Chapter Text
Tuesday, 31 March, 2020
Crowley swore loudly at his new laptop. Under normal circumstances, it would have arrived a few days ago, but with the lockdowns, movement restrictions, and so on, it had managed to arrive about half an hour ago. He wasn’t about to admit to Aziraphale that he’d already chucked his old one. The angel had warned him of this exact sort of logistical problem and would be insufferably sanctimonious about it.
So, Crowley was currently fighting a losing battle with his webcam and sound settings. Until this moment, he had been very proud of having made ‘user-friendly’ technology as infuriating as possible. Now he felt like an ouroboros. Each time he fixed one problem, another occurred. Presently, he had managed to unmute himself, but his camera feed in the virtual waiting room remained stubbornly black.
"Have you tried just asking it nicely?" Aziraphale suggested, wincing as he listened to Crowley threaten and berate his uncooperative computer.
"I am not nice! I don't do nice!" Crowley snarled back. He was used to technology just doing what he wanted without him having to ask, but he hadn’t had time to demonically reconfigure this one yet. Eventually, something he did must have worked; his face popped up beside the angel’s.
Scowl fixed firmly in place, he huffed and sank back into his throne, throwing one leg casually over the arm.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
_____________________________
The therapist joined the room and smiled warmly. "Hello, I'm Gail; it's nice to meet you two. Thank you both so much for joining me today."
"I’m delighted to meet you," Aziraphale said with an enthusiasm rarely associated with meeting a stranger on a computer screen to discuss your problems.
"Ngk. Hi,” muttered Crowley.
The therapist was nearly as rattled as she was amused by what she saw on Crowley's side of her screen, though her face gave nothing away. This whole telehealth thing was still a bit new to her, and she'd seen some weird shit since the start of lockdown, but sunglasses and a throne? This was going to be interesting. Gail wondered if he was baiting her with the glasses. He was certainly projecting a cockily dramatic vibe, and she wasn't about to walk straight into a setup.
"I'm still getting acclimated to seeing people on videochat; it's been a big adjustment for all of us, so if you have any difficulties with the platform, let me know, and we can work it out together."
After a beat, she decided to prod further. "Are you having any problems with the picture brightness?" She inclined her head slightly toward Crowley, smiling with her eyes.
Crowley cleared his throat. "Light sensitivity," he said curtly.
Okay, maybe not a complete setup, she thought, but we'll see. There was an edge to how he said it, and she knew damn well that he could dim the screen to near nothing if he really needed to. His surroundings certainly appeared to be brightly lit.
"Ok, no problem. The most important thing is that you're comfortable here... So, before we get started, I saw from your intake forms that this will be the first therapy experience for both of you. Is that right?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. (If you could call it an eye roll when his entire head went along for the ride.)
“Yes, it is,” Aziraphale replied cordially, unsure how to glare at Crowley without looking like he was glaring at the friendly, middle-aged American woman who took up the other half of his screen.
“In that case, I want to make sure you know that this is a safe space. As far as I’m concerned, everything you say in here will be kept completely confidential and I promise that there is nothing you can say that would be out-of-bounds.” She allowed her tone to slide briefly from politely formal to something more casual with a small chuckle. “I’ve been at this a long time. There’s not much I haven’t heard before.”
Crowley cackled animatedly. “You’re gonna regret you said that!” He had decided that if he had to go along with this stupid thing, he was at least going to get some entertainment out of it.
Gail raised her eyebrows, then laughed along. “I guess we’ll see.” Oh, this one’s gonna be fun, she thought.
Aziraphale shook his head in exasperation, grateful that the therapist seemed able to absorb Crowley’s sarcasm with good humour. She was going to need rather a lot of it, he feared.
“The second thing,” Gail continued, “is that when working with couples, I never take sides. I’m not here to help you tell each other off or to decide who wins an argument. I’m on the side of the relationship, and I’ll call yellow cards wherever I see them.”
“Well… um… actually… We….We’re not quite… um, really a ‘couple’ you see…” Aziraphale stuttered.
“Lifelong friends.” Crowley rescued him from embarrassment. Yet again.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply anything. Relationship counseling isn’t specifically for romantic partners,” she back-pedaled.
Gail was puzzled, but the feeling didn’t make it to her face. It was clear from their intake forms that these two lived separately, were the primary relationship in each other’s lives, and the fact that they weren’t quarantined together during the lockdowns was a heated point of contention.
Still publicly closeted? Gail wondered. But in 2020? In London? Hmm. The usual culprits most likely - family rejection, religious trauma and so on. No big deal, they'd get to that eventually.
She allowed the silence to hang between them, just enough to begin to feel slightly awkward - leaving room for either of them to say more - before continuing.
