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chloe-clegane · 4 years

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My Devotion and Mah Protection - Chapter 10 Stone Beats Hand, Every Time

Ao3

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NEW ART by @yonallaart (she’s amazing, go look at all her pretty things)

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Rayla left the apartment with a weight tied around her neck. Twice in one day, he’d raised his voice at her. In the throne room, she’d been angry and defiant, dug her heels in and threw it right back at him. Now she just wanted to curl up in a ball, torn between hiding alone or being in his arms.

She and Callum had a number of screaming matches in their three years together. Usually the fights had something to do with her doing something risky and stupid and him getting mad about it, or vice versa. The fights were infrequent and never lasted long, and even if they didn’t come to an agreement they always held each other and apologized at the end of it. Rayla reminded herself of that as she walked to the dungeons with her arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“We’ve been through worse,” she quietly muttered to herself. “I’ll come tae bed later. He’ll kiss me and It’ll be alright.”

She wasn’t able to put herself at ease, what she did manage was compartmentalizing.

When Rayla quietly slipped into the torchlit room, she decided not to show herself and sunk into the shadows. The hurt and sadness she’d carried on the walk down was soothed by anger. It was a much more tolerable emotion and the strangling weight of misery subsided.

The jailers had given Claudia a change of clothes. A plain grey dress that had seen better days hung from her narrow frame. Rayla was relieved. She didn’t want to be reminded of the twisted version of herself staring back at her. She didn’t want that vile grey skin touching anything that belonged to her.

The relief at seeing the prison garb grew to satisfaction as she gazed upon her handywork. In the last hour or so, Claudia’s left eye had nearly swollen shut, her right cheek had a four-finger welt, and her lips were split with dried blood still smeared at the corners of her mouth. It was extremely gratifying to look at. But the marred face wasn’t enough to quench Rayla’s thirst for vengeance. This bitch had fucked her husband and caused his current condition. Rayla had no idea what to even call the state he was in. Devastated? Sickened? Ashamed? Whatever it’s called, it was bad. Claudia’s punishment was far from over if Rayla had anything to do with it. The pain Rayla had inflicted with the back of a hand was nothing compared to that single moment she thought Callum was unfaithful. Before Claudia turned around, before Rayla assessed the situation farther - it was the longest two seconds of her life and the pain was excruciating. Rayla absentmindedly started rolling her right shoulder and she was reminded that the bulk of her recent pain was the fault of this disgusting woman. Rayla knew Callum would never willingly betray her and she could never be mad at him for what just happened. The tart may have seduced Callum, but he must have figured it out because it looked like he was trying to get her off of him when Rayla found them.

Amaya hadn’t missed Rayla’s entrance and quietly joined her. She signed, “Callum okay?”.

Rayla just shrugged and spoke softly. “Have you gotten anythin’ from her?”

It was the general’s turn to shrug. She signed slowly and simply for Rayla’s benefit. “No. This bitch is crazy.”

Rayla’s understanding of sign language was limited to gestures, the alphabet and all the swear words. Which had always been enough for her and her aunt by marriage to get along just fine.

“Claudia if you think he wanted you then why did you do that creepy moon moth thing?” Soren sounded like he’d been asking different versions of the same question for the last hour.

“You just don’t understand.” she was scowling petulantly.

“Try me.” He crossed his arms and stared at her.

She looked away and stayed quiet.

“Sooooo you’re just a total creep then?” he prodded.

“It’s because he can’t see through her manipulation!” she snapped. “He just needed to make love to me. Then I’ll be able to save him and he’ll realize that I’m the one he’s wanted all along.” Kazi, who stood near the cell interpreting the interrogation, made a face. Claudia continued to speak and they continued to sign. “She was sent to kill his family, why would he love her? She’s clearly using her connection to the moon arcanum.”

“You have noooo idea what you’re talking about.” Soren rolled his eyes. “If he didn’t love her then why would he marry her?”

Claudia groaned in frustration.“She’s controlling him and apparently she’s gotten you too.”

Soren was getting increasingly annoyed. “Claudia, the last time you saw him, you tortured his wife and he almost killed you for it.”

She rolled her eyes at him “That wasn’t his fault, Callum was just confused. You’re all stuck in her web, you can’t see what she really is.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, so let's get this straight, Rayla is using evil moon illusions to trick and control people?” he asked with feigned surprise.

“Ugh Soren don’t mock me, yes. ” she rolled her eyes yet again.

“No no no no. Yoooou thought the best way to fix this was to smoosh a dead bug on yourself and use it’s moon illusion magic to trick Callum into doing what YOU WANT!? ”

She spluttered indignantly “I don’t know why I thought you could wrap your head around this. You’re such an idiot Soren, you won’t ev-.”

“ NO! ” he yelled and Rayla felt a surge of pride. “You can’t see it! You can’t see what’s right in front of your face! Or-or what you’ve done!” he paused and processed for a moment with wide eyes. He didn’t yell, but his voice firm. “You’re fucking crazy Claudia.”

He was finally admitting it to himself, not just to her. She scowled and opened her mouth but Soren didn’t let her get a word in. “You’re the idiot Claudia and I don’t think you even know what love is. Because I’m pretty dark magic-ing someone to love you isn’t real love. Callum and Rayla have real love , it’s beautiful but you’re too bonkers to recognize it. You think you understand, but you don’t, you only know Dad’s kind of love, super fake and toxic and it’s...It’s turned you into a monster!” He cried out in frustration, backed away and ran his fingers through his hair “UGH! I can’t do this! Amaya, you take over.”

