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“That’s it dear. Almost there. Just a little further.”
You’re fretting… There’s no need. There never is.
“Oh… that one was rough wasn’t it?”
They always are. There wouldn’t be any blood shed if it wasn’t.
Two men walked side by side. One moved slower to keep at pace with his companion. The other looked like he was trying to maintain a saunter, though the limp was making it appear more like a periodic stumble. The only thing keeping him from outright falling over was the one at his side. No one paid them any mind as they walked. Small blood droplets trailed behind them.
Aziraphale led Crowley to their… no… his cubiculum. Crowley didn’t know why he even entertained the idea that this was a place only they could share. This was the home of the most powerful man in Rome. Someone like him held no claim to anything, certainly not the right to make such an assumption. He kept his eyes forward, though his ears were trained to the sweet reassurances at his side. There really was no need for them. This was all normal.
All he was doing was fighting.
There was a momentary pause in his mind when his eyes first laid on the bed in front of them. They kept their pace, but something was off. It took him a second to realize what it was. The colors of the sheets and pillows were… muted. It shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. This was what his whole world looked like. Even on the brightest, summer days the world was overcast. Gray was a permanent shade embedded into his eyes. There wasn’t anything he could look at which wouldn’t be tarnished by it.
It had been like that since he had been placed in those chains by the General.
One might think that if this were the case, all the color would fade. He might as well be colorblind with all the years that had gone by since that day… and yet, this wasn’t the case. Oh they faded… but there was always some hint of color. Perhaps it was stupid on his part, but he remained an optimist. Surely… surely if he was patient enough, his life would get better.
The General was a cruel man. The Senator wasn’t any better. He was plunged into a life he never wanted… and still he kept believing. It was the only thing he could hold onto. If he hadn't, if despair had won, he would've been done with it all a long time ago. Under punishment, under disobedience, under throwing his life away in the ring, it didn’t matter how.
But he didn’t. Crowley kept going.
He kept on fighting.
And it was this simple set of facts that made him wonder about the sight before him. He knew each color that decorated the bed. The range of reds and oranges, the sky blue to offset the darker tones, the bronze of the metal wing carved at the head, the black of the curtains blowing in the gentle breeze, and the rich purple… a color saved only for someone of the Emperor’s status. Now that gray clung to them too… and it wasn’t the time of day’s fault. It didn’t matter that the darkness of night clouded them, he knew each one in bright clarity.
He wanted to tear his gaze away from the sight, but he couldn’t. He acknowledged the change, but couldn’t understand it. Why now?
“There we are. Wait here dear. I won’t be but a moment.”
There’s nowhere else for me to go, not that I would want to.
Crowley didn’t dare lift his gaze in the direction of the Emperor. Instead, he listened for the sound of his light footsteps patter out until there was nothing but silence. Slightly trembling hands reached up and unclasped his chilton, letting it encase his feet as it fell from his body. He’d shed his gladiator armor before they left the colosseum, the stained mess it was. All this hassle could have been done there… but it was Aziraphale’s insistence to come back.
So he donned his clean look, and did what was asked of him.
The footsteps returned, and so too that gentle voice, “I’m back. Up you go.”
He felt no shame in showing Aziraphale his naked form. No, that wasn’t quite the truth. He felt no shame in laying himself bare to anyone. It was the pattern of adornments marring his flesh that brought that feeling to the surface. His skin was a canvas, his opponents the artists that painted it. It was an ever-changing piece of art. A splatter of sticky blood there… a patch of yellow and purple bruises here… and a plethora of scars to accent them.
Beautiful.
Hideous.
All opinions on art were in the eyes of those who looked upon them.
Crowley noticed, as he slithered onto the bed, the bowl of water resting in Aziraphale’s hands, a rag resting over his wrist. The Emperor, the man who had so many people he could call on, went to gather these items for him… himself. It was so easy to command others to take care of such a simple task… and yet he did this. There was an unfathomable amount of kindness the Emperor showed him in moments like these, on full display to anyone who was paying enough attention.
And yet…
He was… still fighting.
Crowley still remembered his first time back to the colosseum since coming into the Emperor’s “care.” He remembered the surprised looks on their faces at his appearance. Anyone with half a brain could tell he hated this life. He would have been thrilled to be rid of it. So what was he doing back here? That was the thing about being a gladiator. Not all of them were here by force. Where those he came to know wanted to be here, he did not. Everyone knew it.
Being with the Emperor might not have given him his true freedom, but it was his one ticket out of the ring.
So he had to wonder, why was he still here?
And oh… how he hated this… hated these people, this place, this life ; but what he hated most was that he agreed. They were right . What in the whole underworld was he doing here?
But, then again, it’s not like he could just ask for that small freedom… could he? Where had that gotten him in the past? What had speaking out to the General or Senator done for him? He was slotted into a position in life where he bent to the whim of the person who owned him. It didn’t matter what he wanted. He did as he was told.
But then the Emperor came around. Sure, the passage of power had all been a ploy. Just another dominus to control him until he could find that window of opportunity to strike. The most powerful man in all of Rome. He’d be just like the rest of them.
But that perception changed almost instantly.
He was… kind.
