The Praying Mantis
Read on Ao3
The school group thundered through the Dulwich Picture Gallery with all the decorum one might expect from a herd of Year 4’s. From a discreet distance, an angel and a demon kept wary eyes over their shared ward.
As the children entered the “The Amazing World of M.C.Escher” exhibition, they quieted and stared in wonder at the infinite swans, the mesmerizing reptilian tessellations, and the impossible staircases.
“You needn’t have come, Crowley. It was my turn, after all. And I am capable of watching over Warlock on my own,” Aziraphale huffed, still bristling at Crowley’s insistence on accompanying him. “Why are you being so weird about this?”
“No need to get your knickers in a twist, angel. Just wanted to see an old friend’s works again.” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and abruptly turned toward the special exhibition hall before Aziraphale could inquire further.
Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat in irritation and wandered toward the Rembrandts. The years spent together at the Dowlings’ had accustomed Aziraphale to knowing exactly what the demon was up to. Why the secrecy? The uncomfortable feelings stirring in the back of his mind reached toward consciousness only to be brusquely repressed. Why wouldn’t Crowley know a famous artist? The angel tutted at his own silliness and retraced his steps to the Eschers.
The children were clustered at the far end of the hall, listening to the curator discuss the artist’s life and works. Crowley was standing before a wood print of a praying mantis perched on the marble sarcophagus of a bishop. Aziraphale tried to decipher the significance of the incongruous images.
“What does it mean?” he asked Crowley cautiously.
“The praying mantis is a grotesque reflection of the holy, similar in name only, a mockery. It’s waiting for a response that will never come,” whispered Crowley heartbreakingly softly.
Something deep inside Aziraphale twisted, rebelling against the angel’s reflexive urge to dismiss it. He lifted his hand into the electrified air between them and reached for Crowley’s shoulder.
“Or maybe it’s what dear Mauk said, just an exploration of depth, of three-dimensionality.” The demon laughed derisively and moved on to the next work.
Aziraphale’s hand hung in midair as unexpected tenderness and unfamiliar jealousy wrestled in his chest. He watched the lithe figure with awkward limbs and ridiculous hips meander through the hall.
“That was brilliant!” exclaimed one of Warlock’s classmates. Their migration jolted Aziraphale from his trance. Crowley brought up the rear surreptitiously. As the demon exited, Aziraphale noticed the last image, M.C. Escher’s final work, Snakes. The infinite undulating coils were spellbinding. Aziraphale drank it in greedily, his eyes memorizing the pattern that quenched a thirst he could not name.
“Coming, angel?” Crowley turned back, his snake tattoo reflecting one of the museum lights.
Aziraphale’s stomach dropped as he finally recognized the echos.
“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale croaked before rushing past Crowley.
“Now who’s being weird?” muttered Crowley as he followed the angel out of the gallery
Find me on Ao3.
