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He had called her, with the phone Ligur usually used. The conversation was almost too brief, when one took into consideration the import of its contents.
"Hastur." Michael answered. "This is unexpected."
Hastur's fingers clenched around the phone, nails digging into the hard surface. "Well, Ligur can't come to the phone." Hastur growled.
"And why is that?"
"He's dead. Crowley's killed him...with holy water." There was long silence on Michael's end, that ticked on and on, until Hastur made a sharp noise in the back of his throat.
"I see. Thank you for telling me." Michael said finally, her voice brisk. Emotionless. Hastur would not have offered her comfort voluntarily even if her knew how, but his next words offered it without his leave.
"We're planning to execute Crowley. And we'll need holy water for that, I assume we can rely on your cooperation?" he asked.
"Of course." Michael said, her voice dropping lower, into a veiled sincerity that made Hastur's stomach twist in discomfort.
He hung up the phone.
Michael blessed the water herself. It was a pointless gesture of sentimentality, it was selfish. Even though outwardly, it was the most practical thing, she was delivering the water, so she should also bless it.
But it was more like delivering the proverbial knife. She had blessed the water, so she would be responsible for the power it had to kill.
The first thought she had when she saw Crowley sitting in that bathtub unharmed, was that she had not blessed the water properly. Which was ridiculous.
When Crowley left, she scooped up the water and dared a glance at Hastur, and received a tart nod in return, nothing more.
They met afterwards, at night, in an empty construction site. Neither one had thought that the other would come, but there they were, staring at each other from under the shadows of the site's hulking machinery.
"Did you bless that water right?" Hastur asked.
Michael tensed. Hastur and her shared the same train of thought more often then not, which irked her. When it came to similarities, she and Hastur had more in common than she and Ligur had ever did.
"I did."
"How can I trust that's true?" Hastur grunted.
"You can trust me, I'm an angel." Michael murmured, then immediately wished she could take back the words. Words that were her signature parting line to Ligur, which Hastur knew.
It had started as serious question and answer at the beginning of their acquaintance, "Can I trust you?" Ligur had asked, and Michael had answered with; "Of course you can trust me, I'm an angel."
Over the years, the small exchange had developed a quality that was far removed from the spirit in which it had been initially asked. It was...almost playful.
Hastur's face twisted in disgust. "I know you're a damn' angel."
Michael sighed."The water was blessed properly." she insisted. Hastur did not respond, and fished in his pocket, extracting and lighting a cigarette. "I assume it's over then?" Michael continued, letting her eyes wander over the half-finished buildings around them, pointedly looking everywhere but Hastur.
Hastur shrugged, letting out a smoky breath.
But it was over, they both knew. Whatever they had had for all the past years, had been founded on one who was not alive anymore. Michael and Hastur were on opposite sides, Ligur was in the middle. Now, he was no longer there.
However much they had attempted to pull him to their respective sides, he had never swayed, and instead pulled them to him.
If Hastur had made the effort, he could have linked the situation to glue in some way, but he didn't care much for analogies. What he did care for, had been washed away by a bucket of scorching water. He refused to acknowledge the that beige figure beside him might have a share in his nearly non-existent affections.
But it was not purely out of habit that Hastur made a gesture of offering with his cigarette, although he stared in shock when Michael plucked it from his fingers. "He liked these." Michael observed, settling the cigarette between two of her fingers.
"He liked the taste, liked the smoke." Hastur said as Michael put it to her lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke filled her mouth, tasting bitter and charred, stinging her throat.
"Let it out." Hastur advised, and Michael opened her mouth, letting the smoke drift out and scatter on the wind.
"I told him about Crowley." Michael began, her eyes tracking the fading grey wisps. "If I hadn't...it might have gone differently." she paused, waiting, hoping, maybe, for the response to her words.
"It don't matter now." Hastur muttered. "He's gone."
"Yes, he's gone." Michael replied softly, feeling disappointment bloom in her chest. She squashed it down, putting the cigarette to her lips again. If her surroundings blurred for a moment, well, it was just the smoke. She handed the cigarette off to Hastur, and stepped away.
"I have to go." Michael said, looking away from him again.
The chance to say something...do something, was gone. Or perhaps had never been present. Once she left, Michael knew they'd never meet again in the same context as before. Her eyes flicked upward, preparing to ascend.
The clutch of fingers on her arm stopped her. She dropped her gaze, meeting Hastur's, and to her relief, he looked as surprised as she did. His fingers left her arm the next moment as if she had burned him.
But Michael was a smart angel, and to some extent, a compassionate one.
"I'll call you sometime." she said. And perhaps, just perhaps, Hastur's black eyes may have softened.