He turned and stormed out of the room. His jaw was set and bitter. Claudia called after him to come back but he didn’t turn, he also didn’t see Rayla in the shadows by the door. She contemplated going after him, but figured he could use some time to cool off. Rayla again decided to stay hidden as Amaya and Kazi continued the questioning. They asked about where Aaravos was and tried to get her to elaborate on the power-sucking thing. They didn’t get anything useful, just the pathetic crying and daft musings of a mad woman.

It occured to Rayla that Soren had actually hurt her with his words, that her tears weren’t fake. In different circumstances maybe Rayla could almost feel sorry for her and her pathetic broken mind. But after today, the look on Callum’s face, all she could feel was hatred.

About twenty more minutes went by and Amaya called it quits. The general looked like she wanted to punch the twat almost as much as Rayla did. Kazi who was usually so timid was delivering some serious side eye.

Just as they were about to leave, Rayla stepped into the light and revealed herself. It startled Claudia and she scooted herself away from the bars.

“How shady of you, hiding in the... shade. H-how long have you been here?”

Rayla didn’t respond, she just stared her down and approached the cell. The last time she’d really seen Claudia it was from the ground and she’d cackled over her.

“Whatever you're doing, trying to intimidate me or whatever, it’s not going to work.” She sounded confident but the additional step away betrayed that. “You know he’s going to-”

Rayla spit on her. “You shouldn’t’ve come here. Yer goin’ tae regret doin’ it”. She turned and followed Amaya out of the room. When Rayla slammed the door behind her she let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a sign. She leaned her back against the door with her eyes closed and clutched and twisted the leather strap of the bag of horrors.

“Spitting’s always a nice touch,” Kazi translated for Amaya. “Especially when you want to really stick it to someone, right... me”. The translator chuckled awkwardly and spoke for themselves, “Rayla - er - Your Highness? Do I call you that now?”

Rayla groaned. “Please don’t.”

She finally opened her eyes and looked at the pair.

“Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, the Gen-er uh... Amaya is referring to a time she once spat at the feet of Her Late Radiance Khessa.”

Amaya started signing and they went back to translating. “It was funny and stupid. If Janai hadn’t there I probably would have been killed.” Callum’s Aunt was silently chuckling at her own apparently fond memory. For her, that seemed about right.

All Rayla could manage was an exhausted smile “I think I got some in’er eye, so I suppose that’s pretty cool.”

Amaya patted her a bit too hard on the shoulder. “See, that’s the spirit. Some days you have to celebrate the smallest victories.” She winked and then pointed at the bag. “What’s this? Hers?”

“Yeah I found it under the bed, it’s full of dead things and-” Rayla pulled out the book and put it in Kazi’s empty hands, “-this. There has tae be somethin’ useful in there.” The Sunfire scholar smiled, eager to be helpful, but looked horrified when they skimmed the pages.

Rayla let out another involuntary sigh and suddenly she was squeezed into a vice grip hug by her Aunt-in-law. When she pulled away, she signed to Rayla directly and simply. “It’s O-K Rayla, R-E-S-T, go,” she told her.

“We’ll take care of this for you,” Kazi smiled sincerely as they patted the book under their arm.

After a bit more urging, and Kazi’s insistence that they love to study and wouldn’t need her help, she finally thanked them and began ascending the stairs.

She thought about going back to the apartment. She was worried about him. She wanted to see him and hold him and make all these anxious bad feelings go away. Because that’s how things worked. When something was bad, they had each other and everything felt less existentially terrifying. But he wouldn't even look at her. Her arms returned to her chest, crossed tightly as she walked. Rayla had never been good at emotions and knowing how to fix the bad ones. That was Callum’s job, and that had always been okay because they were a team. She slished and slashed, he zapped and flew. She got stubborn and aggressive, he talked about the problems and was diplomatic.

She knew the way back to the apartment, the physical route, but she was lost in a different way. Her heart’s compass that usually pointed reliably was broken. So when she came to an intersection in the long castle hallways, she just stood there. She looked down the hallway in front of her, looked back to where she’d come, and then to the left. She’d gone so long without having a real home, she wasn’t ghosted anymore but the Silvergrove still hadn’t felt like right since. That kind of rejection was hard to handle. Rayla didn’t feel ready to go to the apartment, to go home, so she took the turn and attempted to bite down all of the shite feelings in her heart.

It was a quick walk before Rayla knocked on Soren’s door, she heard shuffling, the muffled sound of a blown nose and finally the door swung open.

Ralya was taken aback by the sight of him: his eyes were red like he’d been crying, he looked miserable and she noticed blood on his knuckles that held the door.

“Heeeeey, what’s up?” he said in a way that somewhat resembled cheerful and well-adjusted.

“Soren, uh, yer hands bleedin’,” she pointed out cautiously.

He looked at it like he’d just now noticed, “Oh… uuuhhh yeah… oops”.

She pushed past him into the room and he closed the door behind her. “Takin’ yer anger out on walls now, I see,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeeaah, I didn’t really think ahead that it was gonna hurt this bad.”

“You do know these walls are made of stone right? Stone beats hand, every time.”

“Psh... I know what walls are…” He defended, then quieted. It made Rayla feel guilty.

She gave an apologetic smile. “Hey, how about I wrap that up fer you?”

He nodded and retrieved a small first aid kit from a cupboard. It was a picked over mess but she found what she needed.

They sat in silence for a while, while she cleaned the cut and bruising knuckles.

“Nothin’ looks broken but the skin, that’s good,” she forced a smile at him and he gave a sad one in return. “I can not believe I’m askin’ this, but do you wan’tae talk about why you hit the wall?” She tied off the bandage.

“What? Noooo. I’m fine, I just wanted to test the walls…. For security…” He was incredibly unconvincing.