Crowley took it for granted. It was almost too perfect. Did the General and Senator know this about him? Surely they had to. A weakness to drive their manipulated weapon into. He’d played by the rules. Fake it until you make it. Promised freedom was within his grasp. All he had to do was end one man’s life. How hard could it be for him? He’s killed plenty at this point. So many of even the roman people. What was one more?
He could do this.
He could do this…
He… could do this…
He… could… do… this…
He couldn’t do this.
The Emperor was unlike anything he could have ever imagined. Crowley was surprised at the brightness to him. Compared to everything else in his gloomy life, he shone like a star. For the first time, it felt like he could see something in its original beauty. It was almost blinding, yet he followed it like someone lost would Polaris. He was simply… fascinating…
He quite literally brought the color back. Day or night, sunny or clouded, he was always shining. An… angel. The golden, winged crown he always wore might as well have been his halo.
There had been that fear in the back of Crowley’s mind, one that this light was doomed to fade back to gray. There was no way this could last. It was only a moment of time before the other sandal would fall. He was meant to be said sandal…
But…
Trust was offered to him, and he’d given it back in turn. It had nearly imploded on one certain occasion. That dangling treat of freedom on a string in front of his face had never truly gone away. Now that he had a means of staying close to the Emperor without anyone else around, it was the moment he had been waiting for. Angel or not, this was all a means to an end. Take this life… get his own back… He had the Emperor right where he wanted him. His sica a venomous fang that was poised to strike.
And that kindness reared its ugly head. The Emperor didn’t even fight back. He’d accepted it. He was willing to let Crowley go through with the act of betrayal so he could get what he wanted.
He had him…
And he couldn’t do it.
The “Incident,” as it was titled, had never come up again. Neither one of them spoke a word about it. It would have been so easy to get rid of the threat in his palace. Give the dangerous viper back to its charmer…
But the angel… came back.
The rest was history…
But he was… still… fighting…
“Ngk…”
“Ah, sorry dear. Almost done.”
The drag of the rag against his body had broken Crowley out of his thoughts. Aziraphale was as gentle as always… or at least as gentle as he could be when cleaning off flakes of dried blood and adding pressure to the worst open wounds. He always did this, be it here or in the bath.
How long have they been doing this song and dance now? A year now…
But what a year it had been…
It hadn’t… all been bad. The “Incident” had only been one set event. From that point on, things had gotten… better. Sometimes when Crowley closed his eyes, he could still hear the songs of the birds in the garden trees, his head resting along the his Emperor’s leg. He could feel the way Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through the waves of fiery, red hair. He could smell the fresh sea salt of the oysters being offered to him, only to slide down his throat a moment later. He could taste his angel’s lips upon his own… as they lay in bed together. He could see the radiant splashes of color that surrounded the man he loves.
Because he did.
He loves his angel.
He no longer held any desire to point his blade at his Emperor. No… the gladiator did not want to bring him harm. Instead, he sought to turn his blade on those who would seek to bring that harm. It was a thought that went against his entire purpose for being here. It was a sentiment he couldn’t ever utter out loud, lest the General and Senator find out. But he would continue to do so without the admittance, for his angel.
And one way in which he would protect him, would be to try to limit… slaying in front of his Emperor.
He hadn’t missed the look of fear plastered on his face the first time that happened.
It’s not like it was an unreasonable fear… considering…
But surely he didn’t have to remain a gladiator to protect him like this…
…
Right…?
So… why…? Why… was he… still… fighting…?
There was the sound of a small splash in front of him. His eyes barely cracked open, to see the discarded, grimy rag hanging off the side of the bowl. He could feel Aziraphale’s arms snaking around his waist, pulling Crowley closer to his own body.
“There we are. All done my dear.”
Thank you…
The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue. How he longed to say them in such earnest. Thank you for being so kind. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for all that you’ve given me. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for loving me.
The utter exhaustion settled into his form, right down to the bones, causing him to bow forward. Strands of hair fell in his face, arms resting along his crossed legs. His eyes were drawn to the muted sheets under him. A soft touch pressed itself along his exposed back. He willed himself not to allow his body to shudder, no matter how much he wanted to. His angel was kissing him, as he had done so many times before, lips brushing over the largest scars.
Aziraphale held Crowley with such tender reverence one might think he was the angel… not some lowly snake in the grass. The ugly truth was that he had his wings removed long ago. Now he was nothing more than… fallen. In a perpetual freefall, waiting to finally collide with the ground.
How much longer would it be before that came to pass?
How much longer would he have to keep trying to survive?
For all the good times the two of them shared, how many more nights would he spend coiled on himself in tears?
How much longer… would he… still… be… fighting…?
The more Crowley thought about it… the more this life was like being given the sweetest ambrosia his angel’s gods could offer. It tasted better than anything in the whole world. One could keep tasting, and tasting…, and tasting…
But it was eventually going to run out.
It was meant to be savored, not kept.
Crowley’s gaze shifted ever so slightly. He stole a glance at the man sitting behind him… and his heart sank. Aziraphale… his Emperor… his angel … had gone dull . He instantly turned his head back to the sheets, snapping his eyes closed. He couldn’t take another look at the light that finally faded.
Well… that was that…
There was a shudder that raced through him as he hung just a bit more…
I’m tired… so tired…
I… I don’t want to fight anymore angel…
The next one…
Will be the last.
“What is he doing?”
“The fool .”
“ Stop! ”