“Right. Do either of you have any questions for me before we begin?”
Another brief hush.
Aziraphale was already beginning to worry he wasn’t doing a very good job of this. He disliked being underprepared, and he really didn’t want to disappoint this lovely person or give a bad first impression. He straightened his bowtie unnecessarily. “Um, I don’t think so, at least…not at the moment,” he said cordially with a tense, tentative smile.
Crowley said nothing.
“Feel free to ask anything that comes up as we go along.” The therapist said encouragingly. Mentally, she noted, Anxious. People-pleasing streak a mile long.
“I’d like to start out by hearing a bit more about what brings you here today, or what you hope to get out of this experience?”
Crowley groaned irritably, his head rolled back again, and his top lip flickered into a momentary snarl.
Aziraphale chimed in quickly to cover his rudeness. "Well, I suppose it all started with the lockdowns. Crowley’s been in a foul temper since the whole thing started and acting like it's my fault -"
"It is your fault! And I'm not in a foul temper!” Crowley slouched even further into his chair and folded his arms. “This is ridiculous. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"Crowley," the therapist interjected gently, "I know you're going to have a very different perspective on this than Aziraphale, and I do want to hear it. But I'd like to let him finish what he was saying first."
Crowley huffed, and Aziraphale continued. “From my perspective, you have been in a foul–”
“But you’ve been waking me up and–” Crowley interrupted.
"Crowley,” Gail cut in calmly, “It's hard for me to hear what's being said when you're both talking at once, and I really don't want to miss anything. Could you help me out?" Her face and voice were an even mix of apologetic and supplicating.
"Ngk. Fine. Sorry about that," Crowley apologized.
"It's alright," she soothed. Gail never tired of that little thrill of finding the right key to unlock someone’s hard exterior. In Crowley’s case, it appeared to be asking for his help, whereas stating rules had meant nothing to him. Interesting.
"Aziraphale, would you please continue?"
“Yes, well… as I was saying,” he flicked his eyes sidelong at the side of the screen Crowley occupied, then back. “Crowley has been in a foul temper and wants to blame me for his being bored at home. I really don’t understand what is so offensive about complying with the lockdown orders. I don’t think we even met once while the Plague was going on. And, of course, he wasn’t even around to bother with the quarantines in 1918, slept through the whole affair. It’s only been a couple of weeks for heaven’s sake. I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.” As he finished speaking, he tugged his waistcoat down.
(Nothing about the conversation struck the therapist as out-of-the-ordinary, the angel had seen to it with a minor miracle. Far easier, he had reasoned, than having to maintain some elaborate fabrication.)
Gail revised her impression of Aziraphale slightly. Not people-pleasing per se, but definitely wary of authority. A cautious rule-follower, whose partner demonstrated thinly-veiled contempt for rules and authority. Both of them plastering their hurt feelings over with irritability.
“I see,” she said neutrally. “So you’re feeling confused and hurt, and it feels like Crowley is angry with you for not spending time together since lockdown began? Have I got that right?” She was careful to discard the passive-aggressive wrapping, drawing out only the unspoken emotions Aziraphale had inferred but failed to name. She spared a glance to the other side of her screen where Crowley looked like holding in his own irritation had become physically painful.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Aziraphale confirmed cautiously.
“Thank you. Now, Crowley, thank you so much for your patience. I can see that you disagree with a lot of what Aziraphale said. I’d like to hear your perspective on what has been going on.”
Crowley was trying valiantly not to blow up, but this had all been too much. He started forward from where he had been reclining and his hands began animating his words.
“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s been bloody going on! He’s been waking me up EVERY FUCKING DAY– ”
He began by addressing the therapist, but inadvertently slid into yelling at Aziraphale “–when I told you I was going to sleep until July and that I’d set a bloody alarm and DID NOT WANT TO BE DISTURBED! But noooooooo, every day my phone rings and it’s–” (his imitation of Aziraphale is really quite something) “–‘Guess what silly cake I made today! I just read the most thrilling detective story! I’m having so much fun by myself!’ If you’re having such a splendid time why do you need to keep waking me up to witter on about it?!!! You said you didn’t want me there, so why don’t you LEAVE ME ALONE?!”
Aziraphale watched this outburst with what started as indignation. But his face and posture quickly melted into dismay, then retreated further into a sheepishness that might be guilt or defensiveness. Probably some mixture of both, Gail surmised.
The therapist remained calmly attentive for all outward appearances. Internally, she thought, Ooookaaay then. This runs a hell of a lot deeper than lockdown. “That sounds painful,” she said in a voice like a sympathetic hug, highlighting the vulnerability his rage was masking,“to feel like you aren’t wanted.”