“Are ye sure it isn't because yer crazy sister broke into the castle and fucked up everyone’s day-?” Her voice was full of sarcastic cheer. You know, that bitch who fucked my husband, she thought to herself.

“Maybe…” his lip quivered and then he burst into a heaving sob. Rayla immediately panicked, the cloth in her hand already damp and bloody. She frantically started looking around the room for a handkerchief. First she picked up an oilcloth for his sword, no. Then a rag that was crusty and rigid, she tried not to yelp and instead screamed internally. Next she found a slightly dirty napkin, it smelled like bacon. That’ll do. She turned back and he was still crying.

“There ya go.”

He blew his nose loudly and she patted his back awkwardly. She had not expected or prepared for this level of blubbering.

“There, there,” she sighed.

He cried for a bit before calming himself down enough to speak. Soren breathed in deeply before beginning again, “S-she’s my little sister an-and you know, I didn’t like her at first,” he sniffled, “I actually told our Mom to give her back to the baby wife lady,” another sniffle. Rayla wondered if he was quoting his younger self or if he still didn’t know what a midwife was. “And then one day, she laughed or something and it was really cute and I liked hugging her and I thought she was pretty neat and then she got big enough to share her snacks with me and it was really cool and I realized it was nice to share my snacks with her and we played together everyday but then one time I put her on the seesaw, right, and I jumped on the other side and she went flying and she was crying and I think she scraped her knees or something and I think I just wanted to see what would happen or I guess how far she’d go, and Rayla it was a bad thing for me to do but it didn’t mean I don’t love her!” The last part came out with a fresh sob.

She knew the confusing rant was going in a direction. But Rayla couldn’t help picturing a dark haired toddler going flying across a playground. Soren and her would have made great playmates growing up, she would have willingly been catapulted.

“Uh, Soren, I’m not sure-”

“Don’t you get it Rayla!? The seesaw’s a metaphor!” he interrupted her and tried to take a controlled breath.

“Yeah... I think I get it,” she said delicately.

“My Dad was really mad at me, I remember him screaming and I kind of deserved it. Claudia was crying and I don’t think she’s ever been on a seesaw since. But after that, my mom sat with me in her lap and she told me that it’s my job to protect her, I should never do something that would make her get hurt like that, ever again. She said loving my sister is one of the most important things I’ll ever do, and to do it my whole life.” He wiped his eyes again and took a long deep breath. “When our Mom left us, she said it again. That Claudia will always be a special person for my life and that I always need to love her and keep her safe.” He kept taking purposeful breaths but then the sobs broke through again. “How did I let this happen to her? She wouldn’t be like this if I took better care of her?”

That pissed Rayla off. He should look out for his sister but this, she’d chosen the path of dark magic all on her own. She’s made choices to do terrible things. Rayla reminded herself Soren is her friend and mustered her sympathy with a big sigh “Oh Soren, None of this is yer fault.”

“That night before the battle at the storm spire, she begged me to stay with her but I walked away” he cried, snot coming down from his nose. He was clutching the napkin but failed to use it.

“And that was a good thing!” Rayla insisted.

“I know, I had to get away from my dad and I needed to leave so I could help you guys,” he steadied his breath again.

“Yes! ” she agreed, trying not to sound annoyed.

“She wanted me to stay but what if I tried harder to convince her , or I could-I could’ve made her come,” he was starting to ramble and she could see his mind racing.

“No, you-” Rayla tried to interject.

“Oh, you know what? I should’ve picked her up and carried her, I’m bigger and stronger and I totally could’ve done it,” what would usually be his excited idea sound was a hiccupping sob.

Rayla couldn’t listen to his guilty bullshit. She grabbed his shoulders, and shook him firmly, “Soren! Should’a would’a whatever! Stop!”

Her words made him freeze. Then she surprised herself when she hugged him. He just sat there a moment before hugging her back. Rayla figured the big fella could use a good hug. When they pulled apart she stayed gripping his shoulders. He wiped his boogers and tears with his sleeve, forgetting his napkin, and listened to her.

“You can’t keep beatin’ yerself up. Families are... complicated, and yers... Yers is toxic. You survived it and got away.” she shook him softly for emphasis. “You would’ve ended up like Kasef, a monster, a dead monster.”

Rayla let go of his shoulders and sat down on the floor in front of him. “You can’t feel guilty fer survivin’” she hugged her knees. “I know what that’s like, feelin’ like you let everyone down, knowin’ people lost their lives…” she sighed. “It made me wish I had died too,” she took a moment to check her emotions. “I let that guilt weigh me down... I guess it still does and it probably always will. I suppose I’ve learned tae carry it now. You have tae tell yerself that what you did was fer the best. You think you could’ve kidnapped yer sister but… It’s not that simple. You couldn’t control Claudia.”

She tried to keep the salt out of her tone when she said the name and paused, her own sad memories surfaced in her mind. A few silent moments passed between them before she spoke again, “I couldn’t control Runnan…” She stopped to take a deep breath and collected her thoughts. “Yer a good person Soren, and you didn’ deserve tae have a shite piece of garbage fer a dad… and neither did-” the anger simmered in the pit of her stomach, “neither did Claudia… back then.”

“But she does now,” he spoke it so sadly and Rayla was caught off guard. The ugly tears had ceased but replaced with a deep sorrow, “The worst part is I don’t think I can save her now. She’ll always go back to him. I listen to her talk and most of it doesn’t even make sense, she’ll go from nice to mean and talk like she loves me and then...”

She wanted to agree, she did agree, Claudia was too far gone, she was terrible. Rayla wanted to dress her up as a glow toad and toss her in the ocean. But Soren looked so sad.

“Soren, I’m sorry you-you don’...” she didn’t know what to say.

