**Version française réécrite :**
En patrouille, j’ai remarqué une fillette en pleurs sous un arbre. Dès qu’elle m’a vu, ses larmes se sont taries, et son attitude est devenue étrange.
Cette matinée commençait comme les autres. Mon fidèle Rex, un berger allemand âgé mais toujours alerte, et moi avancions lentement dans les rues calmes. Le soleil brillait, quelques rares passants vaquaient à leurs occupations. Tout semblait normal, et je m’attendais à une journée sans histoire.
Puis, quelque chose a attiré mon regard, détonnant dans ce paysage paisible.
Sous un arbre au feuillage épais se tenait une petite fille, cinq ou six ans à peine. Elle sanglotait, les épaules secouées, les joues mouillées de larmes. Personne d’autre n’était aux alentours.
Je me suis garé rapidement, ai coupé le moteur et me suis approché avec Rex.
— Bonjour, ai-je demandé doucement. Que se passe-t-il ? Tu es perdue ?
La fillette s’est figée. Ses pleurs ont cessé net, son visage est devenu impassible — trop impassible.
— Pourquoi pleurais-tu ? ai-je insisté en m’accroupissant.
Silence. Ses grands yeux se sont mis à errer, inquiets.
— Où sont tes parents ?
Elle a jeté un regard furtif autour d’elle, comme si elle cherchait ou craignait quelqu’un. Une réaction bizarre. À cet instant, Rex a grogné. Son poil s’est hérissé, ses oreilles dressées. D’ordinaire si doux avec les enfants, son comportement m’a alerté.
La petite ne bougeait plus, fixant un point derrière moi. On aurait dit qu’elle attendait… quelque chose, ou quelqu’un. Son changement d’humeur était trop s
### Chapter 17: Just Get Inside (Alright, Alright)
I keep wanting to throw in the time skip and keep wanting to ignore the fact but I cannot.
That said, I’ll throw in a tiny one here, just a few months. No, I will not elaborate.
So, my terrible attempt at writing without a planned end goal. No, I don’t actually know where this is going.
I know I know but I tried.
Crowley was annoyed. Simply but thoroughly annoyed.
“I am not letting you stay in that place.” His arms were crossed but Aziraphale was absolutely certain that if Crowley wasn’t wearing sunglasses he would absolutely be rolling his eyes.
(And Aziraphale had an inkling they were blue, but he wasn’t sure where it had come from.)
“It’s the only place I know.” He was trying, he truly was, to not get frustrated but whatever had happened when he had made the snap decision to break into Crowley’s apartment and the subsequent rescue of himself had left them both with a strange relationship.
Aziraphale didn’t want to call it a friendship, he didn’t feel like he had the right, but Crowley was hovering over him like a mother hen.
The man in question sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“I have a couch.” The offer was hesitant, uncertain, and Aziraphale knew what he meant.
He didn’t want to offend Crowley, he truly didn’t, but he also didn’t want to impose. He didn’t want to make whatever this was weird.
He didn’t want to ruin the only thing close to a friendship he has had in years, decades.
But if there was one thing about Crowley that he knew. (Truly knows, not just what was suddenly in his brain.)
He was stubborn.
If he decided he was helping, he was helping, whether or not you wanted him to.
As evidenced by the fact he was still wearing the jacket Crowley had forced over his shoulders.
The sleeves covered nearly to his fingertips, the collar of his sweater covering barely a third of the coat’s neckline.
He was swimming in it, but it was warm.
(And suddenly he knew Crowley always ran cold, and how much warmer he suddenly was when it was on him.)
“Fine.” Aziraphale finally gave in, and he could see the way that Crowley relaxed, his shoulders dropping, the stiffness in his spine shifting into something more like his usual slouch.
“Great.” He turned, hitching his thumb towards the car. “Get in, Angel.”
Aziraphale pretended to ignore the way the name settled so comfortably on him, taking his comfortable seat in the passenger seat of the Bentley.
The door didn’t fully shut when he pulled it, and he stared at it for a second before forcing it harder.
