Welcome to the Caribbean

~ Inspired by the book 'Hunt for Captain Kidd' and possibly also a recent pirate movie.

Crowley woke up as the sun was rising. He slept because he could -- it was something to do, and besides which he liked the decadent feel that came with lying down and falling asleep for hours on end. Granted, it was a lot more decadent when one slept on a well-stuffed feather bed, or even a straw mattress. It was even rather more decadent to sleep indoors.

But sleeping out under the sky had its own appeal, and Crowley awoke in good -- menacing cheer. He stood up and stretched, then got rid of the sand sticking to him, with a thought. Feeling remarkably chipper, he turned and strode down the beach.

"Morning, Angel!" he called out. There was no reply.

There hadn't been a reply in the last twelve days. Each morning Crowley had woken up, gone to find Aziraphale, and offered him a bright and friendly good morning. Twelve times Aziraphale had ignored him.

Each of the previous days, Crowley had tried every conversational gambit he knew. Tried insulting the angel, tried promising not to sing bawdy songs, tried singing bawdy songs. He'd even hummed a psalm or two. Nothing.

He looked at Aziraphale, sitting on the beach facing the water. He was hunched over slightly, as though braced for whatever Crowley had to offer. Crowley nodded to himself. Right, then. There was only one thing left to do.

He walked away, ignoring Aziraphale as fiercely as he could.

It took three days, but finally Aziraphale walked over and demanded, "What are you doing?"

Crowley looked up from the pile of sand he'd been making. "Counting grains. Wanted to see if there really are more."

Aziraphale glowered at him. "How is that going to get us off this island?" he said, very tightly. It made Crowley want to see if the 'piece of coal up his arse' thing would work, but he knew better than to suggest it right at the moment. Not because he wasn't that sort -- he was very definitely that sort. But in the mood the angel was in, the being who ended up making a diamond would probably be *him*.

"Relax, angel," he said smoothly. "A ship'll be by eventually."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "Eventually."

"Sure! We're not that far off the shipping lanes. Why, we might even be picked up by the Queen's Navy!" He smiled as though such a thing were better than the alternative. Actually, it might be -- he could corrupt a few good souls along the way home, and uptight, priggish sailors were a lot more fun than corrupting already corrupted pirates or slavers.

Aziraphale kept glaring at him for a bit. Then he turned on his heel. "I'm not talking to you," he said, repeating the only thing he'd said to Crowley at all before this morning, since they'd arrived.

"Oh, come on, angel! You can't say this is entirely my fault!" As expected, the angel ignored him, but Crowley got up and chased after him. He didn't want to have ignored Aziraphale for three whole days just to get four sentences out of him. "Look, yours was just as nasty as mine, there at the end."

Aziraphale stopped, spinning around abd gaping at him. "I *beg* your pardon! Mine was certainly *not*--"

"Oh, he was. The only difference is yours was all guilty about it and mine wasn't."

"There is a great deal more difference!" Aziraphale put his hands on his hips as he shouted. "Yours was a *pirate*! Mine was a pirate *hunter*!"

Crowley smirked. "Yeah, a pirate hunter who stole treasure and killed sailors. Mine just...well, did the same thing. But he started out that way. I think I win -- yours fell, mine just stayed fallen."

It was hard to describe the look on Aziraphale's face. Enraged, surely. If he'd had to breathe, he would have been turning red or purple and been in danger of passing out. As it was, Crowley was surprised some of the trees didn't explode in flames.

"I. Am. Not. Talking. To. You." Azirphale turned again, in a slow, controlled motion.

"Oh, don't be that way, angel. We're stuck here, we might as well make the best of it." When Aziraphale turned around again, his expression was incredulous. Crowley smiled, winsomely. "Wanna help me count grains of sand?"

It was, Crowley reflected later, a lot harder to count sand when it was in your eyes. But at least he'd got a conversation out of it.

Tomorrow, he'd try the rum he'd found, and see if he could summon a couple of dolphins or something, to drag them out of here.