brought out different qualities in him that meshed better one type or the other. First was the strong and sharp woman, all unfluffy around the edges. The one who could hand his ass to him on a platter, who always challenged him and made sure he never thought too well of himself. The other was bright and brainy one, comfortable to be with and sweet in ways she never did notice. Easy to talk to, disarming for all those little important reasons.

Cayce was Type Two. He had almost married someone like her, back on Earth when he was younger. Of course there was some part of him that was aware, if it had been somewhere else, somewhen else, he might have thought....

Aeryn was both types combined. She had grown and changed so extraordinarily in the time he had known her, and so much of that was because him. Them. Who they were together. And that sounded like sappy romantic garbage, but with the lives they had led, it was comforting to know that sappy romantic garbage could exist. Something had to come out right.

John believed in Fate. He believed they had been meant for each other.

"You've ruined my life."
"I know."

He couldn't bring himself to raise his voice. "You mind my asking exactly what gives you call to be a judgmental asshole who assumes he's got everyone's number without bothering to know them at all? Because I don't recall asking your opinion on my friendships, relationships or otherwise."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The demon knew he hadn't missed that flash of desire. He never did. It was his sole purpose in the universe; he was the Tempter. It didn't matter that John would never have acted on it. He'd thought about it, however briefly, and that was the important part. It was faintly amusing how Crichton really hadn't bothered to deny it and had gone on the attack instead. People were so predictable.

Crowley gave a humourless smile, already aware that he'd won. "Nor do I recall needing your permission," he replied. "Thanks to you clever Yanks we have freedom of speech now. Oh, there are a few exceptions to the law, of course, but hurting your feelings isn't one of them. Too bad. Only I'm now thinking of a much older law. What was it again - the tenth commandment? Something about it being an unforgivable sin to covet your neighbor's wife? I'm sure coveting your neighbor who has a boyfriend while you yourself are engaged is covered in there somewhere, too."

He gave a show of being thoughtful and continued, "Odd how even having the thought counts as adultery."

[always-confuzed.livejournal.com]

"Why don't you take your doctrine and shove it where the sun don't shine, Mr. High Inquisitor?" John snapped. "If I needed a lessons in Bible Studies, I'd go ask my dad what he learned in Sunday School with dozens of other brainwashed children." Religion wasn't really an acceptable card to pull on a scientist; his entire profession was considered blasphemous by plenty of evangelical crazies.

Yes, he was attacking. He generally did when it came to defending Aeryn in any sense. And it wasn't helping, but all he could picture in his mind's eye was the last time he had seen her, asleep with one hand draped over her belly, already so protective over a child she was terrified to have. "You don't know a damn thing about what I want."

"Be careful."
"I'm pregnant, not incapacitated, John."

He kept still, as he recognized that there was little point in getting to his feet, but his hands shook a little. "And I'm glad that antagonizing people gets you off, but I'm really not in the mood to play right now. Thanks very much, go away."

[caycep]

"Jesus fucking Christ, Crowley!"

She'd come round the corner just in time to hear her name taken in vain -- all over do what now?! -- and she might have said something sooner if it weren't for the fact that she was completely and totally dumbstruck by what she was hearing.

She could hear the stress in John's voice now, though, and something in her broke at it; she came storming over, straight past John and toe to toe with Crowley.

"What the ever-loving fuck are you playing at?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

She was angry and in his personal space. Crowley took half a step back and winced as a spike of pain went up his leg. Well, fuck.

"Cayce," he acknowledged flatly. Not exactly suited for comforting or placating others and unsure how to treat the only human friend he'd ever really had, the demon continued. "Just having a talk with your dear friend John."

[caycep]

"A talk," she said, equally flatly. "What the --"

She took a deep, angry breath, and with exaggerated care, turned to John. "Can you excuse us for a moment?" she said. Then: "Crowley." She pointed across the way to the Starcade. "Let's talk."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"After you," he said with exaggerated courtesy. Limping severely but refusing to acknowledge it, Crowley simply grit his teeth against the pain and followed Cayce's uncomfortably quick pace without a look back.

[caycep]

Cayce was too steamed, at that point, to notice Crowley's discomfort; she slammed the Starcade front door open and wheeled around to face him.

She noticed the limp, then, as he followed her in, and she frowned. Even through her anger, she couldn't help being a bit concerned.

"What the hell happened to you?" She pointed at his legs.

Okay, that could have been more tactfully put.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley grabbed onto the rail of the DDR machine and tried to ignore the searing heat across his legs. The last thing he wanted her to know was that he'd been permanently disabled by two fuckwits brandishing water. Unfortunately, the discomfort only sharpened his temper.

"None of your damn business," he snapped back.

So could that.

[caycep]

That only got Cayce angrier.

"Fine. Fine. None of my business, I can live with that." She threw her hands up in the air and paced away a few steps, trying to ratchet her temper back in. Which wasn't happening.

"What the fuck, Crowley?" she said. "Seriously. What. The. Fuck?"