They sat quietly again, Soren let out a heavy sigh and asked, “How’s Callum?”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “Honestly? I don’ know.... He-he’s really upset and he told me tae leave him alone...” she pulled her knees in even tighter. “It’s weird… fer him tae do that”.

Soren looked broken-hearted. “Yeah, he looked really bad when I left. But maybe he does just need to be alone for a bit. You guys are so in love and always so really strong for each other. I think it’ll be ok, probably not today but still.”

Rayla just smiled half heartedly and stayed in her little ball.

“What Claudia’s done… I don’t-” he said, trying to put his words together. “Her mind is broken and I used to think that maybe if I could get rid of Viren for good... Then maybe I could unbreak her brain.” He twisted the napkin in his hand.

“But you don’ think so anymore.'' It wasn’t a question.

He stopped again for a breath and nodded. “She’s done a lot of gross things, dark magic stuff and she’s killed people but… doing this to Callum… I’m disgusted by her,” he sounded bitter.

Rayla was baffled. She wasn’t arguing that Claudia was the lowest form of human trash but this being the rock bottom for her… murderer seemed a little worse than being a traumatizing seductive creep. No matter what Rayla hated her and felt both were on the list of worst things Claudia's ever done.

He sighed yet again. “I have something for you, I don’t know if you want them or what I should do but… here,” he handed her a small folded bundle of fabric, her clothing.

She was repulsed as soon as she touched them, Rayla felt like she could feel the pollution clinging to the silk. Claudia had worn these and used them to… she’d worn them on her disgusting grey body and she… Rayla wanted it gone, away from her, destroyed. Without saying a word she went to Soren’s hearth and pulled a few small logs and kindling off the wood rack. She struck the flint and steel.

She touched him. Strike. She tricked him. Strike. She fucked him. Strike. She wanted to take him away from her. The kindling caught.

“Rayla, It’s July and I have to sleep in here,” he whined. She ignored him and he must have realized what she was doing because he didn’t say anything more, just quietly opened his windows.

As soon as the flame came to life Rayla grabbed the nightgown and without hesitation threw it into the flame. The fire consumed the delicate fabric in an instant and the heat washed over her face. When she reached for the stockings the teal ribbon caught her attention and she froze. She ran her fingers along the embroidery. The stockings were one of her favorite things, tied to so many wonderful memories.

They’d laid together and the stockings were the only pieces of clothing still on between the two of them. Rayla’d worn them a few nights in a row, the way he reacted to her was nice. It was obvious wearing them made him happy, and she wanted him to be happy. She loved the way he looked at her. Looking back now, she thought about his eyes at their wedding, it was those looks and the way he touched her that always filled her with joy. She and Callum were intertwined and he had started stroking her leg absentmindedly. Running his finger along the garter ribbon.

“I told you I like the sexy socks,” she had teased him. “I know you want them fer yerself but they’re mine. No take-backs.”

He’d laughed and smiled. “But they might look good on me and they’re soooo soft. ” He made a point of very purposefully stroking her leg “Buuuut,” he’d squeezed her thigh and kissed her, “I like touching them on you way more than I ever could on myself.”

“Well touchin’ yer’self is never as good as when I do it,” she smirked.

“True true” he laughed, kissing her, “Very true,” a blush spread on his cheeks. “I’m really glad you like them,” he’d said softly.

She loved it when he was bashful. After all their time together, every so often, he got nervous when he was being cheesy or romantic.

“They’re the best engagement present I’ve ever had,” she’d said confidently.

He looked puzzled. “I’m pretty sure that was your only engagement present.”

“Still counts as the best though,” she’d booped his nose and they both giggled and kissed before he’d brought them back again to sincerity.

“I sorta worried it was a selfish gift. I just pictured you wearing them and uh...”

“And so it was yer pecker that picked the present then? Yes Callum, that does seem a wee bit selfish,” she teased.

“That was very good alliteration and a very fair accusation but I just thought you would feel pretty. I just, I think you only really care about being pretty when you’re with me.”

“Pshhh it’s not just you,” she’d said, slightly offended.

“Yeah you aren’t a slob.” That statement hadn’t helped him much. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re delicate and vulnerable with me in a way you aren’t with anyone else.”

He’d been right. She reflected and it was true, she was vulnerable with him, she sought his affection and attention.

“I thought it would be something that would make you feel pretty when it’s just the two of us. Is that stupid?” he’d asked her.

She’d laughed in reply. “Maybe a little. But I love you anyways.”

“That’s a huge relief, I was going to be really embarrassed if it turned out you didn’t love me anymore,” he’d sighed.

He’d kissed her and rolled on top of her. “I want you to laugh like this everyday Rayla,” he had said it so sincerely it took her off guard.

She’d tried to say something sarcastic, deflect, but she’d just sputtered and smiled, “Wha-pshhh.”

His smile had stayed sweet and sincere, he’d enjoyed her fluster. Then he’d kissed his way down her body rubbing her thighs stroking her silk bound legs before lavishing her with his tongue.

His touch was as silky as the delicate garter ribbon she held in her hand. He made her feel beautiful and the stockings, they made her feel like a flower, soft and pretty. They were precious to her. She hugged the stockings to her chest and sadness melted onto her from above and sunk into her bones.

She took a deep shaky breath. She didn’t want to cry. She refused. Things would go back to normal eventually, she told herself. Tomorrow, the nerves would subside and they’d both apologize, kiss and hold each other and their world would be set right. Rayla looked down at the stockings, she knew she’ll never wear them again and that alone broke her heart. Despite that, she still couldn’t give them up. So she set them aside sadly and separated the logs with the poker.

“Are you ready to talk about your feelings now?” Soren asked from behind her.

