Chapter Text
It was one of those breaks that naturally occur in long conversations after one topic is done for and the next hasn't arisen yet. With human voices out of the way, chirping of crickets registered once again in Crowley's consciousness, along with a heavy floral scent wafting into Halt and Pauline's quarters through an open window.
He took a moment to study the pair of his old-time friends lounging on a couch on the other side of a coffee table. Halt looked at his wife with a tiniest of smiles, but one that actually reached his eyes. He seemed... not exactly softer, that was probably impossible, but decidedly more at ease. Peaceful, even. And that ice in Pauline's steel-blue eyes that could send nobles to fetch and carry seemed molten, all the coldness gone. She laid a hand on Halt's thigh in an almost protective manner, and he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
It was time to go.
The three of them had sneaked out of the Midsummer Ball hours ago, preferring to spend the evening in private; the sad reality was, these days they didn't have many opportunities to just sit together and talk, so they accepted whatever chance arose with gratitude. But now, well past midnight, the ball was probably long finished, and he could no longer shun the work he still had to do. It always seemed to be more of it then he had time to handle.
Besides, he felt he was slowly beginning to overstay his welcome. He shouldn't forget Halt and Pauline were a wed couple now, and that, despite their long mutual friendship, still made him an outsider. It tasted of bitter irony that the only two people he'd ever fallen in love with were married to each other, but all he could do was to concede that sometimes luck simply wasn't on your side. And yet, he was happy for them. Truly. It was painfully obvious they were perfect for one another; he'd loathe to spoil the bonds of friendship the three of them had with such a petty and ignoble feeling as envy.
"Well, I guess it's time for me." he announced with a practiced smile, standing up and straightening his coat. Best to be done with it quickly.
Pauline raised her head from Halt's shoulder, small crease forming between her eyebrows. "Why, Crowley? The night's still young."
Crowley spread his arms in a wide gesture. "Duty calls" he said simply and smiled again, apologetically this time.
"Paul, let him be. The night may be still young, but he's certainly not. You know how old men are - they need to go to bed early" Halt interjected with a smug smirk, obviously not intending to heed his own advice and desist from pulling his commander's leg whenever possible.
Crowley wagged a finger menacingly. "Careful, careful now. Remember who assigns your tasks. And money."
Halt snorted derisively at that. "Don't pretend, Crowley. From the history of what you assigned me over the years, it's now pretty clear you want me killed or at least starved."
"Just you wait. You're yet to see the true scope of my wrath" Crowley threatened haughtily and, after adding a much more polite 'Good night' directed at Pauline, started walking toward the door.
The Ranger Commandant had a reputation for knowing about everything going on in Araluen Castle. And yet, turned toward the exit as he was, he didn't notice Halt and Pauline exchanging a significant look behind his back.
His hand was already on the doorknob when Halt's voice stopped him.
"Crowley."
He gave his friend a taste of his own medicine by raising an eyebrow with an air of utmost doubt that he's going to hear anything of importance.
"What?"
"Stay."
Crowley's second eyebrow joined the first, and this time it wasn't calculated.
"You know I'd love to, but - "
"Crowley, brother mine" Halt stood up from the couch and was now walking toward him. Or rather rounding him up; the man could stalk like no other. "What do you imagine you're going to do? Keep wasting yourself over all those devilish papers? Why, I didn't have my skull cracked saving your pathetic hide only to find you lying dead under a stack of files one day."
Halt was now almost within arm's reach, and Crowley realised with a sense of surprise and a tad of annoyance that he'd been backing away from him for some time now. He stopped, but Halt went on as if he didn't notice.
"I might not have been the best of friends, but as long as I'm here, I will not allow you to put your soul into the dire grasp of bureaucracy." he declared matter-of-factly.
The next moment Crowley found himself pressed back-first against the wall, too astonished to react as Halt held him tightly by the lapels with a very intent gaze.
"I vaguely recall you mentioned on several occasions it's a common knowledge in Hibernia that redheads like me are evil demons devoid of their own souls, for which they make up by sucking away those of innocent folk."
Crowley did his best trying to maintain any semblance of composure. Truth was, he hadn't felt this confused since... well, he didn't even remember.
Halt nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. In that sad case, I reckon I'll just have to let you suck mine." he stated magnanimously. "Though I must warn you, I'm not very innocent."
"I've noticed" Crowley replied dryly. It sounded rather weak to his own ears, and he prepared himself for Halt's regular crushing rejoinder. It never came.
Without as much as a word of commentary, Halt jauntily began to unbutton Crowley's shirt. It was somewhere about that point when Commandant's precarious illusion of control finally failed.
He dedicated the remaining bits of his mental strength for one last effort to stop this madness before it was too late.
He caught Halt's wrist - perhaps a little harder than he intended - and the next moment those familiar dark eyes met his again.
"Are you insane?!" he hissed. "We can't... What about Pauline?"
Halt shrugged nonchalantly. "She's here, and she's not protesting."
Crowley just stared, feeling utterly helpless. His hand limply slid back down.
"Seems like she's feeling her oats tonight" Halt continued, not affected in the slightest. "Besides, she thinks you're a charming lad" he added, smiling archly. It made him look startlingly youthful.
"He's right. For once." Pauline confirmed, sounding decidedly amused.
"Of course I am. As usual." Halt glowered at her sideways, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by a residue of the smile still lingering in the corners of his lips. "And I must admit I agree with her on your case."
Crowley felt a shiver run down his spine. Maybe it were the words, or maybe Halt's fingers brushing the soft skin on his abdomen as they went further and further down his shirt. Probably both. The reality seemed to unweave thread by thread, the world gaining an eerie dream-like quality - as it always did when something inconceivable occurred. His mind degraded into an incoherent whirlwind of thoughts and memories. Memories of what no longer was; of what could not have been. Memories of the early days, when he and Halt used to spend weeks having no one but each other, when they were closer than ever after, closer than was proper. But it could not last, of course, and when he saw the connection budding between Halt and Pauline, he knew the best he could do was to try to bring them together. The ridiculous ruse he and Pauline pulled to coax Halt into making a move; the moments when he almost forgot it was all a sham and the shame he felt afterwards each time. The time after the break up, Halt sitting on the floor with an empty bottle of whisky in his hand, a forlorn expression on his face, and that dreadfully empty gaze. And the last memory, a fresh one; that of the wedding. It was a good day, the rift that grew between him and Halt in the time around Halt's banishment finally gone. A good day, even if laced with sorrow he could no longer abolish.
There was also something else - emerging from underneath it all, growing rapidly until it became a powerful surge which washed away the jumble of thoughts. An overwhelmingly soothing feeling that everything was right, at last.
And then Halt kissed him, and his mind went completely blank.