This query covered several subjects. Including but not limited to: why are you being a dick to my friend; why, if you had a problem with what you saw, did you not talk to me; and by the way, I am just a little bit disturbed by the fact that you apparently watched while John and I were being drunk morons.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Demons watched. It's what they did. He'd been watching humans for a long, long time and he wasn't going to apologize for that or for anything.

"What's your problem?" he growled, voice still slightly rougher than it had been before the attack. "Since when is it a crime to tell people the truth?"

[caycep]

"What truth?" She looked at him in disbelief. "The truth is, we had a bit too much to drink, we got silly, and I sent him on his way before either one of us could do anything stupid. Since when is that a cardinal sin, and by the way, what entitles you to be an ass about it? If you were going to be an ass, you should've come to me first. Dick."

The last piece of invective slipped out before she could stop it. Oh fuck.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Swallowing the part of her sentence that proved his point,

before either one of us could do anything stupid

because they would have, wanted to, were so fucking close that it was okay, Crowley's mouth set in a hard, thin line.

"I am a dick, Cayce. I told you straight up that I'm an utter bastard. What the fuck did you think I meant by that? Did you think I was just being coy? That I was pretending? I told you and you had no fucking problem with it then, so I don't want to hear about it now."

[caycep]

She stared at him in silence for a long moment. I thought you were better than that, she wanted to shout, but the awful, stomach-hurting thing was that she'd really thought she was somehow ... special. That being his friend counted for something, and that somehow that protection might extend to the people she counted as friends, even if he didn't really care much about them one way or the other.

Fuck that.

"Guess I made a mistake," she said, and her voice was small, cold, and brittle.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

She was special. She was more special than she knew. Outside of the rock of Aziraphale, she was the person he cared the most about in the world, which was why it hurt so badly to learn that he wasn't that to her. He should have listened to the qualifier when she'd said, your friendship is one of the most important things I've got going here, but he was too busy with the catalyst of his real feelings for her to worry about the effects of them. He'd not make that mistake again.

That Cayce might have enough affection, or different kinds of affection for him and John wasn't something that ever crossed his mind. Crowley simply couldn't have understood. He'd just felt sick and used, watching them tumble around on the ground together. For a being over six thousand years old, he had the emotional understanding of a boy of fourteen, sophisticated polish and gift of mimicry notwithstanding.

For the briefest moment, the demon wanted to be that person she wanted him to be, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wasn't and never could be. The disappointment in her eyes was achingly familiar and he understood then, in a way he never had before, that he would never find the unconditional approval he'd always craved. Perhaps that was a part of his punishment, too. But it was freeing in a way. If you were resigned to that fate - if you didn't care about people* - it was much easier to say goodbye.

"Guess so," Crowley managed and limped ungracefully to the door. He wondered how drunk he could get before Aziraphale stopped him.

*A major failing in a demon.

[caycep]

"Goddamnit, Crowley," she snapped, fighting with the not-entirely-contradictory urges to smack him in the back of the head and give him a hug.

She had no idea, of course, what was going on his head. From where she was standing, one of her two closest friends had just decided to be gratuitously cruel, really cruel, to the other for no reason other than --

-- the fuck. He couldn't possibly be jealous, could he? Jealous of her friendship? Jealous of the things she and John might have thought but didn't do? (And for Cayce, the not-doing, the refusal to follow the bodily urge, was one of the things that separated humans from animals, so she didn't see it quite the same way as Crowley.)

Jesus Christ. Men.

And then she did say it, because what the hell did she have to lose. "I thought you were better than that," she said. "I knew you liked to hassle people, but I didn't think you were cruel."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

To a specific Judeo-Christian viewpoint, thought is everything. Crowley was used to tempting thoughts into actions, but it wasn't technically necessary. Hell was full of people who'd thought horrible things but never acted on them; the difference was that they also thought they shouldn't be forgiven for that.

He hesitated at the door. Well, there was one bastardly way to end this quickly...

"And you were wrong. But that's what really bothers you, isn't it? Not that I was cruel, but that you, Cayce Pollard, the woman who surrounds herself with information like it's a damn security blanket, could possibly be wrong about something - that your precious character judgment was off. Well, there's a massive fuckload of things you don't know about me, so get used to it."

[caycep]

And that fucking stung. Cayce was a child of the Information Age, of course. Knowledge was power; what you knew was currency more potent than cash. Information was control. It was identity. It was everything.

It was, in fact, all she had left. That and her friendships. One of which was now, for all intents and purposes, on the rocks.

Go fuck yourself, Crowley.

But as furious as she was, she couldn't bring herself to say it, because that would have been too final.

So she said, "Well then, I'm sorry I misjudged you. You ever want to talk about this shit like a grown-up, you know where to find me."

And she turned on her heel and walked away. No goodbye, no fuck-off. It was the only way she could handle it.

She slammed her office door behind her.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Knowledge wasn't going to help in this case. It was worse than useless against the supernatural because you thought you had a chance when you really didn't.

Crowley didn't bother to react and just slogged slowly back to New Orleans Square, drawing on his reserves to make it back without collapsing. If he had to have a roommate, at least it was one who knew better than to fuck with him when he was in this kind of mood. He grabbed the first bottle on his way past the bar, went in his room, and locked the door.