The sound of a car engine dying but still attempting to turn over but without enough juice registered in his head before his brain supplied the thought of ‘jumpstart’ before he could even begin to figure out why he knew what that was.
But the Bentley started like a dream, and Crowley pulled away from the terrible motel Aziraphale had been staying at.
(He could suddenly recall the smell of bread and cakes and he shivered.)
“Alright?” Crowley’s voice cut through his thoughts and he nodded but didn’t speak.
(He didn’t want to cry, not again.)
They drove in a surprisingly comfortable silence, and suddenly they were pulling up to a clean-looking apartment building.
(And Aziraphale knew they had been through this before, but instead of breaking in he was invited, and it suddenly made him nervous.)
He hesitated when they got to the door, his hands gripping the edges of the coat tightly.
Crowley, already in the driver’s seat, stared at him and gestured in a way that was probably meant to be encouraging but just made Aziraphale roll his eyes without thinking.
He tugged on the door of the car, opening it and stepping out into the cold.
(Wet. It was wet. He would know how soon. But he knew in his bones how much it would rain in the next few hours.)
Crowley paused and watched Aziraphale for a second before rolling his eyes with a sigh and unlocking the car with a click of a button.
(Blue. He suddenly knew. Blue eyes behind dark lenses.)
Without another word, Aziraphale let himself in, followed close behind by Crowley.
Inside was dark but not uncomfortably so, but after taking a few steps in Aziraphale stopped.
Crowley bumped into his back with an ‘oof’, and Aziraphale turned to look at him.
“Sorry but I don’t know where the lights are.”
There was a moment of silence before Crowley laughed, low and comfortable.
“Right. Just.” He brushed past Aziraphale to flip the lights on.
He didn’t make a comment on how Aziraphale absolutely could have just reached to the wall beside him to flip them on, and Aziraphale was silently grateful.
The place wasn’t nearly as nice as he had been expecting, but it wasn’t bad either.
A comfortable couch, a small kitchen with a surprisingly decent amount of counter space. A small table with only one chair. (Aziraphale supposed he should have expected as much.)
It was decently tidy, nothing horribly out of place.
It felt lived in, in a way that suddenly made Aziraphale ache for something he had never had.
(He didn’t want to examine that too closely.)
“Well.” Crowley clapped his hands together. “Mi casa, an’ all that.”
Aziraphale gave a polite smile and a nod, hitching the coat higher around his shoulders.
Crowley watched him for a second with an unreadable expression before gesturing towards his kitchen.
“Tea?” He offered, and Aziraphale suddenly felt like his heart was in his throat.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” He managed to choke out. “Please.”
Crowley nodded and turned on the kettle, pulling out two mismatched mugs as Aziraphale finally let himself relax enough to sit on the couch.
(It was comfortable. He knew without being told that it was a pullout.)
They sat in silence again until Crowley delivered his mug of tea.
Crowley took his own spot on the couch next to him, leaving plenty of space between them.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
“Listen, Angel.” Crowley began, and Aziraphale braced himself for something, he wasn’t sure what.
“Whatever happened, or is happening.” He sighed and took a sip of his tea. “I don’t-“ He paused, clearly thinking over his words.
(And suddenly Aziraphale knew, absolutely knew, that whatever Crowley was going to say, absolutely no one else would ever hear them from his mouth.)
“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have somewhere safe.”
Aziraphale absolutely did not nearly drop his tea in shock, but he did freeze.
He blinked rapidly a few times, willing himself not to cry.
(It was nearly midnight, and he suddenly knew that if he closed his eyes he would know what time it was but without a clock he couldn’t know. The thought made his head hurt.)
“I-“ He nearly spoke but found himself suddenly speechless. “Crowley-“ but his throat was too tight.
CAziraphale set down his tea, took a deep breath, and finally whispered, *”Thank you.”* with a sincerity that carried the weight of decades of loneliness finally breaking.
En patrouille, j’ai aperçu une petite fille en train de pleurer sous un arbre : en me voyant, elle a soudain cessé de pleurer et a fait quelque chose d’étrange.