He sniffed, shrugging. “S’not deliberate,” Crowley turned his head assiduously away from his laptop and slumped back into his previous lounging position, a little embarrassed by his rant. “I know he doesn’t mean to stick the boot in. He’s just that oblivious.” He’d found his footing in anger again and looked back at the screen, spitting the last word in Aziraphale’s direction.
“It still hurts,” the therapist said gently. It wasn't a question, and Crowley didn’t respond. His face did it for him. “Do you really want him to leave you alone?” she asked skeptically.
Crowley’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” he grumbled reluctantly, "not really. But I don’t want him calling me just to hear how much he’s enjoying not having me around.”
Again, Gail let a brief silence wash over them, allowing the weight of their exchange to sink in and letting the energy of the conversation ebb back to a more comfortable place. This time, it was enough to draw Aziraphale out of his defensiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, eyes lowered. He hadn’t realized, had assumed Crowley was being moody and obstinate out of sheer boredom. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He had hoped it was just boredom. Deep down, Aziraphale knew Crowely was angry with him, and justifiably so.
Crowley looked away again with a noncommittal shrug.
“What is it you’re sorry for?” Gail probed.
Again, the angel struggled to select the right words, something to carefully tread the gap between saying too much and not enough. “For… for hurting him. I never meant to.”
“You know,” the therapist picked up quickly, re-energizing the conversation. “It seems like you two enjoy each other’s company. Have you considered any compromises that might help the situation?”
Silence.
“The ability to compromise is essential in any relationship. We’re never going to see eye-to-eye on everything, but if you view every disagreement as an all-or-nothing proposition, then you’re making each other the enemy. Compromise is agreeing that it isn’t ‘your way versus my way’; it’s ‘us versus the problem.’ So, instead of looking at it as black-and-white, what if you worked together to find a shade of gray that works for both of you?”
Both of them had visibly winced at the words “the enemy,” but at the mention of “shade of gray,” a wistful smile flashed across Aziraphale’s face, quickly replaced by a practiced neutrality. Crowley’s mouth twitched, suppressing his own reaction.
There we go, Gail thought, smiling.
“Well, when you put it that way... I suppose there might be some middle ground to be had…,” Aziraphale said, flitting his eyes up to Crowley’s side of the screen and hoping Crowley would suggest something.
“He’s never gone in much for ‘shades of gray’,” Crowley shot back, grasping at the loose threads of his nearly spent anger.
Aziraphale opened his mouth to rebut this charge, but Gail quickly spoke first, cutting their bickering off at the knees. “Let’s give it a try and see what we come up with, hmm? Crowley, you said the daily phone calls were a problem, do you have any other ideas?”
“Ngk,” Crowley scowled. Gail raised her eyebrows pointedly. He was not going to get away with a non-answer, and she was fully prepared to wait him out. Chafing under the silence, Crowley finally ground out “S’easier to talk when I can see your face.”
The way Aziraphale’s facial expressions communicated far better than his words, Gail was unsurprised.
Crowley didn’t know how to ask for more, how to tell the angel he wanted more than anything just to be in the same room again. That would be idiotic.
“Oh. Yes. I do see how that could pose a problem.” Azriphale acknowledged self-consciously. Hadn’t he himself been guilty of reading far too much into their letters over the centuries? “Is this-” he gestured toward his computer’s monitor, “this video-phone-call… would this be alright?”
Now we’re on to something! Gail thought. Hang on, maybe not. She saw her other client’s face slacken in a defeated mask.
“Whatever. Zoom’s fine. But not so bloody early, yeah? And not every day for someone’s sake!” Crowley rejoined irritably, holding up an index finger in warning. “You get one hour. That’s it.”
“Well,” Aziraphale huffed, his voice and mannerisms excessively prim as he sat up straighter and tugged at his waistcoat. “I suppose that will have to do. And when do you propose we schedule this ‘Zoom’ telephone call?”
“I don’t care,” Crowley growled, “Just NOT in the morning.”
Aziraphale huffed. “Really. There’s no need for theatrics.”
“Theatrics?” Crowley bristled. “I’ll show you thea–”
“Perhaps a dinner date -erm- meeting?” The therapist cut in before they could provoke each other into another full-blown argument with less than five minutes left in the session. It seemed a safe suggestion; dining out was a central shared activity according to their intake forms.
“I wouldn’t mind having dinner at my desk if Crowley can manage to be civil for an hour.” The angel puffed.
“IF you promise to stop ringing me up every bloody morning, I’ll consider it,” Crowley retorted, folding his arms.
“Sounds like we have a deal then,” Gail said firmly. If they need a shove then so be it, she thought. “Shall we meet again at the same time next week and you can tell me how it went?”