“I don’ know what tae do with them… they’re special,'' her voice was small and mournful. She looked back at him and he nodded sympathetically before pouring two drinks from a bottle on his shelf.

“I think we could both use the edges cut off of our problems today,” he tried to rally.

“Sure, why not?” she said dryly. Still sitting on the floor she raised her arm and he placed the cup in her hand. She took a sip and sighed. She didn’t really care for red wine but he was right, a drink sounded great and she wasn’t going to be picky.

Soren leaned against the mantle and chugged his entire cup of wine in three gulps. Rayla was dumbfounded, “Whoah uhh… you okay big lump? That’s a lot of edge yer trimin’ there,” she chuckled awkwardly.

“Oh yeah I’m totally fine, just super thirsty.” He waved her off before pouring another drink. He sipped slowly this time.

She couldn’t help the side eye she gave. “Sooo uh, tough day all around I suppose.”

“You got that right,” he agreed and slumped into his small sofa. He stared into his cup.

Rayla broke the silence, “I don’ know. I have no idea what tae think right now…. Not at all.”

Soren spoke confidently, “I may not be the smartest but I know one big giant fact.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And that is?”

“He loves you,” Soren smiled at her, “and nothing my sister does will ever change that. What she did today was terrible and I think he’s probably really confused. But I think he needs you and for sure loves you.”

“Stop makin’ so much sense lump, I find it annoying,” she glared with a small smile before taking another sip.

“Hey, pluuuus you’re cooler than zap hands remember? If anyone can figure all this out, it’s you,” he wiggled zap fingers in her direction.

“Yer so lame…” she rolled her eye but added “but yer also correct, I’m very cool.”

“So cool!” Soren chuckled.

After that, Rayla had food brought up and they had another drink. Soren got out the dice and they tried to distract themselves and have a laugh. It worked for a while, but their usual suspenseful gambling was half-hearted at best, and inevitably one of them would end up sighing and sadly drifting into space until the other knocked them back to reality. Eventually, they abandoned the game and said goodnight. Rayla heard him pour another drink as she closed the door behind her.

The weight had restrung itself around her neck. It pulled at her the whole walk home.

Rayla opened the apartment door. It was dark and Callum was already asleep. She wanted to wake him, but based off of their interaction earlier she thought better of it. Resigning to her pining, she went to the wardrobe for a nightdress and to put away the stockings.

When she opened the drawer, Rayla found it had been ransacked; everything was unfolded and mixed up. The other drawers and cabinet were more of the same. The bile burned and bubbled up into her throat again. Her skin crawled. Her things were contaminated, she felt contaminated. It hadn’t just been the nightgown or the stockings. Mere hours ago, Claudia’s hands had been on even more of Rayla’s things. It was clear she had rifled around with a purpose. With the goal of fucking her husband. Rayla looked around the room, Claudia had been in their apartment and their bed. She’s fucked him in their bed. There was an urge to burn it, send it all up in flames like she’d done with the nightgown. Because that's what fire did, what the arcanum was all about. Purification. But arson was, if nothing else, impractical.

She shoved the stockings to the back and grabbed a linen shift from the top of the pile. Rayla narrowly resisted the urge to slam the drawer shut. She didn’t want to wake Callum. She settled on dropping the red and gold dress she’d been wearing on the floor and kicking it. She scowled at the unsatisfying distance it tumbled. Rayla pulled the shift over her head as she walked to the mirror and when her head passed through the neck, she saw how tired she looked. Her hair was still pinned into a partial updo but she’d nervously fiddled and ruined it. She sighed and removed the remaining pins and then reached for her hairbrush. She froze with it halfway to her head. A partially black hair was stuck in the bristles. She glanced at the sleeping lump in the bed and pushed a forceful exhale through her nostrils, part of an internal scream. She went back to the dress on the floor and kicked it again, and wondered what the sick bitch hadn’t touched.

Rayla was repulsed, nauseated, and furious. She hated this feeling of violation. Her most personal things had been defiled and used against her. A breeze came through the open doors. She crossed her arms and wished it could blow away the unsettling discomfort. Then she turned and looked at Callum… really looked at him.

He had cried himself to sleep. His usually peaceful face was sad and the pillow was still wet. Claudia had done this to him, made him cry.

Then the room fell away and a frenzy of thoughts cycloned around her.

When she entered the apartment, he’d been crying. He’d been crying out for her to stop.

Rayla’s stomach dropped.

Soren words rung in her ear. “She’s killed people but… doing this to Callum… I’m disgusted by her.”

She could feel acid bubble into her throat.

This wasn’t adultery, this was something else. This was… Soren knew, why hadn’t she?

How had she been so stupid? How had she not understood? Would he still have sent her away if she hadn’t been so dense?

She felt tears start to roll down her cheeks as she looked down at his sad sleeping face, she now had tears to match his.

He wouldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at her. Because she, Claudia, had looked like her.

That was why he’d sent her away.

She covered her mouth to silence the sobs. She felt a burn in her right shoulder.

She hadn’t just worn Rayla’s clothes, Claudia wore her face. It wasn’t just her belongings that had been violated, it was him, he had been violated.

The cyclone was closing in on her, Rayla was going to drown in it. In all of this.

She rushed to escape the room, and closed the balcony door behind her just in time for the heaving sobs to break. Her stomach was turning and she thought she would be sick.

From the moment she saw them, she pulled off that illusion, Rayla has been angry. It was reliable for her. Made her feel strong, made her protective of him. Let her take care of him. But that was a lie, she hadn’t protected him, she read it wrong or missed the point and that was the reason and she hadn’t taken better care of him. Like she should have. She wasn’t even sure what she should have done differently but she knew it should have been more or better.

She clutched her shoulder with one hand and the railing with the other. The cyclone of sadness, rage, and disgust were growing into a hurricane. She hated Claudia and that hate burned in her. She hated herself for not taking better care of him. She rolled her shoulder.

Rayla had left behind her life as an assassin long ago. Killing in battle was one thing, but she never wanted to take lives in cold blood. But this… this was provoked and boiled her blood. She realized she could do it now, she could take her blades and go to the dungeons, go to Claudia's cell. She could slit her throat. She could cut her neck to the bone if she wanted to. Rayla sobbed.

She felt the phantom pain in her healed shoulder. It was like the tendons were being ripped all over again. Snapping one by one. On the cool stones of the balcony, she was reliving the worst pain she had ever known. The pain Claudia had inflicted the day she held Rayla to the ground and contorted her limbs with dark magic. If Callum hadn’t stopped her, Claudia would have ripped Rayla’s arm off completely. But now it wasn’t her arm that would be severed, it was the beating heart from her chest. She wondered if it would make the same sound leaving her rib cage as her arm had from the joint. POP, ringing in her ear. Rayla kept trying to breathe while she let herself cry.

After what felt like hours she got up and went to bed. She kissed Callum on the forehead gently, she wondered if he heard her crying. She curled up with her pillow to her chest on her cold empty side of the bed. She wiped away a few silent tears as she fell asleep. They hadn’t slept apart, without holding each other, since… she couldn’t remember.

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rolanslide · 5 years

Text

Hate to love you

(*insert ‘ah shit, here we go again’ meme here. okay here’s part 2 of this, sorta. Overall same setup as the last one, just from a different perspective.)

(thanks for all the nice feedback on the first part, by the way!)

(and again thank you to my sister @vee-tdc for being my beta-reader)

(Quick content warning here for later on mentions/implications of suicidal thoughts and intentions. Be careful my friends.)

Aziraphale was always acutely aware of his deep feelings towards his friendly companion. His demonic companion. He tried to pay him no mind at first- he really did. Tried to be a good angelic soldier. When he was first approached by the serpent, he tried to avoid eye contact- avoid too much casual friendly interaction*.

(*although he wouldn’t ignore the demon altogether. That would be rude.)

And then the demon asked about his missing flaming sword.

He stammered nervously when he first asked, before sheepishly admitting that he gave it away. He expected the demon- then known as Crawly- to belittle him for making such a dumb decision*, but instead, he reassured him. Told him that he, in fact, couldn’t make a wrong decision, and despite himself, Aziraphale found himself smiling at and thanking the demon*.

(*or, at the least, congratulate him for doing the wrong thing.)

(*could you really blame him, though? When the only feedback he ever seemed to get was “oh, that’s nice” and “we don’t want your input, Aziraphale”, having something else, something kinder, for once felt… good.)

‘So much for avoiding friendly interaction’ the angel told himself.

He told himself that that’d be it between him and the demon, but he couldn’t be more wrong. The demon kept actively seeking him out, but not to stir up trouble, just for some casual conversation. And, oddly enough, Aziraphale didn’t mind the demons company.

And that’s where it started.

He knew, from the beginning, that he wasn’t supposed to enjoy the company of this demon, or any demon for that matter! They were the enemy, he was the enemy. Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to feel anything but disdain and superiority over the creature, but he just… didn’t.

He still found himself saying “Crowley, nice to see you! How are things?” every time he happened to catch sight of the demon. He was… happy to see him.

That was a problem.

Speaking with and interacting with someone who is meant to be your mortal enemy is one thing, making friends with them is a different thing entirely.

Yes, Crawly- Crowley was the one who started it, the one who waltzed up to him* that day in Eden. He was the one who initiated it, so it wasn’t the angels fault, right?

(*slithered up to him, to be more accurate)

Well, even if that were the case, the angel was at fault for even acknowledging the demons comment of “well, that went down like a lead balloon”. He should’ve just looked on blankly, refusing eye-contact, refusing to interact, until the demon slithered back to where it belonged.

That’s what should’ve happened.

But, well, it’s not like he could take all of that back. You can’t just delete 6,000 years of friendship.

Although, that didn’t mean that Aziraphale wanted to erase all of his memories with Crowley. As much as he really loathed to admit it, he enjoyed the company of Crowley immensely, and he has for as long as he can remember, really. He has known the serpent since the beginning of time*, so he shouldn’t be blamed for getting slightly attached, at least that’s how he reasoned it to himself.

(*well, Earthly time, that is)

Crowley was just an acquaintance. A very, very, very, very close acquaintance… right?

Okay, yeah, the two had gone far beyond acquaintanceship quite some time ago, but that's besides the point. The two kept each other company over the years, humans were too fragile, their lives too short for two immortal beings to make a true, emotional, meaningful connection with*, so it would only make sense that the only two immortal, supernatural entities on Earth would make some sort of connection.

(*not that the two never made friends with humans, it happened, albeit infrequently. Aziraphale particularly had made a connection with a certain writer in the late 1800’s who- well- let’s just say his name rhymes with Noster Mild.)

That’s all it was though, a connection, a friendship, one that was bound to end in tragedy, once either heaven and hell found out or another war started, the two pitted against each other for the first time in centuries- whichever came first, really. That was all it was really- nothing more to it. Surely.

And then Crowley had handed him a slip of paper in a park, in the year 1862.

The two had fought before- countless times in fact. It made sense- they were an angel and a demon, after all. They were bound to clash, and they often did.

This, however? This was different. This was worse.

He looked his friend up and down, looking for a sign, something he had missed-. He wanted to look Crowley in the eyes, but they were covered by his sunglasses, concealing his emotions like they always did. With his eyes covered, he often felt- often looked- so numb, so emotionless, so… tired. He was looking out at the pond, watching the ducks and floating plants in the water. Aziraphale suddenly felt himself overcome with an emotion he couldn’t exactly pinpoint- anger? Concern? No, it was stronger then concern, but he still couldn’t find the exact right word, or words, for it.

“-Out of the question!” Aziraphale had exclaimed.

“Why not?” The demon had replied, casually, as if he had simply asked his neighbor for a cup of sugar and was turned down. He had still refused to make eye contact with the angel- damn it, why couldn’t he just look at him for once!?

Aziraphale struggled for words for a few seconds- trying to figure out the right words to say- to help-

“It would destroy you…”

The demon didn’t even flinch at the angels words. Despite himself, the angel felt his chest tighten. He angrily shoved the slip of paper back into the demon's hand.

“I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!”

“That’s- not what I want it for, just insurance!”

He shoved the paper back in Aziraphale’s face for emphasis, as if the angel was too stupid to understand… as if he didn’t think this is something he would get worked up over-

...Had he really given off the impression that he didn’t care? That he wouldn’t bat an eye if the demon were to… to-

“...I’m not an idiot, Crowley.”

Aziraphale paused. He waited for Crowley to respond. Waited for the ‘I know you’re not’ or the ‘You know that’s not what I mean’.*

(*even though, in reality, Aziraphale doesn’t know that he doesn’t mean it in that way)

It never came, though.

“Do you know what trouble I’d be in if-” he looked skyward, oh please don’t let them hear this…

“...If they knew I’d been- fraternizing?”

He wasn’t exagerating really- if heaven had found out that one of their angels had spent thousands upon thousands of years befriending a demon-

Well, needless to say him and Crowley wouldn’t be on opposite sides anymore*.

(*Under that context, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing anymore.) “It’s completely out of the question!”

The demon slowly turned his head to face him- expression unwavering.

“Fraternizing?!”

“Well- whatever you wish to call it…” he quickly retorted. In reality, he couldn’t find another word to describe them- what they’ve been doing- that didn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth. It was the word that reminded him of his misdeeds the least. It simply hurt less when he described it that way.

The angel paused again. He felt like he was going to break soon. It had begun to feel like someone had flayed his heart open. He couldn’t stay- not with him. Not now.

“I do not think- there is any point- in discussing it further-”

“I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel.” the demon had an acid behind his voice that Aziraphale hadn't heard out of him in years. He would’ve flinched had he not already expected it.

“Oh, of course you do-”

“I don’t need you!”

The words weren’t spoken at a particularly high volume, but they felt like a shout in Aziraphale’s ears.

“Well- and the feeling is mutual! Obviously!”

He angrily threw the slip of paper into the water, trying to ignore how his eyes suddenly started to burn with presumably unshed tears.

A few years had passed. The demon hadn’t tried to reconnect with Aziraphale yet, nor had Aziraphale tried to make contact with him either.

Again, this wasn’t a first for the pair. Sometimes the two just go a few years* without seeing each other. They had their own lives, after all. They had their own duties.

(*or decades, really)

However, once the arrangement came about, the two had come to bump into each other more and more*. It had been awhile- a few decades really- since the two had had one of those periods of lonesomeness.

(*which was sort of ironic, considering that the arrangement was all about staying out of the way and not interfering if not necessary)

Under the context of their recent fight, that lonely period felt a lot lonelier than it used to.

He knew he had to move on from it. It was just another plain old scuffle, he told himself, nothing drastic- nothing overly worrying.

Except it was. It was drastic- it was worrying. Because Crowley- his friend who’s known for thousands of years- was asking him to fetch him a tool for the demon to end himself with, like it was the simplest thing-

Why hadn’t Aziraphale not noticed something was wrong sooner? How long has Crowley felt this way? Why did Crowley think he’d be willing to help him?

The more the angel overthought it, Crowley's absence seemed less like him avoiding him and more so like-

…

He decided to go and see if his friend was doing alright.

“...Crowley?”

Aziraphale stood at the door of Crowley's flat in London. He had knocked a few times over the past 5 minutes or so, and in that time the angel heard no movement, no commotion on the other side of the door. He rubbed circles in the palm of his hand with his opposite thumb in an attempt to calm his nerves. It wasn’t really working.

“...Crowley, I know you’re there.”

He could feel the presence of his friend nearby. He knew that Crowley was somewhere in his flat, or at least nearby. One of the perks of being a divine creature.

“Crowley…”

But if that was the case, why wasn’t he responding?

“Crowley, I know you’re- upset… But if you- if you could just- give a sign that you’re there, please?”

He’s not there.

“...Can you hear me, dear?”

He should. But he isn’t here. Why isn’t he here? He should be here…

“You- don’t have to open the door, but can you- can you just say something?”

Please tell me he didn’t...

“...Please?”

Aziraphale wiped his face with his sleeve. Wait, when did he start crying? Was he always leaning his whole weight against Crowley's front door like this?

...Why was he so upset?

Crowley was a demon, he wasn’t deserving of an overly emotional angels tears. Stop crying. Stop it.

Crowley was a demon. But he was a demon who cared and loved, and he felt safe, and he felt like home and he was too good to be a demon-

Crowley was his friend, demon or no. He cared about him- even when his brain seemed to want to convince him otherwise.

And now, he had lost him. Lost his friendship, his connection with the demon. The one he had been in denial about for so many centuries.

He knew he had gone too far. Aziraphale would, on occasion, poke fun at Crowley, give him a little bit of a hard time for being what he was- a treacherous foul demon*. He didn’t always mean what he said- but he had never considered how much the words could’ve hurt his friend.

(*Obviously, Crowley wasn’t really truly evil and never had been, but he was still a demon.)

Maybe that’s why Crowley had asked for his ‘assistance’, Aziraphale had truly given off the impression that he didn’t care for him, that he wouldn’t care if he lived or died.

Turns out, through trying to be a good angel, he ended up being a horrible friend.

Aziraphale stood up from the door, wiping holy opalescent tears from his cheeks. He turned towards the door again, hoping that Crowley was able to hear him.

“I’m sorry, my dearest.”

Aziraphale didn’t realize how wrong he’d been until the world was already 2 years deep in a cataclysmic war, 79 years after their fight, and 76 years after the angel had had a breakdown outside the demons door.

The angel had found himself in Crowley’s car, clutching in his hands a bag full of books of prophecy the demon had prevented from getting blown to pieces. He was rubbing the handle of the bag in between his forefinger and thumb nervously as he stared downwards, avoiding eye contact with his friend*.

(*Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure if he could call Crowley his friend anymore, after everything that happened, but considering the demon was willing to walk into a church for him and save his books… it seemed as if he was less angry then the angel had thought he would be.)

He looked over to Crowley with as much subtlety as he could. The demon was driving fairly calmly* with one of his elbows propped up on the edge of the window. Despite the fact that he just had a bomb dropped on his head, he looked quite relaxed. Aziraphale felt his heart thrum violently in his chest.

(*although he was certainly going over the speed limit. Aziraphale didn’t have the energy or willingness to call him out though, not now at least.)

“Everything alright?” Crowley said, seeing Aziraphales flushed, nervous face, presumably.

Aziraphale cringed internally as he felt himself flinch. He never realized how much he missed hearing Crowley’s voice, seeing his face...

“Tip-top,” the angel replied, opting to stare out the window instead of his friends face.

“...Alright, if you insist.”

Aziraphale began to wring his hands in a nervous fashion, hoping that Crowley didn’t notice that he was doing so. The demon surely knew what Aziraphale was like when he was nervous, or otherwise distressed. He spared a glance at him again, pursing his lips.

“Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“Are we…” he paused, considering his words carefully this time, “are you still angry with me?”

“Angel,” he said in a slightly annoyed tone, “I walked into a bloody church and risked getting my corporation blown to damned pieces to keep you from getting your brains blown out by some incompetent spies. What do you think?”

Aziraphale gulped. “Right, sorry.” he whispered brokenly.

Crowley sighed deeply. “Gah, sorry, didn’t mean to be so- persnickety I guess. Just a little bit… I dunno...”

“You have every right to be.” Aziraphale said, staring groundward, “What I said all those years ago was…”

He felt his throat and chest tightening, and he had to refrain from tugging on his collar to loosen his bowtie.

“-It wasn’t very polite.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Not a big deal.”

‘I guess ‘not a big deal’ to you means going off and disappearing for nearly 8 decades.’ Aziraphale had wanted to say, but quickly thought better of it.

“...Surprised you haven’t called me out properly yet, my dear. Called me stupid like you usually do when I get myself into these things.”

“Heh?”

“For- y’know- getting duped by those horrible people.”

“They’re spies, it’s what they do.” he said, not unkindly, “And since when have I called you stupid?”

“Plenty of times!”

“No, I’ve called you an idiot, because you are, but not stupid. They have different… gah, what’s the word?* Doesn’t matter, what matters is you’re not fucking stupid.”

(*The word Crowley was thinking of was connotations, as he would come to realize about 2 hours later.)

Aziraphale felt his face heat up. “Oh.”

Frankly, it was the closest he would probably get to a compliment from the demon, but he would take what he could get.

“Don’t you start-” the demon teased, and Aziraphale could tell he was trying to refrain from grinning, “you know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do.”

The two were silent for a few more moments as Crowley pulled up to the bookshop.

“You- remembered where it was? After all this time? How’d you even know I hadn’t have moved locations?”

Crowley scoffed, “Angel, I know you. I know you’re not really fond of change. And I know how attached you are to this bloody shop.”

“Huh-” Aziraphale replied, once again finding himself blushing slightly. Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, he opened the door and made a move to leave, before hesitating.

“Erm-” he started, “may I invite you inside for a drink or two? At least until the Blitz passes?”

“...Are you tempting me, Angel?”

“Uh- no of course not- I-”

“Joke. It was a joke. I’d love a drink right now- or three- or six.”

Aziraphale found himself huffing out a laugh at that. Nearly 80 years and his friend hadn’t changed a bit.

Despite everything, Aziraphale felt a small amount of panic rise up in his chest to combat the butterflies. He didn’t think he’d ever see the demon again, if he was being honest with himself, and if he did he would’ve never imagined Crowley being anything but hostile and cold towards the angel. To have things be so close to how they always had been was… shocking.

It was almost like he was back in Eden, being inquired about a missing sword.

He knew he should’ve been happy, or relieved, something positive, but he still couldn’t help but feel panicked. He expected there to be fallout, he expected yelling and profuse apologies, and when they never came, it felt like an emotional whiplash. He wasn’t ready for things to go back to normal, but Crowley acted as if he had spoken to the angel days ago.

He was going too fast.

He grinned pleasantly at himself in an attempt to calm himself down as the two moved from the car to the front doors of the bookshop.

“So-” the angel said, “is everything hotsy-totsy between us now?”

“Hotsy-Totsy?”

“Yes. You know- right-o, jolly good.”

“...I guess so.” he said, slightly confused, although Aziraphale could see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Aziraphale felt the butterflies in his stomach once again, but for once, he didn’t feel a need to push them away as he welcomed his lifelong friend into his home.

#suicidal thoughts tw #well kinda #good omens #rowrites #good omens tv spoilers #go fanfic #good omens angst

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